All three of them rushed the ladder, shoved it to one side, and then flung it back from the wall. Shouts and screams rang out below, and they collapsed behind the battlement just before a hail of arrows shot overhead and dropped into the courtyard to splinter and crack on the stones.
A few near misses skipped off the walkway only inches away. Cade seized those within reach, inspected the shafts for cracks, and then stowed them in his quiver. “I take it those burn piles you were setting up earlier mean something.”
“Diversion . . . so we can escape.”
“Escape?” Slack snorted. “Course you would be thinking about that. I don’t know why you bother with him, Cade.”
Ordinarily, her words would have needled him, but the din of battle seemed to grow louder in his ears, reminding him of what was at stake. He refused to take the bait.
Not this time.
“Cade, you know as well as I do that this fortress is doomed. The Khelari have won already. Holding out here any longer won’t do anything but get us all killed. Do you want to condemn Aliyah to death or slavery, or help me get her out?”
The battle raged in Cade’s eyes. For a moment, he just crouched there, shaking his sword as if weighing the options in his hand, then he shoved away from the battlements.
“Wait!” Ky caught his arm. Cade swung around, sword raised, and the look in his eyes made Ky release his grip. But he wasn’t about to give up. “You can stay and fight. That’s your choice. But I will get the young ones out. When you hear my signal, clear the walkway, ’cause it’ll be going up in flames.”
A grapnel clanked against the battlement to Ky’s left, calling him back to the fight. He broke away from Cade and swung into action, slashing through the rope, then ducking on instinct as an arrow sliced past his head. When he glanced back, Cade and Slack were in the thick of things near the bridge.
All around the keep, wave after wave of the Khelari reached the top of the walls, only to be forced back or thrown down. The runners kept up a mad dash along the walkway, slicing, hacking, shooting and stabbing. But such ferocity could only last so long. Already, Ky’s breath rasped in his lungs. Dots of gray pinpricked his vision. The chainmail felt like a thousand pounds weighing him down as he swung and hammered with a sword that had begun to feel more like a club than a blade.
Just another moment longer …
Just one stroke more …
He muttered the words to himself over and over, as one stroke stretched into a dozen and one moment into a hundred. Act too soon and his plan would fail. The Khelari had to have already established a firm footing on the walkway or his plan to walk out the front gate would have even less chance than a plea for mercy.
All at once, it happened, so quickly Ky almost missed it. It was too easy to focus on his section of the wall and see nothing else. But one moment, the Khelari were fighting tooth and nail to gain a footing anywhere along the walkway. The next, almost twenty Khelari were scattered across the parapet, guarding ladders that shook with the weight of climbers.
In that moment, Ky realized what had changed. Since the fight began, the bells of the north keep had kept up a steady clanging, but now they were silent.
The north keep had fallen.
•••
Ky forced a shrill whistle through his lips. In the Underground’s simpler days of pickpocketing and running raids, it had been Cade’s signal to end a mission. All along the walkway, runners started and looked around at the unexpected sound, but Cade had drilled them too well for any to question such a signal now. They broke away from the fight and retreated toward the courtyard.
Still whistling, Ky caught up his torch and raced full speed toward the wall-top steps. A Khelari rose in front of him, and he charged straight at the man without slackening stride, bashed both his sword and torch into the man’s midsection, and shoved past. He threw himself to his knees on the middle step and readied the fuse, counting heads as the runners streamed past to gather outside the barracks. Paddy hurried down the opposite steps, dropped into position, and threw a quick all’s good signal in his direction when Meli and the rest of the young ones emerged.
But Cade . . . there was no sign of Cade.
Or Slack.
Torch hovering over the fuse, Ky scanned the walkway. Side by side, with their backs to the bridge and one of the burn piles, the two battled three Khelari. Behind them, a score of Khelari crested the peak of the bridge while others choked the walkway, cutting them off and fast approaching the steps.
If Ky didn’t light the fuse now, it would be too late.
He touched the flame to the string and held it there until it sizzled and caught and raced away toward the ryree-laced burn piles. He broke away, set his fingers to his lips, and whistled as loud and shrill as he could. Up on the walkway, Cade stabbed his opponent, kicked the man off his blade, and spun around. His eyes widened.
“Jump!” Ky shouted. “Jump!”
Cade caught Slack by the hand and threw himself over the edge of the walkway. They landed rolling in a snow heap and staggered upright. Seconds later, Ky’s first burn pile exploded, followed a split second later by Paddy’s, setting off a chain reaction that turned the walkway into a whirlwind of flying sparks, blazing chunks of pitch covered wood, and jagged bits of stone.
Ky thrust the screams from his mind. The flames would die all too soon. Feet skidding on ice-slick stones, he dashed up to the runners as arrows pelted the courtyard, hugged Meli to his side, shielding her with his body, and sprinted toward the gate.
He set his shoulder beneath the bar and shoved up.
A fiery blast ripped through the door.
33
As the echoes of her voice died away, Birdie drew a deep breath and steeled herself to withstand the wrath to come. Inali would not look her in the eyes, just stared down at his feet over the rims of his spectacles, mumbling beneath his breath. She turned from him in disgust. Whatever weakness resided in her, in this at least, she would be strong.
But the explosion of fury that she expected did not break.
A hint of amusement twisted the Takhran’s lips, but he did not speak. Just regarded her with wise, knowing eyes that set fear churning in the pit of her stomach.
“I told you she would not yield.” Zahar’s deep voice broke the silence. She turned at last from the column where Rav’s skeletal form was bound, and in the torchlight, her eyes blazed like embers. “My lord, she has refused the talav. Now honor your word. Release him.”
“My dear.” A tint of annoyance crept into the Takhran’s tone. “You know how I honor my word, but no blade can break the bindings.”
“I did not become the leader of your Shantren for naught. Perhaps no blade can break the bindings, but you can. You have your replacement. Twelve there are. Twelve there will remain.”
“The little Songkeeper has a higher calling. Your brother made his choice. As did you.”
“Release him.” Zahar took a step forward, anguish shattering the rigid inflection of her voice. Such depth of feeling seemed to contradict everything Birdie had seen from the woman. “Seventeen years we have served you. You swore to uphold your oath.”
A knife appeared in the Takhran’s hand. “So I did.” He weighed the blade in his hand, then slashed it across his open palm, clenched his hand into a fist, and held it over the man’s restraints. At the first drop of blood, the iron bands cinched tighter and then snapped open. The man fell against the Takhran, and then crumpled to the ground at his feet, shuddering.
“No!” Zahar’s scream startled Birdie.
Until she saw the knife protruding from Rav’s thin chest.
Zahar seized her brother’s shoulders and cradled his limp head until the shuddering ceased and his body stilled. Only then did she seem to awaken to the world around her again. She raised her face to the Takhran, expression devoid of all emotion and all the more
frightening because of it. “You killed him …”
The Takhran bent and jerked the knife free. “I released him.” Dripping blade raised, he twisted around and stared Birdie full in the eye, then dipped his head in salute.
She stumbled back.
Then as if his gaze were the impetus she had needed, she took off at a run, like an arrow from a string. But it was too late. She knew it even as she pushed herself to run harder, heels slamming into the rock with enough force to jar her teeth. She cursed herself for not acting sooner. Caught up in the mystery of the Shantren and the talavs and every puzzling word that fell from the Takhran’s mouth, she had missed her chance.
To be free …
The blow from a wing snapped her from her feet.
She landed hard on her hands and knees, rocks tearing into her palms. Wincing, she twisted over onto her hip and tried to rise, but the raven steed stood over her, hooves penning her in, murderous beak inches from her throat. She could sense its hunger at the scent of blood and closed her hands over the stinging cuts.
“Let her rise.”
At the Takhran’s voice, the beast pulled back, allowing her to push up to her feet. Its beak clamped around her shoulder, blade like tip piercing the flesh and bringing a cry to her lips.
“Bring her here.”
The raven steed spun on skittering hooves and pranced back toward the dome, dragging her with it. The arch of its neck forced her to scramble on tip toe to keep up, pain lancing through her shoulder with each step.
It deposited her at the Takhran’s feet.
Before she could catch her breath, he seized her by the arm and slammed her against the dome. The back of her head smashed into the rock and spirals of light shot across her vision. “So good of you to wait for us, my dear.” The edge of his blade slid into place against her throat, forcing her neck back so she looked up at him. “The sword and crystal, Dah Inali.”
Rolling her eyes down and to the side, Birdie watched Inali remove the Star of the Desert from his satchel and hand it reverently to the Takhran, then kneel and open the flat box he had been carrying. She did not need to see to know what was inside.
Artair’s sword.
“Do you know the other name for a talav?” The Takhran pinched the Star of the Desert between two fingers and lifted it to his eye. “A bloodstone. Fascinating, isn’t it? With the blood drained from your people, I have built my forces. And it is the magic of this place, this hallowed Tal Ethel, that keeps the blood flowing. Yet by the time they truly die, their melodies have waned such that there is no power left in them. Such a waste. Imagine if all that power could be collected at once, in one glorious death.”
Her muscles seized at that, but she dared not move with the knife digging into her throat. She could not speak, could not defend herself.
Could not even beg.
“Long have I sought for Artair’s sword.” The Takhran’s eyes gleamed. “And here at the last, you stumble into my hands, the little Songkeeper and the missing Songkeeper’s blade in answer to my desires.”
“But what is it that you desire, my lord?” Inali sounded genuinely confused. “I have run your errands, done your bidding. I seek only to comprehend your—”
“Be still.” The Takhran’s voice cut across Inali’s. “It is true that the whole world turns upon the notes of the Song, and yet the master melody is not alone. It is fraught with moments of disharmony and discord, a thousand melodies warring with one another to become paramount. In this, my melody has triumphed.”
His voice rose in tempo and volume, and the pressure of the blade increased against Birdie’s neck as his grip tightened, knuckles standing out rigid and white against his skin. Strangled sobs built in her throat. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold them back.
“You were not meant to wear a talav, little one, nor to become one of the twelve. You have a much higher purpose.” He leaned in closer, as if to impart a secret. “In this . . . beautiful . . . disharmony I have orchestrated, the Songkeeper is slain by the Songkeeper’s blade, and in the slaying, the most powerful talav imaginable is created, housed in the greatest crystal in Leira. It is . . . a pity . . . that you will not witness its glory.”
Something like regret passed across his face.
An instant, then it was gone.
He reached behind. “The sword, Dah Inali.”
“But, my lord, you—”
“The sword.”
Birdie drew a final breath into her lungs and closed her eyes, waiting for the strike to fall. But instead of a blade whistling through the air, Inali’s agonized scream rang out, followed by the clatter of metal on stone. Her eyes flew open again.
Inali stumbled into view, clutching a hand to his chest.
“A Songling should know better.” Zahar’s dull voice drew Birdie’s eyes down, to where the woman knelt beside the lifeless form of her brother. “Here of all places, the blade will not suffer an unclean hand.”
“Then you must do it.” The Takhran’s tone allowed for no argument.
“I am less a Songkeeper than the boy . . . but I do not fear pain.” Slowly, as if each movement bore the knell of doom, Zahar rose, wound the hem of her robe around her hand, and knelt to retrieve the sword. The hilt sizzled in her grip and steam rose in coils.
But she did not cry out.
Over the Takhran’s mail clad shoulder, Birdie met her eyes and recoiled from the hate broiling in their depths. But it was not directed at her. Mouth set in a snarl, Zahar seized the talav around her own neck and slid the sword across the chain, splitting it like a sapling twig. The crystal shattered into a thousand flying shards on the stones at her feet.
The skin on one half of her face shriveled.
It happened in an instant. One moment, Zahar’s face was flawless. The next, blackened edges surrounded a raw and blistered center where a waxy thatch of muscle, sinew, and bone was visible. The breath rasped in her throat, and one arm dangled limp at her side, the hand seized into a claw.
Birdie gazed upon the wreck and ruin of the woman and could scarce comprehend it.
“Free …” A harsh sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob burst from Zahar’s throat. She swayed and nearly fell, but caught herself with the tip of the sword on the ground, intent upon the Takhran. “You are a liar.” She spat the words through ruined lips. “You slew my brother and stole both our lives. But now . . . I am free.”
Reeling like a drunkard, she lunged at the Takhran.
He shoved Birdie away and turned aside Zahar’s strike with a sweep of his knife. Heart hammering, Birdie rolled over the top of the dome, putting it between her and the fight. Had she a weapon, she would have charged into the fray. As it was, there was nothing she could do but watch and wait for an opening. Although Zahar was armed with a sword and the Takhran with naught but a knife, it became clear within moments that she had no chance against him. He fought with a savage ferocity that left her battered and bewildered, and he reveled in his mastery.
With a screech, the raven steed plunged into the fight, wings and forelegs beating the air, and Birdie knew that it was over. Zahar sidestepped a hoof-strike and delivered a heavy blow to its neck, releasing a spray of feathers and blood. But the maneuver brought her within the Takhran’s reach. Before she could retreat, he seized her shoulder and dragged her closer.
Onto the knife in his hand.
Zahar’s cry echoed through the Pit. Her body convulsed on the Takhran’s blade, and he held her there, gazing into her eyes for what seemed an age before flinging her away. She collapsed beside Rav. A crimson stain seeped through her robe and spilled into the empty streambed, pooling around the Takhran’s feet.
“I gave you everything.” He spat the words over her body, then turned with a sweep of his robe and stalked back to the dome, one fist clenched to his forehead.
Birdie seized her chance. Half r
unning, half crawling, she scrambled to Zahar’s side. The woman’s burned face had gone slack and cold. There was no life left in her limbs. Huddled beside her, Birdie’s gaze leapt to the shocked expression on Inali’s face, to the raven steed preening the feathers around its wound, and to the Takhran slumped against the dome, scrubbing the blade of his knife on his own robe.
Anger heated her blood to action.
Her hands were steady as she pried Artair’s sword from Zahar’s grip. The blade had eaten through the cloth Zahar had wrapped around her hand, and frost darkened her skin. Something about this hallowed place seemed to make the sword more potent and deadly than ever.
Gritting her teeth against the cold, Birdie hefted the blade in both hands and rose.
The raven steed screamed at her. Didn’t attack. Just stuck out its long neck, revealing the crimson jewel planted in its iron collar, and screeched, as if the sound alone could frighten her off. Her first stroke tore through one wing, severing feathers and cracking the bone. That earned a real scream. Then the beast struck, beak clashing against her blade. A stray hoof caught her in the side, but she dodged in close and slashed the blade across its throat.
Its knees buckled and it fell with a thud.
The Takhran’s pale blue eyes flickered up when she was scarce a step away, and surprise, disbelief, and disdain flashed across his features in less than a second. Mouth open in a wordless cry she lunged forward and stabbed the blade deep into his chest.
34
The force of the blast slammed into Ky, flinging him backward. His head smacked the ground, jarring his teeth, and sending waves of pain through his head. The world blurred into flickers of movement and blinding bursts of color, but no sound.
No sound but a high pitched keening in his ears.
Gasping, he rolled up onto his hands and knees, pain stabbing his side, head throbbing. He caught a flash of a dozen Khelari materializing out of the broiling smoke, then a glimpse of Cade leaping to fight them, Paddy at his side, and Syd with a sword in his hands.
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