Chapter VIII
Desolation
In which they reckon with Zanbil
Colorful lights sparkled in the darkness. The lights flew by, and in the blink of an eye, they were gone. Edana blinked again.
Darkness. And cold. Gone was the brightness she had taken for granted in Aletheia’s grotto. Now she found herself jostled on a platform—what she assumed was a platform—in whatever corner remained of legendary Zanbil.
Overhead, a rosy haze offered a focal point in the gloom. Below, at their feet, green symbols glowed faintly, offering a counterpoint to the rose-glow. Teleportation sigils.
Silvery light flared. A glance to her right revealed Alia had activated her marvelous wand again, pointing it straight to her right. Sheridan, as it turned out, carried a wand as well, and he aimed his straight ahead.
By all appearances, they stood on a large platform, at least a hundred feet square—one hundred feet on each side. And opulent: tiled aventurine on the floor, sparkling green with flecks of copper. At the edges, the platform vanished. However, at each of the four corners stood a pillar with lotus capitals, from which arose arcs of iridescent moonbow steel. The moonbow arcs joined a giant moonbow-steel ring suspended overhead. In the center of the ring, an enormous, reddish purple gem proved to be the source of the rosy glow that haloed them.
“So the stones in the Gates are asmani stones? They’re so pretty,” Bessa noted. White puffs punctuated her words, emphasizing how frigid was the air they breathed.
The ring itself was incised with the signs of the zodiac. Jeweled studs formed a pattern for each sign: emeralds at the spring equinox stood for the Huntress, followed by peridots for the Aurochs, chrysoprase studs for the Dolphin, and then the lapis lazuli for the Restorer’s Phoenix.
Opposite the ring — on the floor — the glow of the teleportation sigils faded out, revealing they were carved of malachite.
Tregarde activated his wand, then he, Alia, and Sheridan walked over to the edges of the square. North went Alia, and west went Sheridan. Tregarde went east, while Edana, Bessa, and Selàna waited in the center.
“Ah,” said Tregarde. “So that’s the situation. Come see.”
Edana went over to him, with Bessa close at her heels. They were not on a platform after all. Rather, they stood at the apex of a stepped pyramid. Pure white marble steps led down from the apex, trimmed with thin strips of lapis lazuli which snaked down the steps of the pyramid on each side.
“Steps,” Edana noted. “No wagons came to this portal? No trade? Or did goods come through a ‘cargo’ portal elsewhere?”
Tregarde whistled. “Astute of you, Optima Nuriel. Marble, aventurine, malachite—those all have to be dug out of the ground. Quarried. Don’t imagine you get quarries in a floating city: there must be another portal.”
“Unless the city lowered itself on the ground to receive heavy cargo,” Sheridan suggested, coming up beside them.
Softly came Selàna’s voice behind them. “Mama said the king of Zanbil sent out procurers to obtain things the city couldn’t provide itself. Building materials, for instance. The procurers each carried a portal staff that let them return to Zanbil at will. The city didn’t ‘lower’ itself. ‘Eagles do not catch flies,’ said the king. That’s what I remember Mama telling me.”
“Portal staffs? Did she say how those worked?” Edana asked. What a remarkable invention!
“I believe they were attuned to particular places in Zanbil. Warehouses, specifically.” Selàna was staring out at the southern portion of the apex, which was still bathed in darkness.
Was anything lurking in the dark with them? Edana shuddered.
At that very moment, the reddish-purple haze of the asmani stone abruptly winked out.
“Oh!” Selàna’s cry pierced the darkness.
Edana remained still. Beside her the rasp of steel on leather told her Bessa had unsheathed her thunder mace. Smart of her, and Edana hastened to do the same. Tregarde and Sheridan stood back to back; their wands providing a bright pool of illumination within a ten foot radius.
“Be still and I will come to you,” Alia said. Bathed in the silvery light of her Ellura wand, she appeared to be an ethereal flame as she strode over to Selàna.
Holding her breath, Edana waited for Alia to reach Lady Nensela’s daughter. Fear reared up in her mind, an insistent expectation that something might be lurking near the girl. Something that managed to follow them from Aletheia’s Fane …
But all was well, or so Alia’s wand revealed when she came close enough to illuminate Selàna. Nothing was looming over Selàna; no baleful trespasser from Erebossa menaced her.
“Do you need my arm?” Alia asked. When Selàna shook her head, Alia placed her free hand over the scabbard of her strange dragon weapon. “Go ahead of me.” She lifted her chin in the direction of Edana’s group.
Hurrying to obey, Selàna jogged over to them. Alia’s approach was slower, as she walked backwards, keeping an eye on the southern portion of the pyramid.
“Looks clear on this side,” Tregarde said.
Once Alia joined them, Tregarde took the lead. By twos they descended the pyramid, with Bessa next to Tregarde, Selàna beside Sheridan, and Edana bringing up the rear with Alia.
On the ground they learned the pyramid was housed in a grand hall, whose walls now became visible to their wands. Intriguing hieroglyphics came to light. For several heartbeats Edana stared, transfixed, and beside her Bessa inhaled sharply.
“We’re the first people to stand here since the Fourth Cataclsym,” Bessa whispered.
Over four hundred and fifty years since that fateful day, when Zanbil fell.
Literally fell, if the stories were to be believed.
Yet everything appeared to be intact. In awe and wonder they looked about, keeping a respectful and wary silence as they did so.
The hieroglyphics told a tale …
“What do these mean? These are hieroglyphics, aren’t they?” Bessa whispered.
“Yes, but as we cannot read them—” Sheridan cut himself off, seeing Selàna finger the painted carvings. “Do you know what these say?”
“One of my teachers was a priest of Athyr-ai,” Selàna answered. She paused, studying the wall. “Bring your light over here.” Without even checking to see if he would follow, Selàna strode over to the northeast corner of the room.
All of them followed her. For a long moment she examined the glyphs, then nodded to herself. “We may want to know this. A history of Zanbil, starting with its founder, Farsak the Wise. In his boyhood he was guided by a star. A star … which fell, during the Night of the Falling Stars.” Selàna began walking leftward along the north wall.
As fast as Selàna could read the glyphs, the tale unfolded.
On the fateful night when the stars fell, Farsak heard a voice cry out to him in the dark. He knew, in his heart, that his star had spoken to him. For three nights the stars fell, and fell, and fell. At long last the bombardment ceased, and Farsak set out into the deserts of Athyr-ai. Night after night, day after day he searched, aided by his closest companions.
On the seventh night, they found her.
The star nymph.
Irynefer.
Selàna gasped. “A battle in the stars! Such a thing happened! Irynefer told him she took part in the battle—let me see, who did she fight against?”
Edana tensed. As a little girl the thought of the stars falling had seemed romantic, because Mama had said one could make wishes on such stars. If a multitude of stars fell, a multitude of wishes could come true for everyone. The look of quiet apprehension on Selàna’s face filled her with dismay.
“Was it Ra—the shadow queen?” In a place of dark desolation she would not name Rahqu.
“An ancient enemy,” Selàna said after several agonizing heartbeats. “Unnamed, except Irynefer referred to them as ‘the Hosts of Chaos.’”
“Hosts. As in armies?” Bessa demanded. “Or as in the bodies of those possessed by fellshades?”
“The first one; the glyph for that word is always used in a military context. And, I don’t get the sense mortals were involve in this part of the battle. But the star nymphs were attacked by the nymphai infernales—infernal nymphs of Erebossa. And the infernal nymphs weren’t alone … oh my!”
That was when they all saw it. A vignette depicting enormous beings towering over the white-clad star nymphs. Six-armed, lion-maned beings with hideous faces. Edana’s heart skipped a beat in recognition.
“The gigalion,” she whispered. “Bessa and I fought one at Red Pointe. That’s what the giants turn into if there are more than fifty of them in one place. The giants are the hosts of chaos?”
Beneath the lights of the Ellura wands Selàna visibly paled, a neat trick given her amber skin tone. “You’ve seen these monsters?”
“‘Monster’ is apt. The Salamandra call them monsters, too: atta’u, in their language,” Edana answered.
For several heartbeats Selàna went still. Then she exhaled and squared her soldiers. “The gigalions threw down the stars to us. Irynefer said the gigalions meant to keep her and her sisters from teaching and guiding us Thuraians. Teaching us, and guiding us in how to fight the Ancient Enemy. When the stars crashed to our world, it began a Cataclysm. Followed by a dark age. But Irynefer said her sisters purposely cast themselves down with those stars. This was their plan, to make it look like they were defeated.”
Alia tapped her lips. “A strategic retreat, then. Did it work? Did the gigalions back off?”
“It worked. The gigalions ceased their incursions. The War in the Stars was over. Safe now, the star nymphs set to work on the mortals, each with their own missions. Irynefer taught gatecraft. Another taught blacksmiths the secret of star steel. And two others created secret orders of arcana to stand guard.”
“Phaënna,” Edana said. “I can confirm that part of the story, too. She is real, and the gigalions are real. What more?”
They had come to the end of the North wall. The story continued at the West wall, which chronicled the rise and greatness of Zanbil, the floating city Farsak founded. He had intended the city to be a refuge for other sorcerer-priests of Athyr-ai, to advance knowledge and creation of wondrous devices. A floating laboratory of innovation, and a repository of knowledge. For hundreds of years after his death, Zanbil fulfilled his vision.
The South Wall revealed the darker days of Zanbil. Regardless of how high up the city floated, they were still touched by the Age of Iniquity. The scribes stressed that only a small faction of the sorcerer-priests were corrupted by “outside influences” from “the Surfacers.”
Yet that small faction wielded outsized influence. This faction, who called themselves the Unificationists, railed against Zanbil remaining aloof in the skies. They wanted everyone to know the secrets of gate making. Ostensibly their cause was innocent. But secretly, they did not want the gates to travel within Thuraia. Truly, they sought to open the gates of the cosmos itself.
“They weakened and undermined the rulers of Zanbil, the king and his counselors. And then came the ‘Betrayal at High Noon’ as the scribe names it. In that hour, the Unificationists took over the control room of the heaven stone that kept Zanbil afloat. They set in motion the city’s fall …” Selàna looked ahead, to the East wall. Blank. “And the Conservationists—those are the sorcerer-priests who wanted to preserve Zanbil’s function as a library and creation forge—triggered a spell. ‘Sentinel,’ they called it. Look, look at this!” She tapped another vignette, which showed a city inside what appeared to be a bubble. Next to it were more symbols, which Selàna translated.
“‘Zanbil shall be kept from time. Zanbil shall be preserved. Not for Zanbil the destruction of the wicked, but for Zanbil eternal peace.’”
No more was written.
Sheridan said, “Preserved? So that’s why no rubble, then. The city didn’t shatter into pieces. But preserved how?”
Selàna shrugged. “The scribes do not say. Perhaps the knowledge is carefully guarded. But we need to expect to see people. And be prepared for them to be unfriendly.”
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However, seeing people would require them to first leave the room. Which turned out not to be so simple a proposition.
An ornate door of oxidized bronze took up the center of the South wall. A door that wouldn’t budge when Sheridan attempted to open it. He stepped back, eyed the door, then felt along the edges as if to find the hinges—which were of course hidden within the columns framing the door.
Push. Pull. Pound. Every option proved useless; no one responded from the other side.
Alia and Tregarde began examining the door. Meanwhile, the intense chill prompted the others to begin adding layers to their clothes.
Bessa eyed the door as she pulled on a pair of gloves. “Should we meddle with this? In Silura, if you’ve killed an enemy sorcerer, it’s standard to take his head. He can be set to work on matters like securing an area. My mother’s family uses such a guard, for their tombs. Tampering with the doors on the tombs would draw its attention.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Edana tried to picture this, while she wrapped a thick woolen shawl around her neck up until her nose was covered. “So, a skull floats around the tombs?”
Bessa wrapped her face and neck in a similar fashion, but had tied her shawl into a bow above her heart. “Perhaps? I really don’t know what it does all day. And night. Only trespassers ever see it. When I was seven, my cousin Aucissa and I tried to get a look at one of the skull sentinels. But we carry Pendry blood in our veins, so we couldn’t trick the sentries into thinking we were trespassers. It turns out it’s just as well; the revenants always turn invaders into more revenants.”
The others halted in their tracks at the mention of revenants, but Bessa didn’t notice, for she was rooting around in her pack for something. She cheerfully continued, her Siluran lilt becoming more pronounced as she reminisced, “We found two bodies one day while we were playing near the tombs, but Grandfather burned them on a pyre, with their skulls, too. First his death priest interviewed them, though, and confirmed they weren’t sorcerers. Merely cowardly thieves who thought robbing the dead was easy money. Grandfather decided ordinary idiots weren’t worth keeping around. He made sure their spirits couldn’t trouble us.”
Triumphantly, Bessa pulled a cap out of her bag, and promptly fitted it on her head. She pulled it low, down over her ears.
Edana paused. She recalled now the gold-plated skulls Bessa’s Grandfather Pendry kept on display in his house. Until this moment, she had thought them nothing more than a sign of his prowess in killing so many Furi warriors and chieftains, who had tried in vain to invade Silura. Though she’d always insisted on claiming herself Siluran, for she was born in Falcon’s Hollow, she’d forgotten about the legendary Siluran death priests. And their penchant for enslaving the dead. More, if they found the corpses soon enough after death they even had the ability to interview the dead.
Where death priests were concerned Edana sided with Rasena Valentian attitudes on banning them, but now she considered how useful they might have been in her investigations into Lady Nensela’s prophecy. What would a death priest have done with Duke Gagnon? Or Protector Amavand, for that matter?
Tregarde arched an eyebrow. “How did your grandfather come to have a death priest? Isn’t that against the law in Rasena Valentis?”
Bessa returned his look with a roguish lopsided smile. “I am Siluran, and Grandfather Pendry is what I call ‘Old Siluran’: he does not regard the ways of Rasena Valentians. Especially when those ways clash with our ways. As he sees it. And as he sees it, it is never wise to yield an advantage over an enemy. Think on this: death priests have the power to inflict immortal vengeance. Grandfather says the laws against them were set down by Tarkhana, who as it happens, is known to have Ta-Setian blood…”
Understanding dawned in the sorcerer’s eyes. “So, your grandfather will not give up the one power that would command the respect—or fear—of an immortal adversary.”
“Yes. And some of the more insidious death priests were known to lay curses that could only be lifted by the particular priest. You see the problem when the priest has died of old age, but you are still alive, no? And will continue to be alive, and cursed, century upon century, age upon age.”
Tregarde ran his hands along the door. Coated with a green patina, it was still bronze, and therefore impervious to their pounding and kicking. “Well, I took the Oath, so making the dead work for you is not an art I know. Hopefully the sorcerers in this fortress were as sweet and innocent as I am. Let us pray this death-priest business is just for Silurans.”
But Bessa’s talk of revenants and death priests must have made an impression on Sheridan, for the young acolyte huntsman was edging away from the door. His fingers hovered over the amulet at his throat—a chrysoprase carving of a golden eagle. Certainly his bullet-throwing weapon would do no good against a revanant.
“What if the Zanbellians weren’t as ‘innocent’ as you? I thought the priests of Athyr-ai practiced death magics,” Sheridan said.
“Oh!” Selàna cried. In the light of the Ellura wands, her wide eyes gleamed with excitement. “One of you shine your light over there.” She pointed to a spot in the darkness between the South wall and the pyramid.
All three Ellura wands turned to where she pointed. Revealing the altar.
Once stately, grime and dust had dulled the white marble and its lapis blue veins. Along the base, gold gilt the panel mouldings. Four golden swans hugged the corners of the altar’s top, their wings extending outward so that their tips almost touched each other’s. Their graceful necks rose up, extending sinuously over the alter, and their heads pointed down, towards the altar as if they were to watch over the offerings placed there.
“Who is the altar for? Swans aren’t a motif of the Huntress, or any of the gods I can think of,” Tregarde pointed out.
“But swans fly higher than golden eagles, and the swans are the emblems of the Zanbellians. Mama said those were one of the few birds she ever saw flying overhead when she visited Zanbil. They’re prettier than the lammergeier besides,” Selàna replied with a little laugh. She gestured for him to follow her as she strode over to the altar. A sharp nod from her when she came to a stop on the northern side of the altar, where she now faced the door. “Here. Shine your light here.”
Without a word Tregarde did so. His eyes widened. “Ahhh. More hieroglyphics, with that fancy script alongside it. I don’t suppose you can read the script, too?”
“I, ah, thought the hieroglyphics were more interesting, so I didn’t pay as much heed to lessons on Athyr-aian letter writing. But I remember what Mama said, about how the doors were opened. You have to burn an offering on the altar. Do that, and the doors will open on their own accord. The script is telling us what vow we have to make when we burn the offerings.”
The others came around to inspect the altar for themselves. Inset in the altar’s base was a panel of painted low relief carvings showing a man and a woman placing blue lotus and precious resins onto the altar.
“Fi-fire would be g-good,” Bessa managed through chattering teeth.
It was freezing. Even bundled in as many layers as she could manage, Edana still felt the cold in her bones. Everyone shivered violently, except Alia. In fact Alia shrugged. Likely her comfort came via the enchantments her dryad foster mother had woven into her coat.
“Wh-what is the vow?” Edana asked. “Does e-everyone h-have to say it?” If the instructions required her to make vows in the name of any god other than the Sower, then she must find another way out.
“Do no harm to Zanbil or its people … obey its laws … there’s no obvious trap in the vow,” Selàna said after a moment’s study. She hugged herself and began jogging in place, as if to get warm.
However, Alia countered, “The trap is in how ‘harm’ is defined. Your own mother said she was allowed to know a translation of the Gate spell only because she didn’t have an asmani stone, and was not a sorceress. If she were a sorceress, and did have an asmani stone, would knowing gatespell be considered ‘harmful’ to Zanbil’s interests? If Zanbellians wanted a monopoly on gatespell and heaven stones they might answer yes to that question. Thus I will vow: not to steal, not to murder, and not to inflict grievous damage upon those who do no harm to me.”
With a slow nod Selàna concurred. “That vow should work … but what will we burn? The picture shows blue lotus flowers, but I think we can get away with any incense that smells nice. Any ideas?”
“I used up my best stuff in offerings to the Sea Lord,” Bessa said. She glanced at the venatori, and Edana supposed it would make sense for priests or sorcerers to carry around sacred essences.
Sheridan pulled a pouch from his coat and hefted it. “Calamus root. Almond tree resins.”
And so it was, they burned the offerings upon the altar and repeated Alia’s vow. Heart pounding in trepidation, Edana waited in silence for some sign the ritual was working.
Then, just as it seemed their actions were in vain, groanings came from beneath their feet. This time when their teeth chattered, it was in harmony with the rumblings of unseen machinery below them.
The bronze doors swung open.
“By the Blessed Knives,” Sheridan whispered.
Bessa whistled. “I want a lock like this! The tekmagi of Zanbil are as clever as my father.”
“And that is high praise, from the daughter of the Architect of the Sun City,” Edana said, for her own father had praised the works of Nikandros Bessus Philomelos in designing and building the imperial city of Solaris during their legionary days. Bessa’s father had been a renowned artificer who invented many wonders, and built stunning feats of engineering.
Tregarde and Selàna both stared at Bessa, awe in their eyes.
“Even in Anshan they speak highly of your father,” Selàna noted. “And in Athyr-ai I saw a library he built, in Kantharos.”
Bessa glowed with filial pride. “I’m glad his name lives on, even amongst the Anshani he fought against sometimes. We better get going, lest those doors close back on us.”
On that note, they hurried through the doorways.
No sentry accosted them in the corridor. To their pleasant surprise, glowing blue flames sprouted in cressets mounted to the wall, and the darkness vanished from the entire corridor.
Nevertheless, the group fell into formation, with Sheridan taking the lead, and Alia taking the rear. However, Tregarde pulled out a small codex and a pen. As best he could, he began mapping.
After a quarter of an hour they came to a great hall, a dining room suitable for a multitude. Clerestory windows, high up in the walls, revealed night still reigned outside. Several unlit braziers were scattered throughout the room. A quick inspection found two of them were still in usable condition … so long as they found fuel to keep them going. However, torch lamps stationed along the walls and hanging from the ceilings yielded to Tregarde’s spell. Fire blazed now, allowing them sufficient light to see.
At the far end of the room, a cauldron hung from a roasting spit. What had once been wine jars lay in jagged shards on the floor nearby, the floor beneath them stained with the remnants of the wine.
Edana unhooked a few spare torches from the sconces on the wall. She passed one to Bessa and one to Selàna. Tregarde claimed another, and the tour resumed.
Soon enough they began to realize they were in a fortified building. A fortress, perhaps, which would make sense if the Zanbellians protected their gate. Soon also they realized its state went beyond simple decay and disrepair. Signs of deliberate sabotage suggested an attempt to scuttle an outpost before an advancing enemy. Barricades blocked certain passageways. Notes scattered here and there indicated the Conservationists were determined to keep the Unificationists away from the Gate.
However, the fortress had been built of stone, and the structure remained sound. No corpses greeted them. Only destruction, and a stripping off of whatever valuables had been present.
Three quarters of an hour into their tour, their search ended in the discovery of a serviceable room in what was likely an officers’ wing of the fortress. It fit their criteria: small enough to keep them warm—the high ceiling in the vast mess hall would leech off any heat—and needed less cleaning than they expected. A large brazier dominated the center of the room. Sheridan inspected a metal bin sitting near it, and found it contained charcoal.
“Let’s rest here,” Alia suggested. She dropped her satchel at her feet, underscoring her suggestion. Plumes of dust rose up from the floor where her bag had landed. “We can get our bearings in the morning. In the meantime, let’s consider what we’re going to do about sleep.”
Edana glanced at Selàna, who had tensed at the mention of sleep. The girl cradled her bandaged hand—a reminder that something stalked her slumber.
“Alia, do you have a way to guard Selàna’s dreams?” Edana asked, as she set her torch in an empty sconce on the wall. From the corner of her eye she saw Bessa using her torch to light the charcoals Sheridan had placed in the brazier.
“I am not a dreamwalker, or a khrestai. So if you’re asking whether I can enter Selàna’s dreams, I can’t. But there may be something I can do.” From her satchel she produced an amulet, which she held up for the others to see. A miniature eagle fashioned of ash wood hung from a silver chain. “My mother made this for me when I was small. In those days she only said it kept out nightmares. But it specifically keeps out the trespassers from Erebossa that invade dreams.”
Selàna kept still as Alia fastened the chain around her neck. “This will keep the fellshades out of my dreams?”
“And protect you from certain other mental attacks. So long as you wear it.”
With little discussion, they applied their energy to sweeping out dust. They made up their sleeping pallets around the fire. The sole window in the room revealed they were still a long way from dawn. The last thing Edana saw before she closed her eyes for the night was Alia, standing watch over the group.
Dawn never came. Though they awakened to the triumph of having slept undisturbed, it was only their own body clocks that awakened them. Not light, not the rays of the sun.
“We must be in a different part of the world, where it is still night,” Sheridan supposed. “Perhaps we arrived after sunset their time, but we left Elamis before midnight.”
Right. No need to panic…yet unease stirred in all of them, as they began preparing a short breakfast of bread, cheese, and small fruits. Immediately after swallowing her last bite Alia clapped the crumbs from her hands and declared it time to begin scouting.
On the third floor they came to the parapets, which allowed them to overlook the site where the fortress stood.
The windows had already revealed that a snowstorm raged outside. There was no question they would have to stay put for a while. But where could they go once the storm died out? Where was the city in the bubble?
In the distance, to the north, a dark shape loomed.
A mountain?
Or the city in the bubble?
Outside, Edana blinked furiously at the snowflakes that fell to her lashes. She shivered against the chill, but found it tolerable. The outfitter had supplied her and Bessa with a coat, similar to the strange outer garment Alia wore. Until now, Edana had been dubious about how much good a coat could do, but the downy stuffing between the wool exterior and the satin lining interior proved its worth even outdoors.
To their north, the main road was in disrepair, and to their south was a vast forest. What may have been farmland in the east had since become wild again. All else was desolation.
“Food is going to be scarce,” Sheridan observed.
“And travel impossible,” Alia agreed.
The chill wind lashed at them, underscoring her words. Without their gryphons, scouting out the land or obtaining supplies became far more difficult.
Edana reminded herself that the fellshade was not omniscient. Though Rahqu might have wanted to corner them in some indefensible location, she lacked the power to spy on Lady Nensela’s visions. Nor would she have known they planned to come to Zanbil, and therefore she had no chance to prepare a trap against them. No, their present predicament was insupportable, but they could overcome it.
She hurried back to the officer’s wing. It didn’t take long to relocate the briefing room, where as she expected, there was still a map that showed the location of the gate fortress in relation to the nearby towns. She took the map to the others.
One name was written in a larger text, a suggestion that the town itself was large and important enough to appear on maps.
Selàna obliged her by translating. “The place to the north of us is the ‘Royal Ward.’ The capital. That must be what’s under the bubble. And we could walk to it in a day, if it stops snowing.”
“And what should we tell them when we get there? About ourselves, about why we came?” Bessa asked. “I don’t think we should trust them by saying outright what we’re about.”
The back of Edana’s neck prickled. Though Rahqu was not omniscient, that didn’t mean she didn’t have her own arcani.
And Selàna.
Her vessel.
Rahqu didn’t need to be omniscient: she had Selàna. A now-apostate who may still carry her taint…a taint not cleansed by ordinary means. But Alia had been able to track Raqhu’s minions because they were physically tainted by her ichor. If the huntress could track her prey through such means, then the shadow queen should be able to do the same from a spiritual standpoint. What the scribes of Zanbil wrote of the Unificationists suggested the shadow queen would find agents in that city. Malleable fools who would hunt down Selàna if the shadow queen offered up something they might want.
Like the freedom to escape the bubble …
Under her breath Edana swore. Her original plans revolved around keeping Selàna safe in Alia’s care, away from her. Alone—well, with Bessa—she might not attract the fellshade’s attention, and could work unhindered on the mission Lady Nensela had given to her.
But so long as Selàna traveled with them, Rahqu would never turn her gaze from them. Never would she leave them in peace.
Edana stared at the other girl from under her lashes. Selàna sat calmly, listening to them. The time had not yet come, to tell her what Narsai had said of her. But come it must, and soon. In what fashion could they ease her pain?
Aloud she said, “I side with your instincts, Bessa. By that I mean we will tell the Zanbellians little of what we seek, until we understand how things go there. But once we’re in the capital, we will need to make a plan for the danger we’ve brought to their doorstep. It could be attacked, just as Elamis came under attack. And for the same reason.” She eyed Alia. “You mentioned that you put a protection spell around the inn in Elamis. A spell to prevent any death powers from working. Is there anything we could do to protect Zanbil from … incursions from Erebossa?”
Bessa inhaled. By the looks on the group’s faces, they clearly had not considered that particular implication of last night’s attack. And Edana couldn’t blame them; after all, it was just as likely that Rahqu was bound to her stronghold. Spirits and demons were often tied to specific locations, and Protector Amavand had made Elamis into a stronghold for the infernal queen.
All eyes swung to Alia. Her exhale was long, but soft. “A fair point you make. To stay in any given town is to invite trouble on it. A trouble I can’t protect them from. I could avert Rahqu’s gaze from us…but not all of us.” Her eyes rested on Selàna.
Selàna shot to her feet. She clasped a hand over her mouth, as if to keep a scream inside. “I’m the danger?” she managed. “I’m the reason every one is in danger?” Her eyes darted wildly about before settling on the door.
“We will not abandon you,” Edana said quickly. She strode over to Selàna, and deliberately stood between the girl and the door, forcing the girl to look at her. “That is not an option. And you shouldn’t even attempt to run away. Your path is with us; we’re in this together. The question that actually matters is this: how do we defend ourselves against the next attack?”