“This is not possible,” snorted one of his generals. “The Commonwealth would not attack Norterra.”
“That’s what they’re doing,” gasped the messenger after drinking more water. “Lord Bahlen sent me to call for reinforcements. Our defenses are not yet complete at the wreth city. We beg your help, Sire.”
Kollanan rested his war hammer on his shoulder. “You shall have it. Lasis, with me! We will gather troops immediately and ride out.” He knew that at a gallop, they could reach Bahlen’s city while the battle still raged. Under normal circumstances, it would take half a day to move such a large fighting force, but Koll didn’t waste a minute. He shouted around the room. “We move out with every fighter! Call in the patrols around Fellstaff. They are mounted and ready. There’s no time to lose.”
As the advisors and military commanders rapidly discussed which companies and squads they could call together, Rondo stood without moving. “My men will never raise our blades against the Commonwealth.”
Furious, Kollanan wanted to raise his hammer and bash in the arrogant captain’s skull, but he stopped himself. He had no time for that. “I no longer trust you or your men, Captain.” He shouted out into the corridor, summoning five of the castle guards. “You are confined to the barracks, all of you, while the rest of my soldiers go defend my town. I will deal with you when I return.”
Rondo looked cold and furious as armed guards surrounded him, waiting. Koll did not let his glare falter. “I will have you bound if necessary, Captain.” The man turned his back on the king and strode out of the chamber. The king called after the guards. “See that they all are held and guarded. I want no trouble from them.”
The agitated lords stood around the table, ready to rush off to fight for Yanton. Kollanan used his passion to sweep his wife into his arms, crushed her to him, and gave her a long, hard kiss. He stroked the side of her face, her hair. “I will be back after saving my people, beloved.”
“I know you will.”
With his loyal Brava at his side, the king ran out of the room as the urgency continued to build around him. He could raise a few hundred soldiers for an immediate response, and many more would come in a second wave within hours.
Kollanan the Hammer headed off to war, but it was not the war he had prepared for.
88
SHADRI lowered herself toward the mysterious pit, where unanswered questions drew her like a flame draws a moth. From above came the sound of enemy soldiers riding in at the main gate, a clash of swords, neighing horses, battle cries. Alarmed, she called up, “Elliel is there! Shouldn’t we go help her?”
Thon stood where the rope was anchored to the tree. “I am confident in Elliel’s abilities, but you, scholar girl—even with your skills and great knowledge—are not a warrior.”
“I never said I was.” She scolded herself under her breath. “Of all the things I’ve learned, why did I not teach myself swordplay? Too late now, I suppose.”
At the main gates, where Bahlen’s workers had been rebuilding, the roar of violence seemed to reach a crescendo. But would other groups of marauders spread out in search of another way in? The nearby city walls had crumbling gaps where attackers could break in … and Shadri and Thon were alone here.
Within minutes, Thon said, “Marauders have discovered a breach in the wall not far from here. They have horses and swords and torches.”
From the rim of the sinkhole, Thon flashed a glance down at Shadri. “I am the only one to stand against them now.” He looked around at the crumbling buildings, the strange sculptures, the soaring wreth arches, then nodded toward the pit at bottom of the crater. “Hide yourself. Leave the rest to me.”
In a rush of worry, Shadri asked, “Can you handle them?” She lowered herself toward the gaping hole, her feet slipping on the slope.
“I have my own powers,” Thon assured her. “They haven’t seen me yet, but I want you safe.”
“And I want all of us safe—” Shadri gasped as her heel caught on a loose flagstone that broke away, pattered down the incline, and plunged without sound into the black opening. Her heart raced and she wondered if this was a good idea after all. “I sure hope there’s something down in that hole.”
Thon cocked his ears. “You will find something, if only shadows and mysteries.” He held a hand up for quiet, and then he dashed away.
Shadri sighed. “Shadows and mysteries it is.” She couldn’t understand why this conflict was even happening, and she worried about Elliel at the gates. Who was attacking? She swallowed hard and focused on her descent.
She reached the edge of the dark hole, where stones had broken off around the rim; others were loose, resembling teeth in an open mouth. Bracing herself at the edge as best she could, she wiped her hands dry on her shirt.
This is where I wanted to go, she reminded herself. Grasping the rope again, she lowered herself into the cold, whispering emptiness. Her feet dangled, and she kicked out, striving for some kind of foothold. Blackness seemed to snatch at her feet, but her toe touched something solid. She rested her weight and gathered her courage.
Questions called her from below, and Thon wanted her where the marauders couldn’t see her. She drew in a deep breath. She was afraid for her friends, but she wasn’t afraid of the dark and she wasn’t afraid of mysteries, was she? No, this was where she wanted to be. Shadri descended into the blackness.
* * *
Lord Cade’s punitive army had arrived at Yanton, an unremarkable town, and after pillaging and setting the buildings on fire, had followed the refugees to a much more impressive target, the partially restored wreth city. While the central ranks confronted the workers and soldiers that Bahlen rallied into position at the main gate, Cade sent outriders around the perimeter to find any weaknesses in the defensive walls.
When she swore her service as a Brava, Elliel had never imagined she would have to fight Commonwealth forces. Horsemen rode in, followed by ranks of armed foot soldiers. They weren’t supposed to be enemies!
She fixated upon the banners of Lord Cade, to whom she had first given her loyalty. From serving him, she knew about his illicit Isharan workforce, but her Brava heritage left her more inclined to hate Isharans than feel sympathy for them. She had grudgingly accepted Cade’s work camps, without thinking much about them.
Now, however, she knew how monstrous Cade truly was. Elliel touched the rune of forgetting on her cheek. Why did she hate Isharans? They were far away, and their crime against Valaera was centuries in the past, but Cade had ravished her, disgraced her, betrayed her. She had never hated anyone so much in her life. She had reason for her own personal vengewar.
As the punitive troops charged forward, waving their swords and goading their horses into a full gallop, Elliel pressed her ramer hard around her wrist and barely felt the bite of the golden fangs that ignited her magic. Flames engulfed her clenched fist and burned in her blood.
Nearby, Lord Bahlen held his sword high, bracing himself. “Why would Konag Mandan order this?”
Elliel pushed her way to the front of the defenders as they howled a resounding reply to the invaders. Utho must be behind this scheme, for purposes of his own. The thought made her anger grow even stronger.
Bahlen’s soldiers formed a solid defensive line along the repaired walls, ready to block the onslaught with spears and swords. Elliel felt sick as she watched Cade’s forces split up, while the frontal charge slammed into the main gates.
The cavalry lines crashed with a thunderclap of swords, screams, and moans. Horses pawed the air. Cade’s foot soldiers shoved forward, running at full speed as they found reserves of energy after their long march. Elliel’s ramer burned brighter than all the torches at the wall.
As they fought, though, she sensed a hesitation in Bahlen’s fighters. They were determined to defend themselves and protect the Yanton refugees who had taken shelter inside the city, but they had expected to fight inhuman wreths, not citizens of the Commonwealth … citizens who followed orders is
sued by Konag Mandan.
Elliel felt a knot in her stomach, too. Cade was the man who had steered them here, who had whipped them into a murderous rage. Anger reverberated inside her mind and radiated outward, as if it had taken on a life of its own. Surely everyone in the city could feel that dark force simmering here in the ruins. Elliel wondered if the wreth blood in her veins would help her now. With her finemail cape and blazing ramer, she felt invincible.
Among the charging soldiers, she saw a matching bright flare of fire from a ramer in among Cade’s forces. Her heart froze as the sick suspicion shot through her. Was it Utho himself? No, Utho would ride at the front, and this Brava was several lines back. The second ramer slashed back and forth like a beacon.
After abusing and banishing Elliel, had Cade tricked some other Brava into bonded service? Knowing the lord’s flaws and crimes, how could any Brava balance honor with a vow of loyalty to that man? Was it possible he didn’t know what had happened?
The second ramer struck down two horses in Bahlen’s cavalry advance. Norterran soldiers tumbled to the ground. She noted the fighting tactics and questioned whether the man was actually trying to kill the people or simply take them out of the fight.
Making up her mind to stop the opposing Brava, Elliel pushed her way through the fighting. Cade’s soldiers raced toward her, some of them wild with bloodlust, others wise enough to show fear as they faced her. One tall warrior swung a two-handed sword in a blow that would have cleaved her in half, had she not blocked the blade with her ramer and slashed hard. The boiling fury seemed to be a living but unnatural thing within her, something she couldn’t control, and the fiery blade melted her opponent’s broadsword in half. Backing away, the man dropped the smoking, dripping red end. Elliel kicked him hard with her boot and knocked him backward without killing him.
Two other fighters raised swords against her, coming from two sides at once, and she also melted their swords. When a third man charged with a battle ax, she had no choice but to lop off his hand. He stared at the smoking stump and collapsed in a dead faint.
As she pushed forward, her incandescent ramer posed an obvious threat. Cade’s soldiers backed away, their forward momentum broken by Bahlen’s concentrated defense, and the front lines spread out.
Elliel kept fighting, striking at the weapons wielded against her, blinding one soldier, driving two others into each other. A volley of arrows streaked toward her, but her living anger seemed to enhance her reflexes. Her slashing ramer became a thick shield of fire that cut the smoking shafts in half. One arrow just missed her but pierced her finemail cape and hung there. She snapped it off and discarded the ends, feeling her anger intensify further. Elliel had never felt like this. The power seemed to be growing from the heart of the old city.
She meant to find and defeat the rival Brava, whoever it was, but as she worked her way toward the bright ramer, she saw something familiar nearby, a shield, a sword. But she could only see the man’s sneer, emphasized by a thin and perfectly barbered line of beard along the jaw of a face that filled her with loathing.
Cade.
He saw her coming. “Elliel, I thought it might be you! King Kollanan couldn’t send his other Brava?” Cade chuckled sarcastically. “You caused a crisis that could have rocked the three kingdoms, and now you fight against the Commonwealth itself.” He grimaced. “See, you are exactly the traitor I made you out to be.”
The wild, animated anger became a raging sun within her. Her ramer brightened, extended. This vile man had drugged her, forced himself upon her when she could not fight him off. Not satisfied merely to rape her, though, Cade had to humiliate her, strip her of her livelihood and all dignity.
Watching her expression change and the fluid rage take possession of her, Cade faltered. He raised his sword and backed away, but Elliel’s threat continued to swell. Even though she wasn’t herself, she was in perfect control.
“I remember, Cade. I remember everything.”
She threw herself upon him.
* * *
Once he saw Shadri descend into the darkness beneath the sinkhole, Thon went to face the marauding company that had slipped through the gap in the wall. He counted forty of them, leering and hooting as if this were a game rather than a military action.
By knowing Elliel, loving her, and understanding who she was as a Brava, Thon comprehended her core of honor. It was strange, but admirable. He carried a similar trait within himself, though it was far more ancient, more primal. He felt no loyalty to either faction of the wreths—who were still enigmas to him—but to something independent, neutral, and nurturing.
Now these brigands rode in search of refugees or stragglers. They would cause havoc inside the city, strike the defenders from behind. Thon was just one person, but he was enough to stop them.
The riders hurled their torches into the dead shrubbery or the open windows of ancient structures. “Come out!” one of the marauders mocked. “Come out and meet the konag’s justice!”
“This is not justice,” Thon said in a low voice. They had not spotted him yet, but he did not try to hide. His dark hair, pale skin, and gray garments gave him a ghostly appearance as he moved among the ruins. He could feel a lingering energy in the ancient sculptures, the dead fountains, the magical turrets that had once blasted celebratory flames into the air.
Thon paused. How had he remembered that detail? Or were the memories imprinted on the stone carvings and now leaked out for any susceptible person to receive? Around him, the city resonated with echoes. A great deal of fighting and killing had been done here long ago, and the ruins remembered.
At the main gate, the clash of battle grew louder. Thrumming through the air, borne on the cold night breezes, he sensed an awakening anger amplified by the wreth ruins. A long time ago this place had been under siege, and became a casualty of the ancient wars; now it was just a ghostly shell filled with legends and pain. Thon felt that pain, and he used it.
“I am here!” he shouted to the brigands, his voice amplified by the weight of history and legend around him.
The riders wheeled their horses about and charged toward him, seeing only one person standing there, one enemy they could easily defeat.
Deep within, Thon felt a change, something cracking … something awakened by the anger exuded by Elliel, by all the defenders of the city, and by the ruins themselves. That dark energy inside him formed a shadowy flame fed by anger and ugliness.
As Thon stepped forward to meet the oncoming soldiers, his movements were faster and smoother, as if he were slithering. His mind filled with shards of shadow, and his eyes widened to take in more darkness, more flickers of fire. When he opened his mouth, he sensed fangs. When he lunged forward, he grew stronger, larger. Within him, all he could feel were scales, claws, and exploding anger.
The darkness became an obsidian flame that drank all light and reflected back sharp edges and fear. Thon drew upon the anger in the air. He didn’t know what was happening, nor could he control it, but he felt himself becoming invincible. He let out a roar.
89
THE godling rampaged through the Magnifica square.
The destruction would have seemed glorious if the ravening entity had harmed only its real enemies, but this was a disaster, creating a wide swath of collateral damage. Wielding massive arms of smoke and solidified vengeance, the godling rooted out Hethrren and ripped down the walls of buildings where they ran to hide. It blasted out timbers, extended roiling tentacles into windows, and tore apart any barbarian it found.
But in doing so, the thing left structures in flames with roofs collapsing and brick towers crumbling. The frenzied entity ricocheted around the temple plaza, energized by all the worshippers. Hethrren lay mangled and dead within moments, their horses crushed. And the godling surged on.
Though Klovus felt transformed by the power and struggled to exert control, the godling slipped through his mental grasp. Nothing could stop the pent-up emotions the people had created with their sa
crifices and prayers. Back in Tamburdin, he had scorned Priestlord Neré for not being able to control her godling, and this one was far more powerful, far more enraged.
As people fled screaming from the plaza, Klovus saw four nondescript worshippers standing in front of him. They did not flinch. “You once trained us to fight a godling, Key Priestlord,” Zaha said. “We will try to rein it in now.”
“Go!” Klovus knew he might be sending them to their deaths, but it seemed his best chance to slow the godling.
On the perimeter of the temple square, the godling smashed the sacrificial stands in a storm of unchecked faith and primal desires. A food vendor’s cart erupted into splinters. A wine seller’s casks were thrown like pebbles into the air and exploded in a gush of red liquid.
The Black Eels fought their way to the rampaging entity and were joined by three more nondescript assassins who emerged from the panicked crowd. Everyone else ran away from the tempest.
When Zaha and his companions had once battled the Serepol godling during training in the underground vaults, several of them had died, and others had been injured. Klovus had been able to control the godling and pull it back to the spelldoor after the test.
But now it was loose. Klovus doubted anything could hold such a monster in check—the monster he had created, nurtured, and then unleashed. In search of more Hethrren, the godling continued to smash structures.
The terrified worshippers had scattered into alleys and streets, and now that the crowd had thinned, Klovus could run after the entity and try to bring it under control. His gold chain jingled against his chest and he panted with both fear and exertion. He fought to concentrate and use his link to pull back the deity, but the thing did not obey.
Klovus had ascended through the priesthood ranks because of his affinity for the godlings—and this godling was his. But now he fought and strained until his head was about to burst. Every time he thought he had a grasp, whenever he began to reel the godling back toward the temple, it slipped away.
Vengewar Page 44