Queen of Oblivion Page 13

  Galliana nodded. “I’m sure he’d rather see a hero returning than a deserter.”

  Shara wouldn’t have used the word “deserter” for what Astor and the others did, but they certainly wouldn’t receive a warm welcome. Still, Shara couldn’t shake the hope that Brophy had decided to return with Astor.

  “Either way,” Shara said, “I need to see them as soon as possible.”

  Galliana nodded and the two women began to run along the aqueduct side by side. Shara matched her breathing to Galliana’s as their feet flew along the top of the Water Wall. She hated to leave Clifftown with the Summer Fleet within sight, but Summermen hadn’t made a move for the entire day. It looked like Issefyn had convinced them to keep their distance, but Shara couldn’t be sure until she met with Vinghelt face-to-face.

  The two Zelani had reached the edge of the Citadel when Shara skidded to a stop. Her stomach lurched as if the ground were crumbling beneath her. “Where are they?” she gasped.

  Galliana turned to look where Shara was pointing and stumbled, nearly falling on her face. “Oh no.”

  Shara stared at the empty courtyard within the Citadel, far below. The weeping ones were gone.

  “Did you give orders to move them?” Galliana asked, grasping at straws.

  Shara shook her head. Every last weeping one in the city had been herded into the Citadel’s high-walled courtyard. There had been thousands of them in there, unmoving, unblinking. Desperately, she looked for a way they could have gotten out, but all the doors she could see were still locked. The gates were still closed.

  Shara turned to Galliana, and she could see the fear in her niece’s eyes. “How could anyone possibly…” the girl started, but couldn’t finish.

  “I have no idea,” Shara whispered. “I got a report on them an hour ago. They were fine. Just standing there, doing nothing, like always.”

  Shara shook off her daze and steadied her breathing, gathering her magic as quickly as she could. She had to find who was controlling them. He couldn’t use that kind of power without being noticed.

  Galliana tugged on her sleeve. “Shara,” she breathed.

  Shara opened her eyes to see a weeping one ascending the last few steps of the spiral staircase that led up from the heart of the Citadel. He had been an older man with thin gray hair and stooped shoulders before he’d been turned. He had probably walked with a cane, but now he shuffled along like a withered hunchback.

  The stooped ani slave was followed by another one. And another. And another.

  The line of weeping ones marched slowly and silently onto the roof of the Citadel, blocking their path westward. She whirled around and saw another group emerge from a staircase farther along the battlements, cutting off their escape back along the Water Wall. They were trapped.

  “Use your breath,” Shara whispered to her niece, pushing her fear down. “Be calm. Be ready.”

  The weeping ones continued emerging from below until there were dozens of them on either side. They shuffled closer and closer. Shara glanced into the empty courtyard below. It was an eighty-foot drop. She might be able to make it. Galliana wouldn’t.

  The two groups of weeping ones stopped a few paces away on either side of them.

  “Shara-lani,” one of the female ani slaves said in a man’s voice. “It is an honor to see you again.” The soulless woman spoke without inflection or expression. Her black eyes stared forward, unfocused.

  Shara tentatively reached out with her magic, testing her. Tainted emmeria swept around and through her body like an unseen wind. It swirled around all of them.

  “You’re the voice,” Shara said as her magic swelled within her body. “The voice in the black emmeria.”

  “I am much more than that,” the woman said. A black droplet fell from her chin onto her tattered shirt. “I apologize for the crudeness of my attempts at communication before, but my options have been limited.”

  “What do you want?”

  “The same thing that you want, lovely Shara-lani.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I want to be with the ones I love. I want to keep them safe.”

  Shara thought of Brophy, imagined him lying with his head on Arefaine’s lap as she caressed the blackened Heartstone.

  “Who do you love?”

  “My children. My grandchildren. My great-great-grandchildren. I love those who shine the brightest. And you and your niece shine brighter than any others in the world.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Your humility is part of your charm. In fact, you remind me of someone I knew long, long ago. The two of you share the same heart.” The voice sighed, but the weeping one it came from showed no expression whatsoever. “You are extraordinary, Shara. And you, Galliana, could be as powerful. You two are children of Efften, the illuminated blood flows like fire through your veins. Your days of exile among these wretched shepherds and merchants will soon be over. Once again we will be among our own kind in a place where we can thrive in complete peace and safety. I am building a garden, and I would like the two of you to come to live in it.”

  Shara shook her head slowly, trying to understand. It was the same voice that spoke to her every time she worked with the black emmeria, but that voice had been angry and desperate. Now he sounded quietly confident like a polite general treating with an enemy prisoner.

  “I am no more tempted by these lies than any others you have offered.”

  “I have never lied to you, I assure you,” the weeping woman continued. “Your inheritance awaits you, our garden has already begun to bloom.”

  “Sorry, I like the garden I already have.”

  “Shara-lani!” Shara flinched as every weeping one within sight spoke with the same voice at the same instant. She suddenly felt like a little girl again, waiting to be hit by her father.

  “I am a patient man,” dozens of weeping ones said in perfect chorus. “But do not test my good nature.”

  Shara glanced at Galliana. Her niece had lost control of her breath. She was starting to panic.

  “The attack against this city has begun.”

  Shara glanced to the east. A line of black smoke rose from the far side of the ridge. Clifftown was under attack.

  “Ohndarien will fall within the hour,” the mob of black-eyed slaves continued. “Once the locks are repaired, we will be continuing on to Efften. The two of you will be joining me.”

  Shara reached out and grabbed Galliana’s hand. She sent her niece a stream of ani.

  “I don’t expect you to agree,” the chorus of weeping ones said. “Children rarely do what is best for them, but it is the parent’s job to remain firm.”

  Shara squeezed Galliana’s hand twice and started to run. Her niece was right behind her and Shara charged at weeping ones in front of them.

  “No!” Shara shouted, throwing a flood of ani into the minds of those closest to her. She knocked them aside with her shoulder, charging through the crowd.

  The weeping ones rushed at them from all sides. Hands wrapped around Shara’s arms and hair. “No!” Shara shouted again, and more fell from her path.

  “Back!” Galliana shouted as they surged forward, helping to clear a path.

  Shara screamed over and over again, easily stunning those around her, but every time one of them fell limp, another arrived to take its place. She strained against the wall of bodies, but they would not budge.

  Galliana’s hand was ripped from Shara’s grip. She fought to locate her niece in the crowd. Shara flung her ani against her attackers, desperate to get free. Each attempt was feebler than the last.

  “No!” she screamed again, but there was no power to it beyond the sound of her own voice.

  A chilly hand wrapped around her face. Cold fingers locked around her mouth and nose, cutting off her breath. Shara flung her head from side to side, but she could not escape the grip. Her chest spasmed, and she caught a glimpse of Galliana lying limp in the arms of the weeping ones.

  “Hush,
child,” one of them whispered in her ear. “Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.”

  Astor’s lungs burned as he pushed himself faster, farther. He ran with the Sword of Autumn naked in his hand, praying he could find a way to the battle.

  They had waited outside the Sunset Gate, until Bendrick noticed the column of black smoke. Astor and the other Lightning Swords gave up on getting into the city and decided to run around it instead. They put ashore, scrambled up the ragged cliffs to the north of the Sunset Gate, and started running overland.

  Astor had outdistanced his companions by over a hundred yards by the time he reached the Quarry Gate. The blue-white marble wall was still cracked where the corrupted whale had thrown itself against the stone just a few weeks before.

  Astor shouted to the gatekeepers, if there were any, but there was no response. Casting about, he found a stone the size of two fists and snatched it up. He ran to the metal doors of the gate and pounded the stone against them over and over again. The echoing boom from each strike hurt Astor’s ears, but there was no reply. Where was everyone?

  Cursing, Astor gave up on the gate and ran back to the quarry floor. Bendrick and the others were still well behind him. He knew it was dumb to rush into battle alone. It was the same dumb mistake he’d made fighting the corrupted sharks before Brophy awoke, but he had to at least see what they were facing. He had to know if they had a chance.

  Turning from his friends, Astor ran along the quarry wall. It would be a grueling trek up the jagged steps of the quarry to the top of the ridge. Astor had run Ohndarien’s wall many times. The run up the ridge was by far the hardest part, but at least the top of the wall was cut into perfect steps. Running over the rough ground at the base of the wall would be much, much harder. Astor’s shoulder already ached from carrying the heavy sword, and his legs were starting to feel the strain. But he couldn’t give up. He had promised Brophy. The Summer Fleet must not get through Ohndarien.

  Astor scanned the route ahead as he ran across the quarry floor. Climbing out of the quarry would be like running through a maze, zigzagging back and forth on the narrow staircases that led from ledge to ledge up the steep sides. He reached the first stairway and looked back to check on the others. They had nearly reached the Quarry Gate when they skidded to a stop.

  A small group of people emerged from the tunnel. It looked like there were fifteen or twenty of them. They were unarmed, but several of them seemed to be holding a pair of struggling prisoners in their arms. The two groups stopped and stared at each other for a few moments. Astor could see Bendrick creeping backward, sword in hand.

  And then the newcomers attacked. One of them leaped on Bendrick, knocking him to the ground. The others rushed forward, and Astor heard a distant cry of pain. He ran back toward them at a dead sprint. His feet flew across the uneven ground, his aches and pains forgotten.

  The fight was pure chaos, but somehow the unarmed newcomers seemed to be pushing the Lightning Swords back. Astor looked for Bendrick. He was on the ground, still fighting. He stabbed his attacker over and over with a dagger, but the unarmed man ignored the blows.

  One of the prisoners, a woman with long dark hair, broke free from her captors. She only got a few steps before they overwhelmed her again.

  Astor grew more bewildered as he drew closer. The attackers were not soldiers of any kind. Some were women, old people, even a child. They were dressed in rags and seemed to have some sort of black paint on their faces.

  Two of them spotted him and broke from the group to intercept. Astor raised his sword to strike, but hesitated when he saw that one of them wore the sash of a Lightning Sword.

  Unwilling to use his blade, Astor lowered his shoulder and crashed into his attacker. Something popped in his shoulder. White pain shot thought his body at the force of the impact. He bounced sideways and tumbled across the ground. Hitting the man was like running into a wall.

  Astor rolled back onto his feet and struggled to get his bearings. Three people attacked him at once, and he spun sideways to take them one at a time. An old woman in her sixties charged at him, skeletal fingers outstretched.

  Her eyes were black.

  Black like the Heartstone.

  Black like Brophy’s eyes when he’d killed Astor’s mother.

  Astor swung with all his might. The Sword of Autumn cut the woman in half and he spun into another blow. A naked man with fresh blood dripping from his chin lost his head.

  Fingernails raked at Astor’s neck from behind, and he dropped to the ground, cutting through the third attacker’s legs in one blow.

  Frantic arms continued to grab at him, but Astor spun away and plunged his sword into the thing’s chest. It was a heavyset woman with greasy hair and eyes as black as midnight. She panted uncontrollably for a few seconds and then went limp. Her black eyes never closed. The blank expression on her face never changed.

  Astor yanked his sword free and turned to face the others.

  Bendrick and the rest of his comrades were dead, their necks broken or throats torn out. There were at least ten of the creatures with black stains on their faces. Astor stood his ground as they all turned their blackened eyes toward him. A few were still struggling with the two women prisoners, but the rest fanned out and began to surround him. They had armed themselves with the fallen Lightning Swords’ weapons and were panting uncontrollably as if they had been running for days.

  “Astor,” someone called out, nearly out of breath.

  He risked a glance at one of the prisoners. She struggled against the hands trying to suffocate her. “Shara!”

  He got a sudden mental picture of himself rushing to the right and cutting down an attacker that had collapsed to the ground. Before he could respond, the black-eyed creatures came at him in a rush.

  Astor followed the image in his mind, flinging himself to the right. Someone shouted and the creature in front of him stumbled to its knees, and Astor took its head off.

  Another image came to him, and he realized that Shara was sending them. He followed it implicitly, spinning around and cutting down a filthy fat man, who stumbled just at the right moment to die. And then they were all around him. Astor fought on instinct, spinning, twisting, and hacking about himself. Someone jumped on his back, knocking him to the ground. The attacker suddenly went limp and fell away. Astor rolled back to his feet. Hands grasped at him, and he cut them off. Feet kicked him, and he rolled away from the blows. Something grabbed his sword hand, and he yanked it free. Somewhere in the distance someone kept shouting, “No! No! No!”

  “Astor?”

  Shara stopped a few paces from where Brophy’s cousin had collapsed on hands and knees, covered in gore. She couldn’t tell which blood belonged to him and which to the weeping ones. His chin was slashed open and a flap of skin fluttered with his labored breathing.

  He looked so much like Brophy. So much.

  “Can I have the sword?” Shara asked. “There might be more.”

  Astor nodded, but didn’t raise his head. He made a feeble attempt to push the sword toward her, but he didn’t let go.

  She pried the blood-soaked blade from his fingers. Taking it in one hand, she rose and walked over to where Galliana lay unconscious on the quarry floor. Her nose had been broken and bruises were already starting to form over her mouth where she’d fought the hands that strangled her. But she was breathing, at least there was that.

  Dead weeping ones and Lightning Swords lay all around them. Shara closed her eyes against the sight, fighting through the throbbing pain in her head and aches throughout her body. She took a deep breath, resisting the tears that threatened to pull her under.

  For a brief moment she had thought it was Brophy running toward them, Sword of Autumn blazing. But that one moment had been enough. That one moment of self-deception had filled her with a surge of hope, a sudden explosion of power, when all her other reserves had run out. Her mistaking Astor for Brophy had saved them all.

  Shara tu
rned back to Astor when she heard him rising to his feet. The boy still hadn’t caught his breath, but his brown eyes were determined. He walked over to her on wooden legs, struggling for balance. Shara handed him the sword, and he took it.

  “What happened?” he managed to say between breaths.

  Shara looked at the bodies of the handful of weeping ones lying around them. There had been thousands in the Citadel. Thousands.

  “Ohndarien just fell,” she said, trying to hold back the sob.

  Chapter 15

  Shara sat alone in the dying light and watched Ohndarien burn.

  She had hidden herself amid the jagged boulders on one of the peaks overlooking Ohndarien. She could see the entire city from here, both sides of the ridge from Clifftown to the Windmill Wall. Smoke from dozens of fires still obscured most of the city. The worst was in the bay, where every ship had been put to the torch. Weeping ones ran through the streets like wraiths, looking for more victims to join their soulless horde.

  The battle had taken less than an hour, just like the voice in the emmeria had said. Weeping ones from the Citadel attacked from the east as weeping ones from the Summer Fleet attacked from the west. Even at height of her power, Ohndarien would have struggled to stand against an organized attack by that many ani slaves.

  Even from this distance, Shara could sense Issefyn’s life force on the deck of one of the summer ships. She was the only human Shara could detect amid the thousands of soulless ani slaves. And Issefyn never strayed more than a few feet from the engorged containment stone that blazed in Shara’s magical sight like a pitch-black sun. Shara felt her shame like a wound. Issefyn had played her for a fool. It had been Shara’s old friend, not some mysterious Kherish mage, who had been controlling the weeping ones before. And Shara had sent her right into the midst of another army just waiting to be dominated.

  In the first few hours after the battle, an endless line of Ohndarien prisoners was brought before Issefyn. One after the other, she ripped out their souls, swelling the ranks of her weeping army. It took every ounce of willpower Shara had to watch the travesty from a distance rather than rushing in to stop it and losing her life in a fight she could not win.