Season of Glory (38 page)

We approached the others. Keallach and Niero were in deep conversation, both with
arms crossed, gesturing on occasion to the gates. Last time we were here, there had
been guards at the gates and we had to present papers to enter. Now, clearly, no
one was going in
or
out.

An Aravander returned to us after going to the gates and speaking to a sentry. “It's
as you supposed. The city gates are closed. Indefinitely.”

Keallach let out a scoffing laugh. “They so fear us?” he asked, arching one brow
and looking down the line of us.

We were no more than two hundred in number. Hardly an army. We were here more for
what we hoped to convey as emissaries of the Way, with strength beside and behind
them. We were strong—a force to be certain—but not a threat.

“I will gain us entrance,” Keallach muttered.

He walked on without waiting for our agreement. My spirit agreed with the agitation
among my fellow Ailith—he really should have conferred with us before making a move—and
yet my soul kept me from speaking since I supposed it would
keep the rest of them
quiet too . . . because we were
supposed
to be here. We all felt the whiplash nature
of it. The Maker's pull was directing us inward, and yet the growing chill of our
armbands made us want to run away. Here, at Castle Vega, we were certain to encounter
our first real battle in weeks.

My heart stilled. Just who was inside?

“We need every Remnant on point,” Niero growled as we got closer, following behind
Keallach. “Dig deep. Seek out the Maker to determine how he wants you to utilize
your gifting here.”

We stopped, ten paces from the massive gates that were inset between the towering
limestone block walls, and looked upward, side by side, with our throng of compatriots
behind us.

“I am Keallach, crown prince of Pacifica and emperor of the West,” our brother said,
his voice echoing upward to the guards who peered down at us, their faces in deep
shadow. “I demand that you open these gates at once and welcome your ruler and his
friends, as you have sworn to do.”

There was a prolonged silence. I was wondering if they'd elected not to say anything
in response when a man finally called down to us. “You were once our emperor, Keallach
of Pacifica, but now you are no more than a rebel prince like your brother, Kapriel.
We answer to the Council, not to you. And the Council has ordered us to bar your
entry.”

Keallach's jaw muscles tensed, and his hands folded into fists at his side. “Even
as a private citizen of Castle Vega, I should be granted entry. The palace itself
is my private property, built by our father.” He looked over to Kapriel. “Her servants
are paid from our personal treasury, not Pacifica's.”

“It has been seized and made an official embassy of Pacifica,” returned the guard,
perhaps the captain, since he was the only one who spoke. “You have been divested
of every
possession and property you once had, Keallach, as the result of your defection
to the enemy. You are penniless.” We could all hear the glee in his voice.

“You might have seized every coin I had, but I am rich beyond measure,” retorted
Keallach. “I have discovered wealth that my former brothers in Pacifica will likely
never know.”

“Oh?” said the guard. “Was there gold in the rock of the Citadel that you favor?
Perhaps the Council's soldiers will return to mine it further.” We could hear the
chortles of his fellow guards. Clearly, he was gaining confidence.

Keallach took a deep breath to speak again, but Kapriel took a step to stand beside
him, setting a calming hand on his arm. We all realized that Keallach wasn't used
to being thwarted; I knew that an inner rage built within him because of it.

“There is a gold that cannot be carried in the pocket,” Kapriel said up to them.
“A wealth that can be mined but not measured in the ways we are used to. It's only
found in the peace and security of following the Maker's Way. And the Maker has brought
us here, to you, and has asked us to enter this city.”

“And
we
are asking you to turn around and go away,” said the captain wryly. “We shall
not fall to your wiles as Zanzibar has.”

“I'm afraid we cannot. Open the gates, and no harm shall come to you,” Kapriel said
carefully. It was then that I saw the gathering clouds above the castle.

“We do not fear you, rebel prince,” sneered the captain. “You have what? Bows and
arrows? A few guns among you? That will not gain you entry.”

“No,” he said, “but the Maker shall.” He lifted his hands to the skies, and the clouds
grew darker, building into a fearsome bank that spoke of hail and wind and lightning.

I could feel the electricity in the air, the promise of unworldly strength on the
wind, and my pulse quickened. Vidar fell to his knees, lifting his arms. When I did
as well, I could see glimpses of angels, moving so fast that it was like they were
there a moment, and with a blink, they were gone—as if the veil between our world
and theirs lifted and dropped, over and over again. But they were clearly amassing,
and their presence made me feel a hundred times stronger. They would help us face
down the chilling presence of what awaited us inside. It, too, grew in strength.

The wind whipped past us, pulling tendrils of hair from my band. Tressa fell to her
knees beside me, gripping my hand in half terror, half glory. Because witnessing
the Maker on the move, through us, was always that way. So beyond us, yet part of
us too. Tears dripped down my face. Such honor. Such power.

May we be worthy of it, Maker,
I prayed.
May we use it for your glory, not our own.
Open these gates before us. Help us capture this city and put down your enemies.

Thunder rumbled so loudly it reverberated in our chests, and the dark clouds above
the city roiled in a slow circle, as if a tornado was developing directly above it.
I thought I might have heard screams and cries from inside the walls, but I knew
that would be impossible over the howl of wind. Then it occurred to me that, with
my knees on the ground, I was feeling the combined emotions of those inside. The
terror. The regret. The anger. The fear. The wild hope.

I looked up into the eye of a storm unlike anything we'd seen before. And it was
magnificent, really. The lead-colored sky flashed with constant lightning, bolts
of it cracking down toward the city in a terrifying display. The air smelled
of ozone,
and our hair began to rise—on our arms, on our heads—warning us of what was to come.
“To the ground, people of the Way,” Kapriel muttered, still standing with his hands
cupped, lifting and swaying to a divine rhythm we could only sense as a whisper.

As we fell flat to the sandy soil, we heard the lightning hit its mark, the sound
so loud that, afterward, we were partially deafened. Ronan took my elbow, urging
me to my feet again, and I saw that the gates had been essentially blown ajar. As
we began to move forward, I knew that it had been the crossbeam that was blasted
away. Keallach was raising his hands now, leading us with his brother at the front
of our V-shaped gathering, lifting and flinging wide the gates, which I remembered
oxen pulling open before, all with a single wave of his hands.

“Those princes . . .” Vidar said, panting as we ran. “Not just pretty faces, are
they?”

“No,” I said with a huff of a laugh. “No, they're not.”

But my tickled humor was short-lived as we entered through the city gates, right
behind Kapriel and Keallach. Pacifican soldiers were gathering themselves even as
they retreated into the recesses of the city, firing at us with guns and arrows.
Even a small metal disc came sailing through the air, heading straight for my face.
Ronan had grabbed my wrist but would've been too late to save me had Keallach not
lifted a hand and sent the devious weapon swerving into a terrace post at my side.
It pierced the wood and vibrated upon impact, its curved prongs making me swallow
hard.

I looked to thank Keallach, but he'd moved on. As I watched, he saved Bellona from
an arrow and sent a soldier, who had been set to pierce Killian from behind, flying
toward a far wall. Kapriel was busy too—bringing a lightning bolt
down in the center
of the road before us, scattering a small force of soldiers who had regrouped to
take a stand.

Still, even with the impressive power of the princes, bullets and arrows continued
to rain down upon us. There were many, many soldiers within the outpost. Ronan grabbed
my hand, and together we ran to a small alcove where the guards above us couldn't
get a good angle. Belatedly, we discovered two lithe Pacifican soldiers, their faces
chiseled in fury and desperation, a lethal combination. One was already striking
with his sword, and I barely twisted out of the way in time. The other was upon Ronan.

The first advanced upon me, driving me out into the open courtyard, where once again
bullets and arrows came perilously close. But I couldn't think about those, only
about the man with the maniacal look in his eyes who struck at me again and again
with his sword. I parried, repeatedly, but it wasn't long until I knew he was stronger
than I.

Vidar and Bellona were in skirmishes of their own just a few paces away, fighting
off three soldiers—one of whom was a giant of a man, one a lithe woman who possessed
a wicked talent with her thin sword. That was all I could gather in a couple of glimpses.
My opponent, sweating and grinning a little as he sensed my waning strength, kept
driving me outward, away from the rest. Kapriel's wind sent garbage and hay swirling
around us, making our battle's canvas an unworldly backdrop.

I bumped into a wagon and spun, just as his sword came down, splintering wood that
a second before would've been my shoulder. He growled, wrenched the sword free, and
whirled, clearly intent on slicing me in half. I brought up my sword and blocked
him, but the impact sent a shudder through my arm
that proceeded all the way up my
neck and down my back. I felt my hand release my sword, as if it had in its own mind
to stop such nonsense. But my enemy didn't pause when he saw this new opening. He
swung wide, giving his strike added strength as he brought it down at me. I could
do nothing but cradle my throbbing wrist and watch it come, knowing that this might
very well be the end for me.
Maker
, I breathed.

Ronan's body hurtled against my side, sending me sprawling. I looked back, and he
had blocked the man's strike with one hand while plunging a dagger into his belly
with the other. The man staggered backward, dropping his sword and looking down
at the dagger as if he couldn't quite comprehend it. Then he fell heavily to his
rear, legs straight out before him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped
into a wave of dead flesh.

Ronan reached for me, and together, we hunkered down behind the wagon, watching as
the last of those who had dared to stand against us were waylaid by the princes,
our fellow Ailith, and the many soldiers who had followed us in. When all was silent,
we slowly rose, finding the sudden stillness eerie.

“They've retreated!” someone called.

We gathered together at one edge of the courtyard, beneath a terrace in case any
other soldiers still roamed the walls. I had heard Niero earlier send twelve Aravanders
to search the walls and remove anyone who did not immediately surrender, then keep
watch from there to see how they might aid us as we delved deeper into the city.
Taking stock, we found we'd only sustained superficial wounds.

“Not a one of us who entered the gates has been mortally wounded,” Tressa said in
wonder, walking past each and every person present.

“The Maker be praised,” Niero said.

“The Maker be praised,” many of us echoed.

“It is he who brought us here,” Kapriel said, “and he who will see us through.”

Asher edged closer, his hands on the hilt of his sword, the tip resting on the ground.
“And now do we try and coax the innocent from their homes? Those who likely huddle
in corners, fearing for their lives?”

“No,” Kapriel said soberly. “We must root out the evil that still abides here, and
that will protect the few ‘innocents' that remain.”

Again, my hand moved to my arm cuff. The chill was growing. And yet, for once, I
knew it wasn't just a warning of approaching attack. It was leading us
toward
those
that we were to drive out.

Because this was a city the Maker either wanted to reclaim . . . or destroy.

CHAPTER
36

ANDRIANA

N
iero divided our company into three groups, assigning a small group of Aravanders
and
Drifters
to move ahead of us and serve as scouts, ferreting out any remaining soldiers who
dared to stand against us. We Ailith stayed together, well aware that while our power
had grown to an impressive level, we would remain the main target for our enemy to
destroy. And as we wound deeper into the city, it didn't take our arm cuffs to know
there were still many enemies present.

A wail ahead of us had brought our scout party to a halt, but Niero waved them on.
As we got closer, we heard the screech of a woman. Her fine linen fortune-teller's
tent was now in shreds from the wind, and the sound of her voice was both a wail
of despair and battle cry of fury. “Be gone from here, people of the Way! Be gone!
We do not want you here! It is our city!
Ours!
”

Kapriel did not pause at the remains of her doorway; he plunged right in. My breath
caught, but I was moving before I thought about it. And so were the other Ailith,
until we all stood in the woman's tent, surrounding her. She moved, crablike, her
eyes and hair wild. “No!” she keened. “No! Be away from me! You are not wanted here!”