Temples of Dust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  But his face morphed in her memory, becoming the face of her mother. Eyes gazing lifelessly. Throat slashed open. Claudia had killed the Zoharite boy, one of the rebels, who had killed her mother. She wished she could kill him again, kill him every day for eternity. Porcia had once told her that killing was like fucking a man. It was hard at first, painful, frightening, but got easier the more you did it until it became a great pleasure, visceral, satisfying like nothing else. Claudia had never understood, but she vowed to learn that truth here in Zohar.

  "They will bow before us," she whispered. "Or we will kill them all."

  Her father stood in a chariot at her side, its wooden panels inlaid with precious metals, its wheels thrusting out scythes. Tirus Valerius wore a breastplate across his wide torso, forged to mimic a younger man's muscles. A helmet—among the largest in this army, no doubt—topped his bulbous head, sprouting a crimson crest. Here stood the man Tirus had been in Claudia's childhood—a man so strong she thought he could shatter the world. For years, Tirus had served in the Magisterian Guard, rising high in the ranks, before taking the role of ambassador to Zohar. Two decades of administrative work had, perhaps, softened him, but now he was the soldier again. With his burly frame, large hands that gripped sword and reins, and his heavy jaw and hard eyes, he appeared to Claudia as mighty as eagles.

  "I'll speak to that Epher pup myself." Tirus snorted. "I remember the boy well. I'll shatter his spine in my hands. But I'll keep him alive and groveling. Perhaps we'll make him into a memento mori, like that foul creature Marcus once had."

  Claudia nodded. "That will please me. I'll enjoy seeing him groveling at our feet, his back broken."

  You used to kiss my lips, Epher. But soon you will kiss my feet.

  She looked at the sniveling creature that stood with her in her chariot. "Soon he will join you, my dear!" Claudia said. "Soon he'll become a wretch like you. Would you like to see that?"

  The young lumer stood at her side, head lowered. Claudia had dressed Leean in a fine stola, perfumed her skin, and bound her with chains of gold. She would not begin this march of triumph with the foul, haggard creature she had pulled out from her ship's brig. Yet she could still see the ruin in the girl. It was in her eyes—the subservience, the fear beaten into her. The shattering of the soul.

  "What, you are silent?" Claudia said to the girl. "Maybe we should break your spine too. I bet you'd make some noises then."

  Tirus grunted. "Claudia, stop torturing the poor thing."

  Claudia glared her father. She had seen how, as Leean had been growing, her father's stares had been lingering. She knew that the old man had begun to lust after the lumer. She had seen those looks Tirus gave the girl, the same looks he used to give Ofeer. She had seen Tirus enter the lumer's chamber at night, had seen the bruises—shaped as fat fingers—on Leean's flesh. The thought sickened Claudia.

  I should slice up the girl's face, she thought. Make her ugly. It would be doing her a favor. It would keep my father away. All men are dogs who crave flesh.

  She turned back toward Leean, trying to imagine how she'd look with a sliced face, and saw the glow fill the girl's eyes.

  Claudia struck her. "How dare you use Luminosity without my approval!"

  The girl fell from the chariot and landed on the rocky ground. And the glow only grew, now flowing across her chest, reaching out tendrils.

  "Treacherous little dog." Tirus stepped off his chariot and approached the girl. He kicked her belly, then grabbed her hair, yanking her up. "I told you, Claudia, we should never have brought a fucking lumer here, we—"

  Tirus grunted and fell back as light blasted out from Leean, forming an astral figure in the field. The apparition lay supine, skeletal, limbs like ropes. Claudia gasped.

  "The imperial lumer," she whispered.

  Claudia had been using Leean to send regular messages to Aelar, but the imperial lumer—a creature nobody but the emperor ever saw—had never initiated contact before. Across the field, thousands of legionaries stared. Tirus and Claudia stood by the lumer, watching the light flow back and forth between the child and the lumer across the sea.

  When finally the light died and the apparition vanished, Leean fell to her knees, breathing raggedly. Her lip still bled from where Claudia had struck her.

  "Well?" Claudia knelt and dropped her voice to a whisper. This was no conversation for the soldiers behind them to hear. "What news from Aelar? Speak!"

  Leean raised her eyes, and for the first time, the lumer dared to make eye contact with Claudia. There was pain and fear in those eyes, but also . . . Yes, there was no mistaking it. Also smugness.

  "Empress Porcia," said the lumer, "is dead."

  Claudia stared at the girl, then rose and turned toward her father.

  "Oh fuck," she blurted out.

  Tirus's face remained hard. His only sign of emotion was a twitch to his lips. He placed a hand on Leean's shoulder and took her several paces away, out of the legionaries' earshot. He spoke calmly, betraying nothing of the turmoil that surely raged within him.

  "How did she die, Leean?" His voice was almost soft, almost tender, as if he hadn't just kicked the girl. "Tell me everything."

  "It was the Magisterian Guard that killed her," said Leean. "Caelius orchestrated the whole thing, and he enlisted the help of those closest to her. Every man and woman in Porcia's harem took a stab, but it was Caelius who struck the final, lethal blow. Caelius and the Guard are now stewarding the Empire until a new emperor sits on the throne."

  "Fuck me," Claudia said, a tremble seizing her legs. "Oh fuck me."

  Tirus scoffed. "Are you so shocked, daughter? The only thing that surprises me is that it took this long." He sighed and shook his head. "The bitch was asking for a few knives in the back."

  Claudia gasped. "Father! Porcia was my friend. A good friend." She winced to remember all those long conversations with Porcia, walking through the gardens, hearing the woman's tales of war and wonder. "Granted, she was a bit . . . excessive, especially toward the end. But for the Magisterian Guard—sworn to defend the throne!—to assassinate her? We should have all those fucking dogs crucified, and that pup Caelius flayed to boot."

  "Excessive?" Tirus scoffed. "The woman drained the Empire's coffers to build herself pleasure barges and halls of sin. All while we're fighting wars on several fronts. Costly wars. Your friend had it coming to her, make no mistake, and I won't shed a tear for her fate. It's the Magisterian Guard's task to defend the throne, yes—from enemies and from raving mad nightmares like Porcia Fucking Octavius."

  "Nevertheless, I don't trust Caelius." Claudia shuddered. "His smiles have always unnerved me, and I don't know if any emperor would be safe with him skulking around the throne." She turned back toward Leean. "You say that Caelius is keeping the throne warm with his skinny little ass. Who's he saving it for? Has the Guard chosen a new emperor yet?" Sudden fear struck her. "Is Seneca planning to return? Fuck me, that sniveling boy's even worse than Caelius."

  Leean glanced toward Tirus, then back at Claudia. The smallest of smiles seemed to touch the lumer's lips, just a hint soon gone.

  "The Magisterian Guard has chosen a new emperor. They have chosen Tirus Valerius. Your father." The hint of mirth touched the lumer's eyes. "Caelius himself delivered the message. He asks that Tirus returns to Aelar at once . . . before Seneca does."

  Claudia stared at the girl, at the legions, then at her father. No. Something here did not add up.

  "Why?" Claudia whispered, brow furrowed. She paced, then paused and looked at her father. "If Caelius wanted you as the new emperor, why now? Why didn't he assassinate Porcia before you left the city? Or why not await your return?" Her frown deepened. "It's a trap. It has to be. He'll pit you and Seneca against each other, or perhaps he plans to ambush you at sea. He—"

  "Think, Claudia." Tirus sighed. "You've always been clever." When she gave him a blank stare, he rolled his eyes. "If the boy slew the she-devil while I was still in Aelar, then placed
me on the throne the next day . . ."

  Claudia nodded. "Then all would suspect that you orchestrated the killing."

  Tirus smiled thinly. "It had to happen while I was here in Zohar. I had to be recalled in haste. I—"

  "You fucking planned this!" Claudia shoved her father. "Gods damn it, you fucking killed her!"

  "Please." Tirus brushed her away. "The Magisterians would have killed Porcia sooner or later, with or without my collusion. I merely helped . . . expedite the process." He cleared his throat. "Granted, I was hoping Caelius would have done the deed a few days earlier. I was worried that I might actually have to assault Beth Eloh myself." He cringed. "Gods, can you imagine it? Me charging into that cesspool? I'd never get the stink out."

  Claudia's mind reeled. Gods. Oh gods. Her father—killing her friend. Her father—to be emperor! She inhaled sharply.

  I'm going to be an emperor's daughter. I'm going to be an empress when he's dead. And at the rate he stuffs himself with blood sausages and wine, that day's not too far off.

  "We must return to Aelar," Claudia said. "At once. Fuck Epher and his rat hive of a city. We go back before that pup Seneca shows up. Oh, he'll sail back from Nur now, there's no doubt of that. And we'll be there to chop off his cock before we nail him to the cross. We go to the ships—now! We—"

  "We do nothing," said Tirus. "I return to Aelar. You and the legions will remain here, and you will complete the task at hand."

  Claudia looked back at the legions, then at her father. She leaned closer, grabbed him, and hissed into his ear.

  "Me? You want me to lead the siege of Beth Eloh?"

  He barked a laugh. "Our generals will lead the siege. You will be there, representing me, representing the imperial family of Aelar. And you will be there to talk sense into that boy you used to sneak into our home." He clasped her arm. "Do this for Aelar, Claudia. And for the House of Valerius. We need victory in Zohar for our reign to thrive, for the people of Aelar to love us. Conquest will be our first gift to our empire. You do not need me with you. Do this, and both Aelar and Zohar will be ours."

  Her head kept spinning. Porcia, her friend, her empress—dead. Her father—to be emperor. Seneca—preparing a move on the throne, all while Aelar's best legions were here in the eastern desert. She breathed heavily. The world reeled. She felt faint. She—

  Stop this, she told herself. Stop it! You're not some meek, addle-minded girl like Valentina. You are Claudia Valerius, soon to be the heiress of an empire, soon to be the conqueror of Zohar. You are strong. You are intelligent. You are ready for this.

  "Go," she said to her father. "Our reign begins now. Oh, and . . . leave me the little lumer, will you? Soon the imperial lumer will be yours."

  Her father nodded and shoved Leean toward Claudia. She grabbed the girl as Tirus whipped his horses. His chariot thundered back toward the port, raising clouds of dust. Claudia climbed into her own chariot, pulling Leean in with her. They rode along the lines of legionaries, this host to crush the rebellion and crush her lover's spine.

  "Legions!" Claudia cried, fist raised. "I, Claudia Valerius, will lead you to Beth Eloh, to conquest, to glory! We come, we see, we kill!"

  "We come, we see, we kill!" they cried.

  "Porcia Octavius is dead!" she cried. "But Aelar lives on. Glory lives eternal. To Beth Eloh!"

  The army moved out, leaving the glorious city of Valeria Maritima, once known as Gefen, with all its wonders. As they moved east across the hills, Claudia smiled thinly. She much preferred the city's new name. When she was done with this backwater province, all memory of Zohar would be lost. There would be only Aelar in the world, only the wonders of her own civilization—not this land she had been born in, lost in, always a stranger in. In Zohar, growing up, falling in love, she had always been an outsider.

  "But now Aelar rises." Her smile widened. "Now it's you, Epher, who will be afraid and alone. I'm no warrior like Porcia, but I know how to hurt you. And sweet, sweet Epher . . . I will hurt you so much."

  OFEER

  For the first time since Marcus had died, Ofeer headed back toward the Aelarian Acropolis—the place she had been a slave, the place where she now sought freedom for Zohar.

  She walked along the busy streets of Aelar, her sandals clattering against the cobblestones. The city people walked around her, citizens in togas and stolas, the poor in ragged tunics, and many travelers in the traditional garments of their homelands: zebra pelts, black robes and hoods, and pastel fabrics chinking with beads. Donkeys pulled carts along the streets, moving to and from markets, bearing watermelons, jugs of olive oil, rolls of fabric, and exotic animals in cages. The buildings rose alongside, so close their balconies almost touched. Countless Aelarians stood in the windows, chatting over the streets, watering pots of herbs, tossing down sunflower seed shells, or beating elaborate Sekadian rugs.

  Yet this was not the same city Ofeer had arrived in last year. Today, more soldiers than ever patrolled the streets. A catapult rolled down one avenue, forcing people aside. Wagons rolled down another road, laden with cauldrons, firewood, and many piles of arrows and javelins—an entire forest of them, enough to slay nations. More and more troops kept heading toward the city walls, laughing and bragging as they marched.

  "Gaelian fuckers almost here," said one legionary to his friend.

  The second legionary laughed. "Good. I heard they bring their women with them. I could use a nice pair of white Gaelian tits in my bed tonight."

  Ofeer ignored the troops, stepping aside whenever they passed. This was not her war. Her only battlefield lay back in Zohar . . . and ahead in the Acropolis.

  Still a parasa away, Ofeer could see the Acropolis already: the walled hills in the city center, rising from the warren, cypresses growing among marble halls.

  As Ofeer walked through this hive of wonder and squalor, Noa's words kept echoing through her mind. Swarms of legionaries—closing in on Beth Eloh. Claudia herself—vowing to destroy the city, to slay every last Zoharite. A dark shadow of evil—moving toward her homeland.

  Ofeer lowered her head, and memories of Zohar flowed through her, so powerful she almost felt like a lumer drawing her magic. She was at the sea again, hearing those whispering waves, smelling the salt, feeling the sand beneath her feet, seeing the sunset drip across the water. She was walking on the hills, her callused feet stepping on ancient chalk and crumbly soil, and around bloomed life: ancient olive and carob trees, wise old spirits overlooking the sea, and twisted pines that thrust out many branches for climbing, and fields of anemones and cyclamens that rustled in the spring breeze. She heard the turtledoves and the ram horns blowing from the temples, ushering in the holy days.

  In her mind, she walked again through Beth Eloh, a city of quiet stones, every building built of the same limestone, craggy and of indeterminable color—white in the summer noon, golden in sunrise, burnished bronze in dusk, each stone thousands of years old, whispering the stories of countless pilgrims and prophets. Only five hundred years ago, Aelar—this vast city of a million souls—had not existed, and Beth Eloh had been ancient beyond measure even then, and her family, the dynasty of Elior, had ruled in the palace upon the Mount of Cedars.

  I used to hate Zohar, Ofeer thought. She had always scorned its twisted, stunted trees, thinking them so ugly by the marvelous oaks she had heard soared in Aelar. She had always scoffed at Beth Eloh, a crumbling old city in a forsaken desert, instead dreaming of Aelar—a beacon of modernity and civilization. Yet now, walking here so far from home, Ofeer would have given anything to save her homeland.

  She touched the collar around her neck, the new metal collar Noa had given her.

  And I will have to give everything, she thought. Everything that I am. All these memories inside me. All that I ever was, all that I always denied about myself.

  The imperial lumer needed her lume, and that lume flowed through Ofeer like lifeblood. Ofeer could not weave it herself, but it filled her, soaked her every memory of Zohar.
<
br />   Still far from the Acropolis, Ofeer stepped into an alleyway, leaned against the wall, and took deep breaths. Only months ago, she had easily explored these streets for hours, but now walking only short distances winded her. Her stomach had swelled so large it seemed obscene to her, and her feet and fingers were swelling with it. The child in her womb woke and wriggled.

  As Ofeer caught her breath, she glanced around, making sure nobody was there to see. Only a few cats filled the alleyway—an old tabby and several kittens nursing from their mother. When she was certain nobody was watching, Ofeer pressed her fingers to the collar the way Noa had taught her. The iron snapped open, and Ofeer pulled the collar off. Noa had forged the collar herself, using her Muse. When worn around the neck, it appeared like any other slave collar, the kind countless wore in this city. Yet when Ofeer pressed down again, a hidden compartment opened, and a key thrust out like a tongue.

  This key will open any lock in the palace, Noa had told her. Use this key to find the imperial lumer. You must succeed or Zohar will fall.

  Ofeer took deep breaths, reviewing the plan, whispering of it to her babe.

  "Remember, we approach the Acropolis guards, and I'll tell them who I am: Ofeer Sela, once paramour to Prince Seneca." She shuddered to remember those days, being Seneca's lover, then his slave. No, perhaps always his slave, even back in Zohar. The thought of him being father to her child sent waves of nausea through her. Ofeer shoved him away from her mind, returning her thoughts to her task. "The guards will take us straight to the dungeon, if Noa spoke truth. And then we use this key. When the guards change shifts, we sneak out, and we find the imperial lumer who's buried there." Ofeer clutched the key in her fist. "We give her everything—all the lume we still have, all these memories of home. We give her the power to raise the lumers of the world in rebellion."

  She pushed the key back into its compartment and snapped the collar shut around her neck. She kept walking through the city. As she headed farther north, the apartment blocks gave way to wealthier streets. Villas rose here—some large and others smaller but all lavish compared to the apartments the commoners lived in. They rose three stories high, some sporting simple porticoes framed with limestone, even marble columns. Among them rose temples, theaters, and shops. On normal days, here was a neighborhood of peace and plenty, yet unease hung in the air today. The Magisterian Guard stood everywhere, a man at every street corner and public building. Empress Porcia had fallen, and no new emperor had risen. Until one emerged to rule the throne, it would be the Guard holding this empire together.