The tunnels were huge and winding, with side passages that curved off, plunging even deeper beneath the city, while others opened under the main wreth buildings. She walked cautiously, making sure she could remember her way back.
The stone walls were so smooth they glistened like metal, as if they had been polished by a release of extreme energy. As she moved forward with whispering footsteps, she felt a simmering presence, an energy like the glow of a dying campfire. But it was not light and warmth like the coals in a hearth; rather, this was dark and cold, throbbing.
The main passage turned, bent, snaked. Shadri explored cautiously, making as little sound as possible. Following a curve, she held her candle in front of her and came upon a monster.
Startled, she drew back. The flickering candle flame illuminated a ferocious visage, the angular form, the sharp spines and scales, the hinge of the jaw, the long teeth. It was a dragon … yet more than a dragon.
She froze, but the thing didn’t move, and as its black surface drank the orange light, she realized it was a large carving of a hunched dragon, a hulking reptilian creature chiseled out of solid shadowglass. Instead of the familiar dragon wings and long lizardlike body, though, this dragon had a twisted torso, extra arms—human or wreth arms, as if meant to represent some kind of amalgam of a dragon and wreth. Or Kur, perhaps? Along with Ossus? The god and the dragon together as one?
Studying the terrifying sculpture buried beneath the wreth city—much as the world dragon dwelled beneath the Dragonspine Mountains—she thought about the evil and hatred extracted from Kur and manifested in the form of a giant dragon. Such potent evil and destruction could take many forms, not just the shape of a reptilian monster.
Daring herself, she touched the sculpture’s smooth shadowglass surface. Had the dragon’s intrinsic evil somehow manipulated the wreths, making the two races try to annihilate each other instead of carrying out their sacred mission? Had the dragon’s insidious darkness leaked out and emerged as smaller dragons? Could this current war—the Commonwealth versus Ishara—be yet another manifestation of the great dragon’s corruption? If the dragon at the heart of the world was the one thing that must be destroyed above all else, surely it was the evil of Ossus that drove great nations to fight. Shadri began to wonder if Ossus himself was just a reflection of what was fundamentally wrong with the hearts and souls of wreths. And humans.
How was the human race supposed to fight against the flaws of a god?
The dragon sculpture suddenly turned intensely cold beneath her fingers, and frost crackled on its surface. She jerked her hand away, looking uneasily back down the passage. She was surrounded by the weight of ghosts from so many generations of wreths who had lived and died here.
Her heartbeat seemed to echo in the oppressive shadows. A cold, dark force seemed to be emanating from this symbol, this shadowglass figure, and it was growing stronger.
Far away she could hear a clamor of the marauders shouting, horses whinnying … and another sound that chilled her to the marrow. A roar erupted. Something predatory and reptilian.
Then she heard the marauders scream.
* * *
When Elliel looked at Lord Cade’s face bathed in the glow of her ramer, she felt disgust and shame. Her instinct was to cringe away from what he had done to her, but she drove those thoughts back. The ramer sizzled and crackled around her wrist, flames rising in a glowing blade.
Even as his soldiers crashed against Lord Bahlen’s defenders, Cade had the gall to leer at her. “You are weak, Elliel. Any Brava with honor would have taken her own life after reading Utho’s note describing your crimes.”
“It was a lie,” she said.
His laugh was loud even with the clamor around them. “A lie? Who decides that? Maybe I remember something different. I remember you with your legs spread.”
She threw herself upon him, and Cade in his arrogance lifted his sword against the ramer, as if he could take a Brava by surprise, as if she would be distracted by her uncontrolled rage. He was nimble enough, but Elliel lunged closer. Her anger had become a living thing, inexplicable.
Cade howled for his Brava. “Gant!” He slashed with his sword again.
Elliel remembered how this man had poisoned her, wrestled her to the bed, and grinned in her face when he was on top of her. Elliel had detached her mind, unable to move her body. How she had hated him for that! She felt the tattoo on her face burn, remembered the abomination of a story that had made her believe she had slaughtered innocent children. All of it to cover up Cade’s dishonor and Utho’s complicity.
Fury boiled up within her, as if resonating among the wreth ruins, as if tapping into their energy. The burning emotion seemed to have a life of its own, an external fuel that made her anger even stronger. Something in this city was awakening, too.
Cade blocked her ramer with his sword, but she pressed harder, met his blade with her crackling edge. Her blood fire intensified, and the steel of his sword trembled, then melted. Her ramer blade cut through the metal, leaving only a stump of a blade.
Cade screamed and staggered back. The hilt was searing hot, but he flailed the broken weapon at her. Elliel struck again and cut off his hand at the wrist, leaving only a smoking stump. He howled, “Gant!”
The ugly Brava thundered up to loom in front of Elliel. She saw his black armor, finemail cape, and burning ramer.
“Kill her, Gant!” Cade shrieked.
She looked at the other Brava, noted his lumpy nose, pockmarked cheeks, and stony gray gaze. He was a powerful opponent, but she would fight him if necessary. “You are bonded to a coward and a criminal,” she said, her voice remarkably calm.
Cade moaned and pulled his smoking wrist up against his chest. He began to sob.
Like a controlled thunderstorm, Gant faced her. “I know.” Astonishingly, he lowered his ramer and turned away. “I am a Brava with Brava honor. This man does not deserve my service.”
Cade screamed, but Gant stalked away through the battlefield without engaging any other opponents.
Elliel thrust her searing ramer through Cade’s belly, holding him there. His outcry was loud enough to resonate across the battlefield. She could have lopped off his head, but Elliel didn’t want to be swift and merciful. Instead, she drew the flaming blade upward, spilling his guts like steaming sausages, until she cut his black heart in half.
As her tormentor died, Elliel experienced a storm of emotions like fresh, purifying rain. She felt stunned, giddy, separate from the world.
And in the background, echoing through the ancient ruins, she heard a strange reptilian roar, the booming cry of a legend come to life.
* * *
Though terrified, Shadri had to know what was happening up above. The monstrous roar had rattled the support pillars even down in the catacombs, and seemed to have frightened away all the ghosts and memories imprinted here.
Holding her candle, she crept back to the dangling rope and the starlit opening overhead. In the faint orange light, she could see the stepping-stones of blocks that had tumbled down into the sinkhole. She climbed, working her way up to the mouth of the pit.
As she reached the opening, Shadri heard something moving above, large and powerful. Any sensible person would simply hide in the shadows and hope the thing didn’t notice her, but then she would never have answers, and she was not afraid of answers.
She held on to the rope for balance and raised her head above the lip of the pit. From the bottom of the sinkhole, she heard the distant battle, saw fires. Much closer, the shadow of a huge beast slithered and stalked across the dark metropolis. A barbed tail lashed out with a flash of scales, a body as big as a wall.
Screams rolled out from brigands who had bellowed their bravado only moments before. Next she heard growls and ripping sounds, saw bodies flung into the air.
Another roar resounded through the darkness, and Shadri caught the flash of a slitted reptilian eye. Biting back a scream, she ducked, feeling the deepest terror she
had experienced in her life.
Shadri no longer wanted answers; she just wanted to survive the night.
94
“IT is a glorious day, Utho,” Mandan said for the fourth time that morning. The young konag’s eyes sparkled, and his smile looked sincere, but Utho recognized that it was part of a pose, like one of his portrait subjects sitting for a painting.
“A magnificent day indeed, my konag,” Utho agreed, because he was expected to.
In normal times, Utho would have helped him dress, but this was Mandan’s wedding day and such elaborate finery required a larger staff. His robes were heavy, lush, and frilled, Osterran blue trimmed with gold to signify the rising sun in a clear sky. He was not just a prince getting married, as his father had hoped for so long; Mandan of the Colors was konag of the entire Commonwealth. His marriage to Lira would be cause for great celebration, a symbol of unity, although Utho knew that unity was not what the three kingdoms were demonstrating at the moment.
The Brava regarded his own clean, black uniform in the looking glass. His ramer cuff was polished, but he did not intend to ignite the weapon at the wedding, despite Mandan’s cajoling. In a chastising tone, Utho had said, “A ramer is not a parlor trick. It is a device of war. I will have enough occasion to use it when we clash with the Isharans.”
Despite his disappointment, Mandan knew not to argue with him. Servants helped him don his ruffled shirt, jerkin, and blue cape lined with spotted fur. A woman fumbled with the fastenings, while a young man used a felt brush to remove any lint. Presenting him with a heavy necklace of aquamarines and gold, one servant regarded it critically. “Perhaps we should find something smaller, Sire? Is this a bit too much?”
Mandan was miffed. “I am the konag. What could possibly be too much?”
“We would not want you to outshine your beautiful bride, my konag.”
His expression darkened with displeasure. “These stones belonged to my mother. I had the court jewelers reset them for this very occasion. I will wear it.”
“Of course you will, my konag,” Utho said, and no one challenged him.
The young man beamed as servants hung the heavy stones around his neck. Mandan’s gaze grew distant as he stroked them. “Aquamarines … my mother’s favorite stone. The color of blue poppy milk, mixed with tears.”
Utho hardened himself, impatient for the ostentatious and lengthy ceremony to be over. “Come, Mandan, we must go to the remembrance shrine. We don’t want to be late.” Only he could speak so familiarly to the konag.
Mandan tugged at his sleeves and stepped over to the looking glass. “This is my wedding, and it will begin when I’m ready.”
“But you don’t want to make your beloved Lira wait. Imagine how nervous she is.”
“Nervous? Anxious, perhaps. Or eager! She’s about to become the queen of the Commonwealth.”
The servants opened the door and scurried down the hall to clear the way as the konag toiled stiffly along. His fine garments were designed for appearances rather than mobility.
Convera City was filled with banners and pennants. Minstrels on every corner sang new songs for the royal couple. Ale and wine already flowed freely. Bakers had made a special knotted bread glazed with honey, which symbolized the love of the happy couple and the unbreakable bond of their marriage. Thousands of the pastries were distributed to the crowds around the main remembrance shrine.
In the crowd, women twirled and flashed blue and yellow ribbons knotted together, like the soon-to-be-bound lives of Mandan and his bride. Ribbon sellers worked their way through the crowd, snipping off lengths and exchanging them for a few coppers.
Utho had made certain the most important people comprised the front lines of spectators, nobles and merchants in colorful finery, the ones who had been first to swear loyalty to the new konag, to offer soldiers for the war against Ishara, to provide ships for the growing navy.
After the gloom and horror of Conndur’s murder, the city was overjoyed with this bright celebration. Utho understood that the people needed such a festival, but he kept his face expressionless, since it was not appropriate for a Brava to smile. His gaze remained distant because his mind continued to turn the wheels of war. So much had to be planned.
By now, Cade’s powerful army should have reached Norterra and laid waste to the town targeted by Mandan’s casually thrown dagger. Utho would rather have joined the assault himself, galloping forward to strike down the rebels who had defied the konag’s decree.
Mandan brightened. “Look Utho, she’s already here!”
A group of beautiful ladies stood in elaborate gowns, their hair coiffed high and ornate with braids. Lira was tall and thin, a vision of beauty with long tresses of red hair that hung loose, just like his mother’s. “She is the loveliest bride in the history of the three kingdoms,” Mandan declared, then said in a louder voice, “In the history of the world! Even the ancient wreths could not have rivaled beautiful Lady Lira.”
Hampered by his garments, he trudged up the stone steps between the two regal stone lions, until he reached the entry platform, where the young woman waited for him.
As Konag Mandan took his place beside his bride-to-be, he looked like the victor of an entire continent. Lira giggled, obviously so far out of her depth she was ready to swoon. She greeted Mandan with a formal curtsy, and he gave her a bow. “I would rather sweep you into my arms with a passionate kiss, my lady. But there will be time for that later, just the two of us.”
Blushing, she looked away as her mood changed. “I wish my father were here. This is my wedding day.”
Mandan grew serious. “My father is not here either. We are much the same. And my mother is gone, as is yours.… Another thing we have in common. Are we not the perfect couple?”
Lira was troubled, but she forced a smile, then turned her shining expression to the gathered crowd.
The chief legacier stood in her robes, proud of her station. Vicolia was far less somber than when she had spoken of the death and legacy of Conndur the Brave. She raised her hands and addressed the crowd in a deep, husky voice. “People of Convera, you are here to celebrate a joining of two beautiful people, a unification of our hearts and minds. These two legacies will be bound together, forever written side by side in the book of eternity.”
Utho heard wistful sighs out in the audience, saw their smiles and their bright eyes as they imagined the perfect romance. Having watched Mandan for years, though, Utho had seen little romance in the young man’s heart. At least the konag made all the proper gestures, and maybe he’d even convinced himself.
Standing here, Utho paused to think about his own lost wife and daughters. But ever since the day the Isharans killed them, Utho had allowed no love in his heart.
The chief legacier droned on, and the people repeated the phrases she called out. All the citizens of Convera, and by extension the entire Commonwealth, were partners in this marriage. When Vicolia finished her pronouncement, a stonemason approached the sheet of white marble on which had been carved the names Konag Mandan of the Colors and Queen Lira of the Commonwealth. As the hushed audience watched, the mason used hammer and chisel to engrave a binding line on the stone’s surface, joining the two names together.
Vicolia raised her hands. “Your legacies are linked in stone, in legend, and in our hearts.”
Mandan took Lira’s hand and lifted both their arms high. The crowd cheered. Satisfied, the chief legacier pressed her palms together. “It is a glorious day.”
Utho was relieved the wedding was over, but his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Lord Cade’s victory. He finally allowed himself a thin smile. “It is a glorious day.”
95
WHEN Glik awoke again, she felt disoriented. She also felt a strong pull in her heart, like a lifeline. She closed her eyes, held on to the feeling of strength, comfort, companionship. Inside the circle. Outside the circle.
Blinking up at the darkness and the stars, she smelled a sour odor in the air, the li
ngering stench of death from the distant past. Deep in her mind, she heard the whispered remnants of screams from all those who had perished here on this ancient battlefield.
She roused herself on the hard ground in the camp, felt the pain in her arm from a cut … blood! Then she remembered Mage Ivun slashing her with his shadowglass knife, pouring her blood into the basin so he could take her visions. Glik felt those images pound back into her mind, the dragon eye in the bottomless pit of obsidian, and the other huge but formless entity that felt even more terrifying, even more strange.
Ivun must have tossed her here, letting her revive from her trance on her own. She touched the cut on her arm, which had been bound up in rags now soaked with sticky red. She struggled into a sitting position, careful not to draw any attention until she understood what was happening. Was this the same night, or the next?
Visions had surrounded her, pulled her into a deep sleep where she continued to dream the alien experiences. She couldn’t escape the images; worse, she didn’t understand them. With her good hand, Glik drew a circle around her heart and pulled strength from repeating her words.
Wreth guards patrolled the encampment astride snorting augas. Several captives had died during the escape attempt, and the rest now hunched over meager fires, clinging to the thin comfort of ragged blankets. Others just lay on the hard ground pretending to sleep, counting the hours until they would be forced to excavate the black glass again. Cheth sat cross-legged at a small fire not far away, staring intensely into the coals.
Amid the turmoil and dread that filled her heart, Glik felt an unexpected strength as well. She pressed her good hand against her breastbone and closed her eyes as she inhaled. Now she knew what she felt. The heart link! It was Ari!
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