“You’ll never know if you don’t ask,” Lisa added gently. But Emily shook her head. Even if there was a good reason for his decision, she didn’t think she could survive such pain again—that awful feeling of being betrayed, of being left behind.
“I’m not sure about the connection between the Tijar and the Fallen,” she said briskly, changing the subject, “but the letter said they will be sending ships with supplies, weapons—even cannons. It detailed a series of light signals for them to come ashore by the tip of the Crooked Finger. They don’t trust any ports.”
Emily heard Lisa sigh, clearly not satisfied by where their conversation had ended. “Smart,” she said, reluctantly. “The ports—even ones you control—are too exposed.”
“This Minister for the Fallen will also be visiting soon to evaluate the situation. No date set for that, though.”
Emily heard the clacking of Lisa’s sandals as she came closer, then placed a hand over her shoulder and turned Emily around. “Well, best you have the situation under control when he does come, Cyclops,” Lisa said before placing a heavy sack into Emily’s hands. “These supplies should last you for a few days. Ness can’t be moved, so you go to Arna and finish the business you have there.”
Emily took a step back, hefting the sack over her shoulder. Business in Arna—that was a nice way of putting a meeting with a creature of death to gift it a ship. It was not a story anyone would believe. The only reason even Lisa had was because the complex Preservation spell weaved on Ness was detectable.
“Don’t forget to change your bandages!” Lisa added.
“I can’t leave you here,” Emily said, glancing at the straw bed. Thankfully, Ness was now covered by a blanket.
“I can take care of myself, and I have Ness’s knives if things get troublesome. Now go—make sure you get there before my husband sails in. Don’t want him running into this lich of yours alone. He might do something stupid.”
Emily looked over Lisa’s shoulder at Ness again.
“I’ll take care of him. With the spell keeping him alive, I have time to heal him enough so he will survive this when it’s gone.” Lisa leaned in to kiss Emily on the cheek. “Go.”
Emily cleared her throat and nodded. “Thank you again,” she said as she turned to leave. Just as she pushed the door open, a mewl stopped her, and the keeri sprinted up her back and hooked its long tail around her neck and shoulders.
Emily rubbed its small head affectionately before picking it up and placing the little beast on the ground. “Sorry, little guy, where I’m going isn’t a place for you,” she said. The keeri mewled before turning and sprinting over to Lisa instead.
“Oh no…” Lisa laughed, as she played with the creature now wrapped around her neck. “How quickly you got replaced.”
Emily shook her head with a smile before she pushed the door open. It was time to return Arna, where it had all begun.
* * *
The clacking of her horse’s hooves against stone carried on the wind as Emily reached the gates of Arna. The once rich and bustling city was deathly silent, and swallowed in a thick fog. She paused to gaze up at the thick stone walls and towers. The same walls which had failed to protect its inhabitants when they needed it most.
“Come,” she said as she urged her horse forward through the gates.
Inside, Emily couldn’t believe this was the same city she had lived in for so many years. The vibrant blues and whites which had made the city famous were now faded and chipped. Every door was missing, or shattered, the city stripped bare of any wealth. Signs of violence lay everywhere. And yet, there were no bodies. Emily shuddered. She knew exactly what had happened to the bodies.
She explored the ruins slowly, her path taking her through streets and squares pitted with craters, the surrounding buildings demolished or scorched by cannons. Other than rats and the geelas hovering above, the city was utterly lifeless. Emily had not expected to find many people here, but not a single soul? It was eerie.
Just as she was about to turn back, Emily pulled sharply on the reins. She had heard something—the creak of a swinging signboard. She looked up, a deep sadness taking root as she read the sign.
The Boiling Heart.
She dismounted and walked through the broken door, breathing in the dust that covered the broken stools, tables, and bar. Like everywhere else, the tavern was looted bare.
She took a step closer to the bar, the wooden planks creaking as she did so, and her gaze lingered on a brown stain on the floor behind the bar. “Jaz,” she whispered to herself. Emily closed her eyes, concentrating on pushing her emotions back down when she felt a presence behind her.
She spun around, pulling an alchemic vial of acid from her belt and tossing it. The vial spun and shattered, coating the ambusher in its deadly contents.
Emily took a step back, her hand gripping her dagger tighter, as one of those horned shadow creatures stared back at her with its green eyes. The acid sizzled against its dark skin, but it appeared to have no effect.
The creature raised its long arm, and its razor-sharp claws twitched. Emily prepared for the worst. Of course it would kill her—she was dealing with a lich, for Abyss’s sake.
But the creature only paused and pointed to the street outside. Emily stared at it, her body stiffening before she realized what it was doing.
It was pointing to the port district.
Slowly, she lowered her dagger, and as if understanding, the shadow creature melted back into the ground and disappeared. Emily let out a quivering breath, her whole body trembling as she released the built-up tension. With unsteady hands, she sheathed her dagger and pulled her green cloak tightly around her. She needed to do this, she reminded herself. For Ness, for everyone.
When she stepped out of the tavern and glanced around, she saw her horse had bolted. Emily couldn’t blame it; who wouldn’t when a creature like that suddenly manifested in front of them? She shook her head, a wry smile on her face. Her, apparently.
It was hard to navigate the city. Even though Emily had been to almost every corner of it in the past, everything was so different now. She was used to the bustle, the color. With the city so dead, it felt as if this was the first time she had stepped into it.
Eventually, she reached the sprawling port. Waiting between two piers, she saw who she had been looking for.
“From the Abyss I come, hear my call. Enshroud my path in a curtain of frost.”
Vhal’nuel sat on the ground, his staff resting in his lap, its crowning orb dark. He stayed very still as he repeated the same words he had spoken when he had first appeared in the prison camp.
“Bring forth your ire, your fury, your hatred. May they cry, may they beg for the refuge I bring. With clarity, I reap.”
But for the flapping of torn flags and the creaking of unsecured winches, the port fell silent again.
“Emilia,” the lich said then, in its horrific voice that sounded like a death rasp. “I’ve been expecting you.” He turned his head, the blue light of his eyes reflecting off the rim of his black hood.
Emily cleared her throat. “Your ship is on its way.”
“I am well aware. I see it,” the lich replied as a spectral skull flew down to circle him before flying off again. “Would you like to sit with me?” he asked as he turned to watch the calm waters of Arna harbor.
Taken aback by his offer, Emily didn’t know how to respond. Of course she didn’t want to sit with him—She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. And yet, she found herself moving closer and taking a seat.
“How is your friend?” the lich asked. “Ness, I think his name was.”
“He’s fine.” Emily hugged her knees close. “You don’t seem as scary as you did back then,” she ventured.
The lich laughed, a wide grin on his face. “Fear is something I control and manipulate. If you wish, I can turn you into a weeping child.”
“I don’t… never mind,” Emily said as she shook her head. They sat there in
silence, waiting. “Is your name truly Vhal’nuel Novaul?” she asked finally.
“It is.”
“The Caelian high noble family, that same Novaul?”
The lich turned his head to face her again, his ethereal blue eyes flashing for a moment. “The same,” he replied simply.
The Novauls, Emily knew, had ruled over large sections of what today was Odana and the eastern provinces of Ejan, including Fermont. Which meant there was likely a time when her family would have paid taxes to this lich’s family. “It’s rumored the vampires are Caelian too. I was… preoccupied, back at the camp, but you said you were looking for Nevani? Isn’t she—?”
“The Imperial Princess,” Vhal’nuel answered, before grinning again. “Are you interested in my story, Lady Emilia?”
Emily shook her head, returning her gaze to the calm waters. “Of course not. I just want to know if this grudge you hold will bring you back to Fermont someday. I don’t want to deal with both the Ejani and a horde of Caelians who don’t know when their time has passed.”
The lich chuckled. “I hate to disappoint you, but it is likely we are to meet again.”
“What makes you say that?”
The lich raised a hand—and from her shadow, a viscous black substance began to form. Emily frantically rolled away, trying to create some distance, watching with horror as the liquid grew into a shadow creature and stared blankly at her. The lich continued to chuckle.
“Do not fear. He was simply observing you and ensuring that you upheld your part of the bargain.”
“That thing was in my shadow the whole time?” Emily asked, her palms now sweaty.
“Indeed, he was,” the lich replied as he stood slowly and leaned on his staff.
Ever since the night in the prison camp, she had been watched over by a creature as powerful as that… and no one had noticed. The thought made her stomach turn.
“The Fallen,” the lich said, catching her off guard.
“You know them?” Emily asked, confused.
“When I exact my final revenge, I hope to return to their service.”
“Revenge? Wait—serve? You served the Fallen?” What in the four blessed gates had she gotten herself and her countrymen into? A faction which once had a lich as powerful as Vhal’nuel serve it was offering her aid? “Is this Duren a lich, too?” she asked, her mind in turmoil.
The lich chuckled. “No, he is not.” He then stood before adding, “Your offering arrives.”
Emily tore her gaze from the shadow creature and looked out across the harbor, where the silhouette of a small ship had materialized from the fog. She scrambled to her feet just as the shadow figure melted back into the darkness and merged with the orb atop Vhal’nuel’s staff. The lich had begun to make his way down the pier when Emily swallowed her concerns and shouted after him.
“Why revenge?”
The lich paused and turned to face her. His ethereal blue eyes dimmed slightly, then his free hand dipped into his robes and emerged with a metallic oval in its grasp. A locket, she realized.
“This place…” the lich murmured as his gray and rotting fingers rubbed against the surface of the locket. “This city was full of despair. The dead called for justice and vengeance. So I gave it to them.”
Emily pursed her lips: is that what he had done? Given the dead of Arna a chance for their revenge?
“The people who suffered along with me—people I once worked with, people I taught… whom I loved… I still hear their voices. Their cries. I was chosen as the instrument of their fury. In my darkest hour, Reaper heard my call. With his help, I will answer theirs.”
Emily’s mouth went dry as her whole body began to tremble under the force of his gaze. She was wrong, this was no simple lich, but a revenant. An instrument of vengeance for those long dead.
A bell rang out as the ship dropped anchor and was pulled close to the pier. The sound broke the sudden paralysis the lich’s gaze had placed upon her, and she swallowed, clearing her throat. “I will vacate the ship, then you can do what you wish,” she said as she jogged down the pier, relieved to put some distance between herself and the lich.
With all the unjust and violent death occurring in Fermont, the quicker he left, the better for all.
Chapter 32
Celia gazed across the field at the army facing her and the high stone walls beyond them. After a long march, they had arrived in Golan. Beside her stood Princess Lucienne, Queen Astrel, and Queen Trikk, along with the full might of the Fallen army: two thousand Grauda males and their female division leaders, eight hundred Arachne of differing sizes and strength, sixty Dryads from both groves, and fifty Ogre’i warriors.
“I still find this demeaning,” Queen Trikk said, her gaze fixed on a group of Arachne warriors with Grauda mounted on their backs. “We Arachne are not steeds, especially not for those who were once our prey…”
“It was Kavali’s orders,” Astrel retorted. “The Grauda certainly don’t like this any more than you. Of course, if you wish for non-prey to ride their backs, the only ones who fit that description are the Ogre’i.” The Grauda queen grinned. “I am more than willing to let them use the Arachne as mounts in place of my brothers and sisters.”
Queen Trikk narrowed her eyes. She glanced quickly at the massive Ogre’i warriors flanking the main body of the army before shaking her head. “We will carry you; we will just imagine you are our helpless young.”
“Stop it, you two,” Celia said firmly, her eyes still on the city. Just one look at this army before them—if she could even call it that—made it clear how disadvantaged Maiv had been in this war so far. Most of its so-called soldiers wore only stained shirts and pants and were equipped with pitchforks or scythes. Signs of sickness and hunger were clear amongst them. They were closer to a mob than an army.
On their journey here, Celia had been able to get a good look at the current state of Maiv and the toll the war had already inflicted. She had known the faction was going through hardship, but what she saw still surprised her. It was beyond just hunger. It was fear, disease, and hopelessness. The sky raids from the Jannatin Cloud Knights, even if infrequent, had propelled the situation from bad to desperate.
It was evident that those people who could escape had already done so. They were the refugees who had made it to Fes and Soul’s Rest. The tired and the feeble were left to fend for themselves, and then—with grim irony—had been drafted to fight against a professional army. These people could hardly protect themselves, never mind fight.
Celia wondered if bringing Maiv into the Fallen had been a mistake. Helping this place recover was going to be costly; then again, her Master had been explicit in what he wanted from Maiv. Land, and—crucially—sea access.
With that said, Celia did not for a moment think her Master would just leave these people to die. Like her, the Grauda, and the other races of the Central Wilds, these people were now his people. He would do what he could to help them. Of course, that also hinged on them not doing anything stupid.
Like try to bar their entrance into Golan.
She sighed. Just the sight of the Ogre’i and the Arachne had the Maivan army faltering. She half-expected them to run back into the city the moment an Ogre’i let out a battle-cry.
“I think it’s time we spoke to them,” Princess Lucienne said.
Celia shrugged. “I hope you can convince them, Princess. Fighting people who can barely stand is not something I wish to do.”
The princess closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she and Celia began their long walk across the field to a point halfway between the two armies, a white flag held high. In front of the Maivan forces stood a tall, thin man wearing a thick blue jacket. He had short black hair and a pointed beard, and walked with confidence to meet them in the center.
“Marshal Lint, I’m glad to see you well,” Lucienne said, looking up at the city walls and the row of archers looking down on them. “I see the draft bore fruit.”
Celia w
as about to say something about the state of the “fruit” in this case, but restrained herself.
The marshal glanced between the princess, Celia and the army of the Fallen beyond them. “Princess, I must admit I am confused as to what I am supposed to do here. First the faction is disbanded. Then, all of our regions get absorbed by a faction who only recently flattened a town of ours.” He shook his head; tired wrinkles were beginning to form along his forehead. “All this whilst your uncle, the Head Commander and Marshal Hale continue to fight at Bastion, under constant fire from cannons and stalked by Cloud Knights.”
“Both Lady Adara and I agreed on this course,” the princess replied, and from the way the marshal’s eyes widened for a moment, he had had no inkling of Adara’s involvement.
“So,” he said slowly, “after all those who died and struggled to keep the country of your ancestors free, their Divinity and Viceroy gave it away without a fight.”
Lucienne took a step closer. “I take issue with your tone, Lint. Do not forget, the only reason you and the army you drafted still breathe is because you haven’t yet moved to the front. The Fallen are here to help. We have reached an agreement.” The princess flicked her hand and Marshal Lint’s eyes grew distant.
“A charter?” he asked as his eyes refocused.
“Yes, which gives us autonomy in many aspects of our governance.”
“But not all.”
“Of course not. You don’t expect them to pay with lives and gold just to have us do whatever we want, do you?” Lucienne said, her impatience showing. “Marshal Lint, you seem to have forgotten your place. I am the leader of Maiv, both previously as a faction and now as a chartered Guild under the Fallen. If you wish to retain any position, then I am ordering you to stop asking useless questions and open these gates.”
Celia could see the marshal falter under the princess’s verbal assault; he had clearly not expected any of this. He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Princess, you can’t possibly expect me to open the gates to these… these monsters? By Adara’s blessed flames, that one is a damned demon.”
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