The creatures seemed to amble aimlessly, their milk-white eyes fixed on their companions or the road beneath their feet. Yet they flowed in a steady stream past the other temples, straight toward the Temple of Whispers, where monstrosities by the hundreds already clustered around the sealed vault door of the Mistress’ sanctuary. The very temple seemed to shudder beneath Kodyn’s feet as the creatures shoved against the stone walls.
Horror thrummed within him. Keeper’s teeth! They’re trying to break in!
His mind flashed back to the strange creatures he’d seen in Groebus’ underground laboratory. “The herd”, Hallar’s Warriors had called them. Yet the multitude below could easily match the population of the Artisan’s Tier man for man.
“What in the fiery hell are they?” he hissed at Ennolar.
The Arch-Guardian’s fingers formed a sign he didn’t recognize.
Briana’s face turned a sickly, ashen grey. “Stumblers!” The word came out in a faint gasp. “B-But I thought they were only legend!”
“They are and are not.” Ennolar’s expression darkened. “The legends speak of creatures animated by dark magic, but there is no magic at work here. It is black alchemy. A potion that kills its victims, then reanimates their corpses, turning them into…that.” His hand gestured to the emaciated, ragged monstrosities.
“Wait,” Kodyn said, “this is one of your secrets at work here?” His jaw clenched. “Something from your temple has been used to create these—”
Fury flashed in Ennolar’s eyes. “Never!” For a moment, he appeared a heartbeat from lashing out at Kodyn. He managed to wrestle himself under control, though his fingers moved in short, sharp gestures. “Whatever did this is a creation so unspeakably foul that it was erased from existence by our priesthood three thousand years ago. No written records remain, not even of its name. It is simply spoken of among the Guardians, a warning passed down by word of mouth to those chosen to lead the guardians of our Mistress’ secrets. No one could know of its existence!”
“And yet, somehow Groebus got his hands on enough to make them!” Kodyn’s words came out harsh, clipped with anger. “He ordered his men to give me some of that glowing purple shite I brought back, then to throw me in with the herd. Those things!” He jabbed a finger at the slow-moving creatures flooding the Temple District. “Which means he either found a stash of it that you and your priests didn’t destroy, or he found a way to make his own.”
Ennolar’s eyebrows shot up. “That vial you brought us?” His expression grew suddenly pensive. “The same thing Hallar’s Warriors intended to pour into the Heartspring.”
Kodyn sucked in a breath as realization dawned on him. “They weren’t trying to poison the water!”
Beside him, Briana gasped. “They were going to turn everyone in Shalandra into Stumblers!”
The brazen depravity of the plan staggered Kodyn. The creatures below seemed mindless, aimless save for a seeming desire to break into the temple, yet there were tens of thousands. He could only imagine what the Iron Warlord would do with an army comprised of every man, woman, and child in Shalandra turned into one of those shambling abominations. No army on Einan would be large enough to stop him.
A shudder ran down Kodyn’s spine. Even if Tethum couldn’t get in the Tomb of Hallar, he would bring on the Final Destruction, one way or another.
Chapter Four
Horror rooted Aisha in place for a heartbeat as hundreds of the hideous, slack-featured creatures lurched toward them, an overwhelming tide of walking corpses.
Danger! The shout in her mind snapped her from her numbness. The spirits within her—victims of the Keeper’s Blades, bound in death to those black swords, freed by Imbuka and now gathered within Aisha’s Serenii pendant—had warned her of the approaching swarm.
She had to act.
“Get the Pharus to the palace!” Aisha raced toward the line of black-armored soldiers that had formed in front of the pavilion—a pavilion where Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres himself sat in conference with the delegation from the lower castes. “Now!”
The Indomitable officer in charge—the two horizontal silver stripes on his helmet’s blue band marked him as a Sentinel—seemed bewildered, both at the enemy they faced and her command. Aisha wore simple clothing and no headband. Her skin, a few shades darker than theirs, marked her as an outsider. Her shouts meant nothing to soldiers trained to follow only their commanding officers.
But the Indomitables that had stood at the South Gate knew what she could do. They had listened to her impassioned speech for peace, had seen the people throw down their weapons. Those were the soldiers that moved first, abandoning their position on Death Row and hustling toward the Pharus’ pavilion.
The last of the Keeper’s Blades, the one called Invictus Tannard, broke off from his battle with the slow-moving wall of creatures and now raced toward them. “The Pharus, to the palace!” The blood staining his face made him seem somehow paler; fear sparkled in his eyes, a stark contrast to the unflappable soldier that had stood before the rioting Mahjuri determined to fight to the end. Something about these creatures had shaken him.
And for good reason. In the ten seconds that had elapsed since their first appearance, more than a thousand of the hideous things had appeared from the side streets along the Keeper’s Tier, spilling down the Path of Gold toward them. So many enemies, all in what those around her had likely believed the safest place in Shalandra.
Safe no longer! Aisha turned and raced into the pavilion.
The moment she burst into the tent, the ten Indomitables guarding the Pharus reacted immediately, drawing swords and throwing themselves between her and their monarch.
“Stop!” Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres’ voice rang out in the pavilion.
The soldiers froze, steel khopeshes dangerously close to Aisha’s neck, chest, and upraised arms.
Aisha’s eyes went to Shalandra’s ruler, seated in the ornately carved wooden chair at the head of the table. “My Pharus, you need to get to the palace at once!”
Before she had finished speaking, a rush of Indomitables stampeded into the tent. Invictus Tannard burst in on their heels. “Bright One, we are under attack. We need to get you to safety.”
The Pharus was on his feet in an instant. “Attack? Who would dare—?”
“Now, Bright One!” Tannard’s roar cut off his monarch’s words mid-sentence. “There’s no time for delay.”
The Pharus moved with surprising speed for a monarch. He slipped out from behind the table and cleared the distance to Tannard in the space of a heartbeat. Yet he stopped at the door and turned to the stunned, panicked delegates still seated around the negotiation table.
“Come!” He beckoned to them. “We must get to safety.”
“Bright One, you are my primary concern,” Tannard insisted. “Once you are safe, we can—”
“All of us.” Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres rounded on the Invictus, his eyes flashing. “They are the voice of the people. We must protect our people at all costs!” His words rang with a note of regal command, imperious, unwavering in his insistence.
Growling, Tannard turned to the delegates. “Hurry it up, then!”
The first sounds of battle began filtering through the pavilion’s cloth walls. Shouted orders, screams of pain, the meaty thunk of sharp steel biting deep into unarmored flesh. All underscored by that horrible dry rattling.
The Kabili husband and wife found their feet first, followed a heartbeat later by the three Earaqi farmers. The Mahjuri delegates, however, moved far slower. The man, one of Aterallis’ disciples, struggled to help the white-haired soothsayer from her chair. Age slowed her movements and weakened her limbs.
Aisha raced to her side and lent a hand. Together, she and the Mahjuri man lifted the old woman from her chair and, between them, helped her to hurry out of the pavilion.
The Path of Gold was a scene of chaos and death. The Pharus’ honor guard, more than a hundred Indomitables, had closed the distance
to the swarm of creatures. Bright steel swords rose and fell in a steady rhythm, biting deep into flesh, hewing down the monstrosities. Yet for every one they killed, ten more joined the ranks. The corpse-like things surged from every back alley and street around the Keeper’s Tier, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands.
Where did they all come from? And what in the fiery hell are they?
All up and down Death Row, the creatures swarmed from the shadows, a slow-moving tide of death. They lurched toward the Dhukari and Alqati that had come to spectate the negotiations with the lower castes. Shalandra’s wealthiest died beneath rending talons, slavering jaws, or were trampled by those desperate to escape.
Yet there was no safety. More screams echoed from behind Aisha. She risked a glance backward, down Death Row toward the gate that led to the Defender’s Tier below. The Indomitables holding the gate were locked in a desperate battle with a swarm of monstrosities lurching up the main avenue. Even as they fought to repel the creatures staggering up the broad avenue, more fell upon them from behind. Cries of terror and shrieks of pain echoed off the golden sandstone walls ringing the Keeper’s Tier.
Fingers of dread sent a chill down Aisha’s spine. Death held Shalandra in an iron grip. The Azure Rot had consumed the people of the lowest tiers. Riots had led to the deaths of thousands, agitators, defenders, and innocents alike. Now, hideous corpses had risen to ravage the upper tiers.
But Aisha couldn’t think about everyone she couldn’t help, couldn’t save; she had to focus on those she could. Aterallis had given his life to bring peace to Shalandra, to calm the rioting crowds enough to agree to this negotiation with the Pharus. Yet if the delegates died beneath that wall of twisted, tainted flesh, his sacrifice would have been in vain.
The man’s spirit had dissipated, his mission fulfilled, yet the ghostly echoes of his emotions remained. Aisha felt a compelling urge to ensure that the people and the Pharus reached an accord to restore order to the city. That would only happen if they survived this attack.
The gates to the Palace of Golden Eternity loomed ahead of her, yet it seemed an endless distance away. The soothsayer could only move at a hobbling shuffle. Behind her, Indomitables fought a desperate retreat, battling to hold off the creatures long enough for their ruler to reach safety.
Sweat trickled down Aisha’s spine; it took all her self-control not to simply lift the ancient Mahjuri woman and haul her up Death Row. The sight of the Indomitables falling one by one to the throng of creatures filled her with an instinctive fear. Yet she fought back the surge of terror. Panic would only slow her thoughts. She had to remain sharp, level-headed if she was going to be of any use here.
“Break off!” Tannard’s voice rang along Death Row. “Retreat to the palace!”
Aisha cast a glance back just as the embattled Indomitables gave ground before their enemies. The rearmost turned to race up the avenue, but those in the front ranks could not disengage so easily. Long seconds passed before they managed to break off. In that time, another ten fell to the grasping claws and crushing weight of the monstrosities. Only sixty of the original one hundred managed to retreat along the broad avenue and join the procession heading up toward the palace’s gates.
The Pharus refused to enter safety first, no matter how much Tannard growled and insisted. He waited until Aisha and the Mahjuri passed through the gates behind the Kabili and Earaqi delegates before finally hurrying into the massive courtyard surrounding the palace.
“Into the palace!” the Pharus called.
Aisha released her grip on the ancient soothsayer and snagged the sleeve of one Earaqi farmer. “Help her get inside!” she shouted. Without waiting for his answer, she turned and raced toward the stone steps carved into the wall a short distance from the gates. She took the stairs two at a time, joining the Indomitables hustling up to the ramparts a full four stories above the palace courtyard.
From her vantage point atop the wall, she had a clear view of the entire city.
The Keeper’s Tier was awash with the monstrosities, a hideous tide of filthy, emaciated flesh and bone that swept across the mansions of the wealthiest Shalandrans. The Dhukari and Alqati that had come to spectate the negotiations, men and women wearing golden and blue headbands and luxurious robes, were swept away by the creatures spilling from all corners of the uppermost tier.
The gate to the Defender’s Tier had fallen, and the hideous beasts flooded through the gateway—heading up Death Row to join their shuffling, shambling comrades. The pavilion had been crushed beneath the creatures’ feet, the wreckage trampled into the golden dust. The two throngs collided, merged, and surged up the main avenue toward the palace, a single, relentless wave that would crash against the palace gates.
Below the Defender’s Tier, creatures swarmed the rest of Shalandra. A tide of ragged brown and grey figures shuffled along the still-burning Artisan’s Tier, clashed with the rioters on the Cultivator’s Tier, and crunched through the crumbling homes on the Slave’s Tier.
Battles raged at the city gates. The Indomitables and Blades holding the South and East Gates fought to stem the tide of monstrosities. The West Gate stood undefended, thrown wide, and a long line of slow-moving figures surged onto the plains south of the city. There, they diverged into two streams: one heading toward Shalandran farmlands, the other moving inexorably in the direction of the caravans, wagons, and carts backed up along the trade route.
“Get those gates closed!” A shout from below her snapped Aisha’s attention back to her immediate surroundings.
The last of the Indomitables rushed up Death Row, barely twenty steps ahead of the tide of creatures. Those too wounded to move under their own strength were aided by comrades only fractionally less bloodied and battered. They struggled to reach the gate before they were trampled or torn apart. Two men fell, too weakened by blood loss and pain to continue. Their companions lifted them bodily and staggered up the hill to the safety of the palace.
“Now!” came the call.
A deep, throaty boom echoed through the courtyard. The gate had been closed. They were safe.
For now. Somehow, it seemed those creatures had appeared throughout the entire city, almost as if by magic. Wherever they’d come from, whatever had summoned them, there was no escaping them now.
All five tiers had fallen to this new enemy in the space of a few minutes. Nowhere was safe. All the people of Shalandra could do was hide in their homes and pray to their god the creatures would pass them by or their Pharus would rescue them.
But the Pharus would be too busy fighting for survival to aid his people. The palace could hold out, but for how long? The embattled Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades around Shalandra might have a chance of pushing back the creatures, yet that was a faint hope.
Aisha’s gut clenched as her eyes drifted west, in the direction of the mansion where she’d left Kodyn the previous night. The towering walls and sharp spires of the Hall of the Beyond blocked her view. She had no idea where he was or what sort of trouble he’d gotten into. He had been angry, driven by his desire for vengeance against the people that had hurt his friends. She’d tried to talk him out of doing anything rash, but he was headstrong, driven by his fury. She could only hope she’d gotten through to him.
Aisha touched a hand to the pendant at her throat. Please, she prayed to the Kish’aa. Please keep him safe!
The spirits surged within her, their energy crackling through her veins, pushing back her fatigue and fueling her with vitality. Their words rang in her mind with such force her head ached.
Yet there was a new edge to their voices, an echo of horror that surprised Aisha. The Kish’aa seemed to recoil from the creatures below, as if afraid or repulsed by them.
Her brow furrowed and she focused on the unusual sensation. Something about the spirits and their reaction to the creatures felt strangely…off. They had warned her of danger, yet there was more to it, a threat the Kish’aa couldn’t put into words, or that she couldn’t unders
tand.
The nagging feeling persisted in the back of her mind. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but something about these monsters was very, very wrong.
Chapter Five
“Issa!”
For a moment, Issa thought she was dreaming. Hallucinating, exhausted from the days of sleeplessness and the rush of battle. The endless hacking, slashing, cutting, chopping attacks were all that kept the tide of monstrous creatures from sweeping her away. Her armor had turned aside their clawing fingers, but the moment her arms stopped moving and her sword fell still, they would overwhelm her. She would be trampled and torn to shreds.
And her arms were growing so tired. She’d had nothing to eat save the morsel Evren shared with her nearly twelve hours earlier. She’d spent the last three days in an endless cycle of fighting and running, running and fighting. She had battled Syndicate thugs, Gatherer cultists, and Hallar’s Warriors. Now, she faced an overwhelming enemy that she could not hope to defeat.
She wouldn’t go down without a fight, but if she fought much longer, she would go down. It was inevitable. One warrior, no matter how skilled and strong, couldn’t bring down thousands.
The call came again. “Issa!”
That voice, so familiar, pierced the rush of blood in her ears. It took her exhausted mind a few moments to register the call.
Hykos? It wasn’t her imagination.
She hacked down three of the hideous creatures with a single slash, buying herself a heartbeat’s calm in the middle of the battle. In that instant, her eyes snapped toward the sound of Hykos’ voice.
His voice was real. He was real. A towering wall of black steel armor stained with Stumbler blood, his crimson-tinged sword rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He cut through the ranks of creatures with a snarl on his lips and fire burning in his dark eyes.
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