Chapter 10
The Inner City
In which they resolve to fight back
The knowledge that their situation was sorcerer-created softened the edges of their emotions.
"What one has made, another can destroy," Edana said.
They spent everyday exploring the fortress and searching for any sign of teleportation devices or portals. As well, for anything that could account for the barrier spell.
None of the scrolls they had yet found gave details on those matters. Instead they proved to be more records of trade, and the comings and goings of assorted dignitaries and traders. Government records and taxes and the like.
However, during their exploration the layout of the fortress became clearer. And in its design they found cause for hope. Before its demise, Tregarde’s leafbird had alerted him to the fact that they were inside a complex within the inner walls of the fortress. Towers occupied each of the four corners of the inner walls. Beyond the inner walls, the outer walls, too, possessed towers. Inside the complex stood a structure Tregarde believed was a temple to the Restorer, because of the phoenix statues lining the avenue leading up to it.
“Earlier I said a barrier is either keeping something in or something out. I believe the bubble over the Royal Ward is keeping something out. Your leafbird was destroyed near the barrier to this fortress, so I think this barrier was meant to imprison. To keep others in. Agree?”
This she asked of Tregarde, who walked beside her on the northern wall of the inner complex. Here, the curtain wall could accommodate six mounted cataphracti riding abreast.
“Sound enough, as ideas go,” he agreed.
However, to her ears he sounded noncommital. As a sorcerer, he would necessarily have more insight into their situation, but she remembered how he had evaded Bessa’s question in the library. This time, Edana was determined to pin him down.
“Is there another option? What other purpose would the barrier serve? It doesn’t look as if it was preserving time, because we see so much dust everywhere. I would expect a preservation spell to be akin to keeping something in amber. But you see the decay, do you not?”
Dark, imposing, a tower loomed above them. “Tomorrow”— or whenever they woke up — they would make their way into the inner complex. Somewhere within that network of buildings they were sure to find what they needed.
With his wand-light in hand, Tregarde made a wide arc with his arm. Allowing them a broader view of their immediate surroundings. Outside, they were exposed. Likely nothing was lurking nearby—the leafbird hadn’t spotted any signs of sapient life, after all. But Edana thought of the alû, and other shadow-like Erebossi, and thus kept up her guard.
“That’s also true.” Again he sounded mild, non-commital.
At this Edana planted herself in front of him. Obliging him to either face her or make his evasion more plain.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded. “You’re the only sorcerer here. What we know about, we can save time and plan. If you leave us in the dark we will waste time stumbling about.”
Tregarde sighed heavily. He rocked on his heels and regarded her steadily, as if taking her measure.
“Well?”
“It’s more like this,” he began. “Like you said, there’s two purposes to a barrier. Three, if you count a preservation spell as a kind of barrier. But let’s focus on the first two options: to keep something in, or keep something out. So, you have both kinds. Do you make them the same way?”
What patience she had began to fray, but Edana forced herself to only shrug in response. “Is this something I would know? My education did not include the ways of sorcerers—only the admonition to not trust them.”
Tregarde chuckled. His entire posture relaxed, as if she had punctured some barrier of his own.
“Let’s keep this friendly. I admit I’ve been cagey, but my motives will stand tall in a court of judgment. You don’t seem prone to panic and hysterics. But I also figure you as someone used to being able to make her own way, whether in good times or not. When times are not good, people feel driven to … do things … they might otherwise not. These are not good times. You may feel bound by circumstance, and I figured I’d give you some slack in those bonds. Enough slack so you might come up with a way out of this.”
“Because?” She folded her arms and braced herself for bad news.
“Because the two kinds of spell are not made the same way. Imprisoning someone—which is what I think the fortress barrier is meant to do—requires crossing the will of that person. A compulsion spell takes the blood of the one doing the compulsion. A prison barrier—the kind that lasts for centuries like this one has—will take more than blood. Now, my first thought—if we’re dealing with combatants who are ruthless but discriminate—would be if the barrier was tailored for certain enemy combatants. The Unificationists lend themselves well to this example.”
The idea of a targeted spell appealed to Edana. Not being a part of either faction would grant her and her companions a certain amount of freedom and protection. But if matters were so simple, Tregarde wouldn’t have hesitated to speak up about it.
“Ruthless and discriminate would be my inclination. And I’d do the spell that way if I had the time and the means,” Edana said. “But given the destruction of your animachina, the ones who placed the barrier may have lacked the inclination, the means, or the time to be discriminate. Meaning what? We’re back where we started, then.”
“Not where I was going with this. Like I said, the kind of barrier we’re dealing with isn’t going to be placed by ordinary means. Remember what your friend said about the sentinels guarding her family’s tomb? What I suspect is that the Unificationists were slaughtered. Their blood is a component of the barrier spell. Not only that, but I believe they were enslaved in death to maintain the barrier.”
Beneath her breath Edana swore. Heedless, Tregarde continued, saying, “Zanbil was built by natives of Athyr-ai, and the ancient Athyrii were known for their death magics. The Oath we sorcerers take in Rasena Valentis? The one about not touching on Erebossa? The Athyrii never thought up such oaths. I’d wager they’d laugh at the idea. I’m one sorcerer; thank you for noticing. Notice now that we only have one full-fledged priestess amongst us.”
Something in his voice made Edana stare sharply at his face. Unfortunately, his wand was not positioned to let her see him clearly, and his expression was hidden in the shadows. But in her heart she read the undercurrents in his voice.
If Tregarde was right about death powers being a key component of the barrier spell, then the consequences of meddling it would fall, hard, on Alia. She would be endangered beyond their ability to aid her, if they failed to understand the forces they were tampering with.
“We will not throw Alia’s life away,” Edana said softly. “If you’re right about how the spell was made, and what it might do, then trust I will not sacrifice her. That will never be my goal.”
Exhale from Tregarde. “So I have you right, then. Good. Tomorrow we enter the inner complex. Be wary. If you see sarcophagi in unexpected places, give them a wide berth. Expect them to be trapped. Understood?”
“Well enough.” Under her coat she shuddered as she contemplated the radius of any spells the Zanbellians may have placed around the corpses of their enemies.
Join us …
By now Edana knew not to whirl about at the sound of the whispers. More and more she believed they came from the dead. Vengeful Unificationists, perhaps. Or people caught in between the battles between that faction and the Conservationists. Steeling herself, Edana peered into the arcs of light Tregarde’s wand offered them.
Somewhere near, she suspected, they would find a corpse. As it happened, during their exploration they occasionally stumbled across a dead body. Each time they found a corpse they marked the area. Should they find a proper resting place for the dead, they would transport them there and give them their rites.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps they would put to rest the whispers on the wind if they did so? Privately she hoped as much.
But not one body came into view of Tregarde’s wand as she traversed the wall with the sorcerer. On the other hand, the walk gave her more time to ponder how to avoid directly tangling with whatever the angry corpses that might have fueled the spell for the fortress barrier.
“Maybe we don’t have to do anything to bring down the barrier. Maybe other Zanbellians can do it for us,,” Edana suggested. “Suppose we light beacons in the watch towers along this wall, and the northern outer walls. Something bright enough that watchmen in the royal bubble might see it.”
“We may need something stronger than fire for such a beacon,” Tregarde mused. “And Alia has a point about us wasting fuel. I don’t know how long it will take for us to find a way into the Royal Ward, but I don’t relish the thought of shivering in the dark.”
“Stronger than fire?” Edana tried to imagine what sort of spells he might have in mind.
But the sorcerer refused to elaborate. Instead he consulted with his own pocket watch, and declared “noon” had come.
“Let’s go,” Edana replied.
Behind them, torchlight marked the doorway to the interior of what they now called the Gate Tower. They ran on eager feet toward the light, which grew brighter and larger with every step they took.
Once past the threshold of the tower, Edana allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She clasped the door handle and began to swing the heavy oak door shut.
Join us!
The insistent whisper rolled over the back of her neck. Shudders rippled through her body. But she kept her hands steady as she bolted the door.
Join us!
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The next “morning” they exited the Gate Tower through a pair of magnificent bronze doors. From the outside they evaluated the citadel in which they had spent the past several days. Its magnificence even now could not be denied. Though neglected for centuries, the fortress had remained solid, built as it was in ancient days by a formidable artificer. The dressed stone of the buildings in the complex were composed of the finest ashlar masonry—square cut stones of equal size, with hairline joints.
Looking up, up, and up with her torch, Bessa whistled. “I feel so small.”
“The walls are huge,” Alia agreed. “One wonders if Zanbil had a rival, or an enemy. Why build such a fortress if you didn’t need to defend yourself against a threat?”
“Prestige. They might have built this for prestige rather than actual war,” Edana suggested.
“Ah. Yes.”
Beyond the bronze doors of the Gate Tower, a small city awaited them. Buildings, large and small, lined a broad street that swept from east to west. The ramp leading down from the Gate Tower opened up to another broad street, which ran southward.
A cold breeze blew through the streets. Oddly, in spite of the barrier, the air in the inner complex was not stagnant. But it did not carry pleasant scents, either, and Bessa wrapped her scarf around her nose with her free hand.
Creeeeeaaaaakkk!
Bessa whirled. Behind her, Sheridan was pulling a two-handled cart filled with two huge, empty cauldrons. At breakfast, Bessa had proposed they find collection devices to improvise a cistern. Her father’s engineering manuals had given her an idea for how they might go about it.
“We can use the meltwater from the snow,” she said. “We’ll need it soon enough.”
Nothing should go to waste.
Tregarde picked up the cart’s second handle, and the men made their way down the ramp, serenaded by the creaking wheels of the cart.
“Maybe we should oil those wheels,” Bessa suggested.
Tregarde flashed a smile. “Nah. We get lost, or you get lost, and the sound of these wheels will be your guide.”
“We’ll meet here at noon,” Sheridan said.
The matter of fresh drinking water settled the question of what building to explore first: to the Restorer’s temple they must go.
“Mama said it had an everlasting pool. Some naiad had blessed the pool to always refill. The catch is that you had to do the rites to honor the Restorer,” Selàna had explained during dinner the night before.
“So that’s how they managed without a sacred spring,” Bessa had said.
The group split up. With water their primary concern, the women took South Street, as Bessa called it. According to Tregarde’s doomed leafbird, the Restorer’s temple was to the south and east of the Gate Tower.
Empty building which once teamed with activity, now stood as silent, eerie shapes.
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Torchlight revealed signs, some of which they didn’t need Selàna to decipher, because they used pictures. A lone sandal indicated a shoe shop. A hammer and anvil combo indicated a smith’s forge.
“Oh look, this is where they’d go for a drink,” Bessa noted, as they passed by a building with a sign that featured an overflowing cup.
The Restorer’s temple announced itself with a grand walkway lined with gold-plated phoenix statues. At the end of the walkway, two obelisks carved from blue granite stood before granite pylons. Both the obelisks and the pylons were carved with reliefs depicting naiads and finely dressed humans.
“These tell of how the naiads were brought here, and how they came to bless the pool,” Selàna said.
Inside the temple, they walked between grand red columns with golden lotus-flower capitals of the great hall.
“Looks like this place was scuttled, too,” Edana said, pointing to scattered vases and overturned pedestals.
Several rooms along the great hall had beds and couches, also in disarray. The frescoes on the wall indicated these had been convalescent rooms.
“What are these jagged circles and gashes in the walls?” Bessa asked. She pointed out the large white holes disfiguring the center of each of the four walls in one room.
Alia frowned. “These might be where the phoenix plaques were once fixed to the walls.”
For a long while she stared at the gashes. Each room they came to, they saw more of the same defacing marks. In the fourth room they found proof of Alia’s guess, for only half of a phoenix plaque had been torn from the wall.
“They deconsecrated the temple,” she said. “All of the sacred symbols have been removed.”
A pit formed in Bessa’s stomach. Would the Conservationists have gone so far as to also spoil the everlasting pool?
In the central courtyard they found their answer. Paved with once-beautiful blue-green tiles, the courtyard contained a pit in the center. Three steps led down to a steel floor, whose size and rectangular dimensions strongly suggested a pool lay beneath it.
Bessa sighed her relief. “Good. They didn’t have the nerve to to destroy the pool.”
Alia swept her gaze to a huge marble block standing at the far end of the pool. “There,” she pointed.
At first Bessa wondered what she meant. Swans and roses carved into the marble white marble would have looked lovely when cleaned and polished. But then it hit her: the block was a pedestal, where a statue would have stood. Likely a statue of the Restorer.
“Why do this?” Selàna demanded. She darted over to the pedestal and ran her hand along the top. Confirming the presence of markings made for the base of a statue that once occupied the flat top.
“To deny the use of it to the Unificationists. And anyone else who remained in the Gate Tower,” Alia answered.
Bessa studied the steel floor. With a large enough pry bar, they should be able to lift it. If so, it would buy them time. Time to figure out a way into the Royal Ward.
Time for you to rot.
Bessa grit her teeth. By the gods, she hated the whispers!
Slowly. Slowly. Slowly you will rot.
Edana visibly flinched, and Bessa supposed she had also heard the taunt. The circles under her eyes told of the lack of sleep, and Bessa knew she herself looked no better. Ignoring the voices seemed possible at first. But lately they grew more insistent, and in the back of her mind she feared something might make itself known if they continued to ignore the taunts.
“Will it be safe to drink the water?” Selàna asked.
Alia looked up at her. Locking gazes she said, “This temple is a job for a Restorite. Cleansing the pool, if cleansing is needed, is also the job for a Restorite.”
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By noon the men had brought in enough fresh water to supply a bath, cooking water, and drinking water. Finding the Restorer’s temple, and bringing in melt water was their only triumph of what they called the “day.”
By what they called “night,” they ate dinner in a general’s quarters. Fortunately for them, the rooms were just small enough to keep heated with what little fuel they had on hand. Taking a lesson learned from the Elamisi, they kept a firepot banked with ashes beneath the table. During their daily exploration of the fortress, they had found a camphorwood chest filled with thick blankets. Someone had placed a preservation spell around the precious fabrics, ensuring they would remain in usable condition. Two of those blankets now covered the dining table. Now the group dined with more heat than light.
“We’re not alone.”
Bessa’s words echoed in the gathering room, stopping her companions in mid-act as they ate. However, she fastened her gaze on Alia. “There’s more to the deconsecration of the Restorer’s temple, isn’t there. Something about it disturbed you.”
But Alia hesitated. She appeared to be weighing her words.
Bessa persisted, “Look, I realize this isn’t the best time to discuss such matters, but we don’t have daylight. We never have daylight. This is a daylight conversation, but we have it by glowlight instead. Let us not go to bed with dark imaginings in our minds. At least if we know what we’re facing, we might plan and find a solution. Speak.”
Though surrounded by darkness, points of light in the room offered some fuel for courage. Those points came from three glowlights, evenly spaced on the dining room table. Before their last night in Elamis, Bessa and Edana had packed travel-sized glowlights in everyone’s satchel. Shaped like a single flame, the glowlights fit neatly into power scepters styled to look like oil lamps.
Two other glowlights lit their sleeping quarters in the next room. The group reserved the last light for the general’s private bath, which was just off the bedroom. Alia, Sheridan, and Tregarde used their wands whenever they were on night watch.
This meant; however, that they enjoyed only as much light as necessary to avoid hazards at night. Beyond the table where they sat, the room was swathed in utter darkness. If she squinted, Bessa could barely make out the outline of the apartment door. As it was, anyone—anything—could lie in wait for them only a few feet away, and they wouldn’t even see it.
At last Alia answered her. “We’re not alone. This place is desolate. And so it’s friendly to all kinds of spirits.”
Edana set down her spoon. “The voices?”
“There will be more than voices,” Alia predicted. “We’re being softened up right now.”
A cold breeze washed over Bessa’s neck, and she shuddered. She reflexively turned to look behind herself.
And saw nothing.
She tried hard to banish thoughts of Escamilla from her mind.
Bessa was not the only one unsettled. At Alia’s pronouncement, everyone glanced around as if to check for intruders. The group had arranged themselves in a semi-circle around the table, with the effect that no one’s back was to the apartment door. But still.
Alia continued, as if she’d said nothing remarkable, “There are no amulets here, did you notice? No wards. They took the phoenix emblems from the Restorer’s temple. That’s when I realized what’s happened here. There’s a reason that ghosts or spirits haunt ruined houses and buildings.”
“Which is?” Bessa leaned forward, curious.
However, Tregarde cut in. In his droll voice he said, “Ghosts and Erebossi love to visit our world and hang around. Only thing is, the living usually keep them at bay. Not simply by existing, mind you. No, it’s because we consecrate our dwellings with holy symbols and suchlike. Those repel the dead, and other unlawful spirits. So what do you think happens when people quit a place, but take all their amulets and wards with them?”
Four and a half centuries. Bessa felt ice floes form in her belly. Four and a half centuries since the fall of Zanbil. The former residents of the fortress had not only scuttled it in advance of their enemies, but Alia pointed out they had spitefully ensured those enemies would not have any spiritual protection once they invaded the fortress.
“Neither the Unificationists, nor anyone trapped here with them, were able to reconsecrate the grounds,” Alia pointed out. “Maybe they didn’t have time. Maybe the end came too soon for them. But the aftermath is that for centuries this place has become more and more hospitable for Erebossi.”
“Sorry. Maybe I really should have waited until morning to ask about this after all,” Bessa apologized.
Edana replied, “It wouldn’t have mattered. The Sleepless won’t allow us to feel peace, no matter what time we speak of them.”
Sleepless enemy. An Eitanite epithet, bestowed on fellshades. But while a malevolent spirit had no need of sleep, people absolutely did, and the last thing Bessa wanted on her mind before she closed her eyes for the night were thoughts of fellshades. And what it was like to be trapped in their power.
Bessa’s tone was a little sharper than she meant it to be when she answered, “I meant that we don’t need to keep each other up screaming from nightmares.” She was thinking of herself when she said it, but the look on Selàna’s face made her hastily add, “Sorry, Selàna.”
“We’re under attack,” Alia cut in before Selàna could reply. “I don’t think the queen is behind this one, though.”
An attack. Bessa lowered her spoon, carelessly allowing it to sink into her soup bowl. The ice floes in her stomach hardened.
Alia continued, “Other kinds of spirits. “Mostly spirits of deception, I think. And doubt, and despair.” She glanced at Selàna, then focused again on her soup.
Made of leeks and potatoes, the soup was filling enough. Edana had seasoned it well, with what herbs she had brought with her.
But unless they found a viridarium—or a way into the Royal Ward— they were soon to be in for an excruciating time. This alone made Bessa resolve to go outside the Gate tower again. She hated venturing into the darkness of the inner city, but what choice did they have?
Sheridan now raised his head. “What kind of spirits live in Zanbil? What I mean is, could there be more spirits here we don’t know about? I never heard of the rabisu or the alû before, and you two”—he nodded at Bessa and Edana—“never heard of the jiangshi. I just really want to know if any of the spirits hanging around here can take on a fleshly form.”
Shivers ran down Bessa’s spine and raised the hair on the back of her neck. Damn she wished she’d never brought up the topic now. Not while she could barely see past the length of her arm.
Papouli, her father’s father, used to tell her of revenants, ghosts that could assume a corporeal form. Harmless to good people who stumbled across it, the ghost — Papouli insisted on this point — only went after little girls who told lies, or sassed their grandmothers. At no point did little Bessa fear this ghost, for she assumed revenants only lived in Pelasgos, where Papouli was from, a land far from Silura, where Bessa was from. And where was Zanbil?
But no. It didn’t matter. While Lady Nensela had made Bessa to understand that the Anshani knew of the alû, it didn’t mean the alû only troubled the Anshani. Escamilla had attacked Bessa while she slept in her bed in Valentis. Was he not himself an alû? What concern did fellshades have for borders or geography?
Involuntarily, Bessa looked to Selàna.
The girl immediately reacted, saying, “When the priests of Elamis perceive an abyssal attacking, they call out and bind all the abyssals they know. Then they include unnamed abyssals, leaving no stone left unturned.”
Sheridan looked askance at this. “Why aren’t those spirits bound all the time? How do the priests have to keep doing this? Or do they?”
“Bindings don’t work the way you think they do,” Alia said. “Remember, you’re not dealing with a corporeal being who is exposed to the ravages of time. I can bind you to a chair, but the rope may fray. Or maybe the rope holds, but you waste away, and die if I forget to feed you.”
“Do tell,” Tregarde murmured. The others laughed, and for the first time every one began to relax.
The remark earned him a bemused glance from Alia, and Bessa wondered to herself if Alia understood the joke. In some ways, the huntress seemed to have sprung fully formed into existence, as if sown from dragon teeth. Jests and social nuances flew right over her head. However, she did not sound offended or confused when she continued.
“My point is this: when those who place the binding die, or cease to keep up their guards, it is the same as ‘fraying the rope.’ Also, the binders may not have made their ‘knots’ as tightly as they ought to—they may have left a loophole. When humans use careless wording in a contract, this leaves room to render it null and void. Erebossi can be quite … legalistic. And they have had aeons to practice. Especially the ones who preside over particular domains.”
“Domains? You mean like Friya, the spirit of deception we met in King Amavand’s palace? Or like the scorpion men?” Bessa asked. She passed a wineskin to Selàna, who poured out a cupful.
“Correct. Let’s suppose that one abyssal, a king abyssal at that, is fond of violence. Lord of war, perhaps. You and the people of your town bind him in order to keep your town safe from brigands. However, others have not bound this spirit. Gangs of brigands are still feeding the king in some fashion or other. He grows stronger, and stronger, straining the ropes until they snap. And it may be that those gangs have influence over members of your town, and they, too, feed the abyssal king."
Alia paused and studied them. For several heartbeats she frankly met their gazes with a penetrating stare of her own. Finally, she said, “This is the Long War. The Aeternity War. Until some distant age we’ll none of us see, every generation will fight this war. Every generation must be vigilant. Some generations — but not our own — have the luxury of sleeping and forgetting. But the Sleepless are ever awake, and their memories are long. Gird yourselves. We must do battle. Do you stand ready?”
Edana was the first to answer her. “Of course. And this particular battle, this particular attack? What defenses are called for? Can we go on the offense?”
But Tregarde held up a hand and shook his head, clear warning. “This isn’t one of those situations where we can all agree to just not doubt ourselves or be brave. The voices mostly harass us when we’re alone, I think. I keep hearing them prod me to do something right now. They mock me for wasting time. Fair play to them, because I keep thinking I must act now. The voices constantly reinforce that.”
“Goading you to imperil yourself. And imperil all of us, too, likely enough,” Edana said, though her voice softened with sympathy.
“Let us not be isolated, then. By no less than two and two we should stick together. But that wouldn’t change the fact that the voices are real,” Bessa pointed out.
The voices were real. Softening them up, as she privately feared and as Alia had spoken aloud. When the voices grew bolder, what would come next?
“Is there no way to expel them?” Bessa pursued. Once again memories reared up, of her experience at the hands of Escamilla, the Third Eidolon. Trapping her in an endless nightmare, the fell spirit had tormented her so ceaselessly that only her iron, unshakable faith that Edana would rescue her kept Bessa from succumbing to Escamilla’s campaign to yield up her life.
And Edana had justified Bessa’s faith in her. But if Edana were too gripped by fear, she could succumb to whatever the Voices had in store for them. Of all of them, Edana was the only one present who knew the language to activate and use the thresher…
“Usually we have two options in this situation,” Alia said. “Either we make this place inhospitable, or we make ourselves inhospitable. To be inhospitable we must resolve to not be fearful. But those options work best when the threat is temporary. Already we’ve been here longer than we’d like. All it would take is for one of us to slip up once.”
Tregarde looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Or we evocate the voices?”
Silence.
Part of Bessa wanted to object to the idea. The laws of Rasena Valentis banned death priests. Such powers required interaction with Erebossi, the very act the lawmakers set out to prevent. Co-equal with forbidding death priests, Rasena Valentis also forbade the practice of evocation magic. Some of the more sly evocati claimed to be putting to rest unrestful ghosts and such. But if they could lay down a ghost, might they not be the ones to draw it up in the first place? The law assumed as much about anyone in that trade.
And now, Tregarde was suggesting they bring the tormenting spirits fully into the Cosmos. Where, presumably, he could banish them to Erebossa, and away from them.
If the evocation rites worked, they would be safe.
If they worked.
But at Tregarde’s suggestion, Alia became rigid, sitting ramrod straight in her chair. “I don’t hold with that sort of thing. You evocate a spirit, and all you do is make it easier for another of its kind to come here. Bringing one into our realm is just like breaking in new shoes: uncomfortable at first, then it’s easier to walk in.”
“What about making ourselves inhospitable? Or this place? How would we accomplish that?” Bessa asked.
“Binding spells?” Sheridan ventured. He glanced at Alia. “Suppose we placed kolossoi and such in locations around the fortress. Couldn’t you bless them?”
Alia cocked her head as she considered the idea. “Consecrating the citadel is a good idea. But we need to be prepared to deal with assaults on our psyches as well. That is what we carry with us, wherever we are.”
This last earned a nod from Edana, but Bessa’s relief died within her when she noticed that Selàna put her face in her hands. Right. As Zephyra, Selàna had walked bodily into and out of Erebossa. An experience she obviously did not cherish.
Nevertheless, the idea of cleansing the fortress energized them, even as they headed for sleep.
The blankets in the camphor wood trunk were large enough for Bessa to cover herself, and Edana on her right, and Alia on her left. An extra blanket overlapped Sheridan, Alia, and Bessa. Meanwhile, Selàna and Tregarde took the first watch of the night.
When they removed the power scepter from their glowlights, Bessa hunkered down into the covers.
“Sleep well everyone,” she said. “Tomorrow we fight back.”