Chapter XI, Part 1

Shadow Fang

In which Edana uncovers an enemy

When they awakened the next day; however, Edana silently dissented. All night she had tossed and turned, trying to work out what made her uneasy about Bessa’s plan. When the men once more dragged in a cauldron of the previous night’s meltwater, the answer hit her. Taking a glowlight with her, she hurried to the library. On the fruitwood table she’d used as her “discard” pile, she found it. One of the scrolls featured drawings of what looked like wells, with strange gigantic funnels that appeared to be an arrangement of leaves hovering over them.

“Cloud cisterns,” Selàna said at the time, translating the hieroglyphics beneath the images. “These harvest water from the clouds. The largest one should be in the center of the fortress. The other six are scattered in different districts.”

Here and now Edana studied the scroll carefully, then rolled it up and tucked it under her arm.

Zanbil was built by natives of Athyr-ai, and the ancient Athyrii were known for their death magics.

Athyr-ai. Death magics.

“Shadow Fang,” Edana murmured. She promptly clamped a hand over her her mouth, annoyed at herself for having said the name aloud.

Shadow Fang.

Papa’s war stories had haunted her dreams last night. Combined with Tregarde’s belief as to how the fortress barrier was created, she had a strong suspicion about what had become of the cloud cisterns.

Everyone had scattered to gather supplies. To make effigies for Bessa’s plan, they would need wax, clay, straw, or sticks. Materials precious for the fuel they might serve as—but also because they would not easy to find. Scribes would keep wax, Bessa pointed out, and thus she had set out to raid every office she could inside the Gate Tower.

Edana, too, raided the offices, but for a much different purpose. The means of defense Bessa was attempting went against the ways of the Eitanim, and Edana would not yield or compromise on that score. More, Tregarde’s warning about risking Alia echoed in her mind.

Divide and conquer.

The massive doors of the gate tower creaked on their hinges as Edana opened them. The echoes boomed against the walls. Edana winced, then hesitated.

“Where are you going?”

“Ah!” Edana jumped a foot off the floor.

Startled, she whirled to find Sheridan standing behind her. He was jamming his hands into his gloves. Not another word did he say to her, as he was holding his wand between his clenched teeth. The odd position of the light distorted his features, giving him an eerie countenance.

She waved the scroll at him. “The Zanbellians harvested fresh water in cisterns throughout the city. The closest one is in the main square. Come with me, please. I think I know what we’ll find there.”

Locking his fingers together, Sheridan fitted his deerskin cloves more snugly on his hands. Satisfied, he took the wand out of his teeth and held it up, allowing her to better see him. And for him to better see her, she supposed.

“Fresh water? Do you think the harvesters still work?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

“No,” she admitted.

Ruthless and discriminate. Or ruthless and unable or unwilling to avoid sweeping up every inhabitant in the fortress. Those were the choices she had imagined for the Conservationists. The state of the cisterns would tell her which path they had taken.

“Then why go?”

“Because we cannot do battle unarmed. Either the dead are the ones whispering to us … or something else is. Come with me to the cistern and let’s find out.”

By tacit agreement, they shut the door fast behind them. Maybe nothing lurked in the fortress complex with them. But why allow an opportunity for something or someone to slip into the gate tower if they didn’t have to?

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Having traversed the so-called South Street the previous day, Edana led Sheridan easily enough towards the center of the complex.

Until they came to the barricades.

“Sweet merciful Huntress,” Sheridan swore.

Bodies lay scattered around enclosed chariots and wagons. All of them were wearing yellow kilts, the color of the Unificationists. Men with gaping wounds on their chests, slashes on their throats, or deep divots in their heads stared sightlessly at them.

Edana recoiled at one corpse in particular. Empty eye sockets and dried blood all over his open mouth made her think of the convicts devoured by vultures on the Thieves Road in Valentis.

Beside her, Sheridan stood rooted to the spot, which surprised her. Had he never seen the bodies of slain men before? Not the remnants of battlefields, nor even the mass graves of convicts?

“Come,” she said gently.

Sheridan followed her in silence.

And it was in that silence that she heard it.

Whisper-quiet at first. Pat-pat. Every step she took, pat-pat. When she stopped, the sound stopped. Far off, at first. Perhaps six blocks away? Squinting into the darkness, Edana held out her shield arm to extend the reach of her glowlight.

Nothing.

The light showed her nothing.

Sheridan sidled closer to her. “I hear it, too,” he murmured.

Edana turned. The dark, massive shape of the gate tower loomed behind them … a mile away. With snow as high as her boots, running was out of the question. Hiding would be the better option, and with this in mind she stomped through the snow toward the door of one building. The plaque on the wall beside the door likely announced the purpose of the building, but she could not decipher the text. She tried the door.

Locked.

The next building, also locked. And the third. At this final defeat she turned now to face the barricade. Exactly the same as the barrier, the point of a barricade would either be to keep something out, or something in. Given what she expected to find in the main square, she gambled that this barrier had been intended to obstruct an advancing enemy.

Without a word she seized Sheridan’s hand and made for an empty gap between carts. Sensibly enough, Sheridan made no audible protest, nor asked her foolish questions. Instead he trudged between bodies and debris, making a path towards what appeared to be a storefront. Happily for them, the door had already succumbed to enemy fire. Ash and gravel crunched beneath their feet as they crossed the threshold.

Edana had only gone six feet when Sheridan suddenly pulled himself free of her grasp. He turned on his heel and went back to the threshold, muddied now by the their snowy footprints.

“What is it?” she asked.

With his foot Sheridan spread the snow and ashes flat over the threshold. Then he swept up a long charred stick from the ground. Quickly, he began incising a series of strokes and lines into the ground. When he finished, he stared for a long moment at his handiwork.

Edana came beside him and peered down at the ashes. “An eye? Is that an eagle eye?”

The Huntress was often represented as a golden eagle. But amulets invoking her protection often used a sharply stylized eagle eye. Usually with an amber orb serving as the iris.

“We don’t know what’s out here with us,” Sheridan said flatly.

Shadow Fang.

The eagle-eye symbol would be useless.

Perhaps. But until she was sure, Edana decided to hold her tongue. Even though she and Sheridan spoke in low tones, in such desolation as the inner complex their voices would carry.

From a heap of rugs nearby Edana selected the largest, easiest one to pull down to the floor. She wiped her feet on it, and tried not to contemplate how much gold the rug would have fetched in Rasena Valentis, had she not ruined it just now. If she was wrong about what stalked them she would need as much traction as possible to run. Besides, they would walk more quietly if the soles of their boots didn’t squish. Apparently Sheridan agreed with her, because he followed suit.

They wound their way through the shop, stepping over broken displays, pottery, copper cooking utensils scattered over the floor, and bolts of fine fabric. In its time the shop must have been a grand general goods store. Its dimensions suggested it was large enough to have more than one entrance. With the back entrance leading to …

… the main square.

She inhaled sharply at the sight before her. Chest high, a dull circle of bronze dominated the center of the courtyard. An immense, tangled web of what looked like gossamer partially covered the circle, and partially pooled around it. The cloud cistern.

Having come so far, Edana steeled herself and rushed forward. She held her wand light over the cistern and looked down.

Bodies.

A tangled mass of bodies littered the well. Hands, feet, heads poked above a watery sludge. Fully visible bodies; however, never made it into the water because the stack of corpses came so high up.

Slowly, Edana let out a breath. Plans took shape in her mind now, as she confirmed her suspicions.

She turned to find Sheridan standing in the doorway. As in the library, he stood guard against whatever might be behind them.

“I know what we’re dealing with,” she said softly, coming up behind him. “Let us make our stand here.”