The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XXIX

Battle Plans

In which Edana learns the horrifying truth

“Goodness, what was that about? What did you see?” Bessa demanded.

To Edana, reeling from shock, Bessa’s awestruck voice sounded far away. For one shining moment, hope had bloomed in her heart. Seeing the woman materialize from nothing reminded her of Lady Nensela, and her ability to project Sendings of herself.

Then came the moment when the woman looked at her. A recognition as discordant as biting into an apple and realizing too late she’d actually bit into a lemon: the stranger was not Lady Nensela. Though she shared some features—the shape of her eyes, the sculpted cheekbones, the full lips—this woman shared none of Lady Nensela’s good nature. Her lips, curled in a sneer, her ironic salute, these said she believed she had bested Edana somehow. A psychic slap that sent chills rippling down her spine.

Whose side is she on?

What answer would Senet give her if he were here now?

“By the Speaker,” Edana whispered.

Memories bubbled in her mind, of her first meeting with Lady Nensela. When they met the seer looked haunted, her eyes dead and bereft of all hope. Later Edana learned she was grieving her lost family. Her offer to let Edana accompany her had been perfunctory, and Edana had almost said no.

Except she was afraid to stay in the outpost, with only Rasenan soldiers and few civilians, none of whom she could trust. She had nearly wept when Lady Nensela made her offer. Such unexpected kindness and generosity from a stranger gratified her.

For days they traveled through the Scrubs, saying little to each other so deep were they in grieving their own losses. From inside her lectica—a kind of litter constructed similarly to a canopied bed—Lady Nensela kept her herself isolated, hidden by shimmersilk curtains whenever they passed through towns. In the wilderness, she sat motionless atop her camel, seemingly catatonic.

Until Edana sighted the raiders who’d ambushed her caravan.

“They killed your parents?” Lady Nensela had asked, her tone unexpectedly tinged with curiosity.

“Yes,” Edana had choked out, a wave of grief coming over her then. She folded her arms tightly over her chest, in a vain attempt to stop herself from trembling.

From atop her camel Lady Nensela surveyed the encampment below them. Slowly, her expression changed from bemusement to calculation, and her mouth set into a hard, thin line.

“Let us retreat, little one.”

“R-retreat?” Edana’s jaw clenched, and she silently berated herself for the obvious catch in her voice.

Lady Nensela turned to her then, and cocked her head, blinking as if she were seeing Edana for the first time. Which jolted Edana, for it occurred to her that in fact Lady Nensela never truly looked at her before now. Come to think of it, she never seemed to see anyone at all.

The elder woman’s disinterest never bothered Edana, because she was consumed with thoughts of returning to Falcon’s Hollow. In her fantasies she would throw herself into Matrona Aurelia’s arms, and let the only grandmother she’d ever known comfort her. Surely she would be welcomed as a foster child into the Philomelos household, just as Bessa had been welcomed into Edana’s household when she was a newborn infant. Edana would not be a slave. She would not be alone. She would still be loved and cared for.

The seer must have seen something in her face, for her gaze softened a trifle. “I must pray to the Destroyer—He will tell me how best to repay them,” she said coldly. “Go to my armsmen, and choose a weapon for yourself. The time for crying is over, little one. Do not be afraid: I will let no harm come to you.”

Lady Nensela had kept her promise. She gave Edana the satisfaction of knowing that the people who had slain her parents life would not escape their crimes unscathed. From her Edana learned to defend herself. She gave Edana silence when she needed it, and companionship when the grief became too much.

They had become friends.

While Lady Nensela gradually lost that deadness in her voice and her eyes, she always retained a touch of sadness. No matter how she smiled or laughed, it never went away.

Presently, Edana blinked. Something wet plopped on her cheek. Her eyes stung.

“Oh, Nensela,” she whispered.

To her surprise, Bessa suddenly stood in front of her. One look at Edana and her mouth rounded. Glancing just once over Edana’s shoulders, she pulled Edana aside and held her tight. In her arms Edana made no attempt to hide her tears.

“It’s alright,” Bessa soothed. “We’re in this together, remember? Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

Gratitude made Edana take Bessa’s words in the spirit in which Bessa had said them. Her sister was by her side, and she would understand Edana’s distress.

“It was her,” Edana rasped.

“Lady Nensela?” Bessa trilled, a note of hope rising.

“N-no. No. It was Selàna. But she—” Edana glanced sharply at the former lord of Elamis.

Dead. But where previously his topmost hand had been folded across his body, now the shriveled fingertips pointed toward his feet.

She pulled free of Bessa, and ran over to the corpse.

“Edana? What is it?” Bessa moved to the other side of the now-dead satrap, and gave him a quick once-over. Behind her, the Lyrcanians and the guards watched her with their hands resting on their weapons. And by the looks on their faces, they expected a damn good explanation to be forthcoming.

Steeling herself, Edana prepared to give them one. “A woman was here,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips. “Did none of you see her? Selàna. The daughter of Lady Nensela of Ta-Seti, and she took items from the protector. His vial—I think it was a blood vial—and a ring.”

Alia straightened, her hand going to the scabbard of the weapon she’d said was a pistol. She hurried over, and the others followed.

Tregarde swore, with feeling. “We should have searched him!”

Exhaling hard through her teeth, Edana spun away from the corpse to face the wall. On a hunch she probed the smooth stone surface. Nothing remarkable, as far as she could tell. So then—obviously, Selàna could do Sendings, just as her mother could. But Edana always understood the seers to be incorporeal during the act, projecting an image of themselves.

Not so with Selàna. Rather, she had touched the king, she had taken an object, and then she disappeared. Not rendered herself invisible, disappeared, for the priests were crowding the door—the closed door—and Selàna would have had to pass them to even open the door before leaving the room.

But instead she headed for the wall.

As if she could go right through it.

Alia snapped her out of her reverie, asking her a question as she pulled something from her coat. A piece of parchment she thrust at Edana.

“Was this her?” Alia demanded. “Was this the woman?”

Edana took the parchment. This must be the same parchment she’d shown to the truth-seers, which contained the likeness of the mysterious Handmaiden. At the time Edana’s vantage point didn’t allow her to see the drawing.

Now she did.

“Selàna,” Edana sighed, her heart breaking.

Oh, Lady Nensela.

Alia slowly lowered the parchment.

“But I thought—you said Selàna is in the prophecy,” Sheridan reminded her, coming forward and taking the parchment from Alia’s slackened hands. He looked from the drawing to Edana and back to the paper again. “Didn’t you say the prophecy said she’s the one destroying the giants?”

Bessa looked up suddenly, fastening her stare on Edana, a look of urgency on her face. “That’s right. So, whatever happened here, we can’t assume she meant anything evil by it. Maybe—”

“She murdered a man in this temple,” Alia cut in.

The color drained from Bessa’s face as the implications sunk in.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know about this vision, but the Handmaiden or Selàna or whoever she is, she’s no savior. Aunt Nalini said this person had been corrupted. Nothing this girl does is for a good purpose.”

Silence fell. Edana’s heart pounded. No answer came to mind, and even Bessa looked bereft. With respect to Selàna’s actions, every angle examination yielded only an explanation rooted in evil. This was Lady Nensela’s daughter? The one she mourned so profoundly? Whose loss had shattered her spirit beyond repair?

A preternatural scream pierced the air.

“Something must be happening,” one of the soldiers said. He started for the door, but only managed a few feet when suddenly, the window shattered. Shards of glass crashed to the floor, scattering every which way.

Bessa’s surprised yelp was drowned out the the roar of a thousand lions.

As one, they all rushed to the window.

Horrific fiends filled the town square, arrayed in seeming battle lines. Along the front lines, a writhing mass of lamia made Edana flinch away at first, overcome by the memory of what the First Abyssal had done to her.

“She’s dead. Think on that. Dead. At your hand, dead,” Edana whispered to herself. When her heart steadied, she joined the others in looking out at the fiends surrounding the temple.

Each cohort of monsters formed lines six deep in the siege of the fortress. While the snake women brandished swords, the other monsters relied on roars, growls, and ominous hisses.

One rabisu broke formation, capering over to the bell pavilion on bandy legs. Drool seeped from its grinning mouth. Rivulets of saliva ran down its chin and plopped onto its big belly. Grinning still wider, the creature jumped up and down as it rang the bell Tregarde had rung not two hours earlier.

Shadows lengthened. The sky darkened, as if the sun had vanished.

“What’s that?” Sheridan pointed to the sky.

What they took for massive storm clouds filled the sky, from one end of the horizon to the other, floating with ferocious speed. Screeching and shrieking, the mass grew closer. And closer.

“Are those owls?” Bessa asked. She put a hand to her left arm, where a ghost-face owl ripped it open hours before. Thanks to the dryad Nalini, her arm was healing, but her subtle wince suggested the pain lingered.

Edana squinted. Pinpoints of red light emerged first from the cloud. Then their bearers came sharply into view.

Owls. Ghostly-grey owls with large bulbous heads and bulging blood-red eyes. Their feathers created an impression of smoke the closer they came. Onward they rushed, to the fane itself. Relentlessly the birds swarmed, diving and swooping at unseen prey.

The owls kept coming, overshadowing the square. Four of the birds broke off, heading straight for the window. Their red eyes blazed with a searing, infernal light. Pain lanced Edana’s eyes. Immediately she threw her arm up over her face, lest she go blind.

“Take cover—!” Edana started.

Tregarde flung out his hand. Silver flashed over the window, a hair’s breadth before the owls crashed into the opening. Screeches of pain erupted. One of the birds clawed at the shield, another viciously pecked at it with its beak.

That was when they saw the truth.

“Strix! These are strix!” Bessa cried.

Owlish, blood-drinking monsters, marked so by golden beaks and their four legs rather than the two a natural owl would have.

“Amyntas protect the children,” Alia prayed.

Every parent in Rasena Valentis took care to keep a whitethorn charm over their baby’s crib. This alone would ward off the strix, who would otherwise stab the tender flesh of the babes and suck up their blood. One day when Edana was seven, her mother left home to comfort a neighbor, a grieving mother. Unbeknownst to the woman, her five-year-old child had innocently removed the charm from the crib while playing with his baby brother. An opportunistic strix flew in that very night.

When a baby is born, a strix stalks their house. They wait, and wait, and wait, for days and months. Always at night they perch near, ready to strike. They only go away when the baby reaches the first birthday. With you, I put whitethorn charms over every window, so no matter what they couldn’t get you. Sorcha Nuriel later explained.

Edana thought of all the parents who had sought the safety of the temple. So many babies, in one place…

“By the Sower,” she breathed.

“This can’t be happening,” General Shirzad moaned, clutching his head as if in agony.

Alia whipped away from the window to face him. She gripped his shield arm so hard he yelped. “This is not the time. If it means anything at all to be a soldier of Anshan, you will pull yourself together. Gather your men and have them meet with us.”

“We’ll need the Salamandra,” Edana said, turning away from the ghastly scene below them. “In Rasena Valentis, the sorcerers’ powers were interdicted by an enemy we call ‘the Presence.’ But the Salamandra held their own.”

“Salamandra,” General Shirzad repeated, snapping out of his dismay. “Yes. And what more?”

“And any weapon made with moonbow steel, or coated with ash manna,” Bessa added. “Holy weapons, period. We’ll talk on the way, let’s go.”

They ran from the room, stopping only to have it secured by two soldiers the general intercepted in the corridor.

“We don’t know who else will come for the protector,” Shirzad grimly observed.

The main hall was teaming with Elamisi. Because Elamis was a sorcerers’ city, her citizens did not need direction on what to do when arsh’atûm showed up. Civilians and soldiers alike were working out abjurations to use at every entry point. Some were setting up ‘boundaries’ and circles of protection.

“This will make them vanish,” one sorcerer was saying, drawing a white line across the great double doors.

“This one will disintegrate the manticores,” said one sorcerer, causing a red wall of mist to appear outside the windows.

Bessa, who had paused to observe their handiwork, leaned over to Edana and commented, “That’s only going to help if the monsters try to get in. They can trap us here in a siege. We’ve got to get rid of them altogether.”

“Agreed.” Edana visually searched the crowd for any sign of the Sower’s priests. During Bessa’s confrontation Edana had spotted several of the Sower’s priests, garbed as they were in violet and silver robes. At least two of them joined the townspeople in escaping the rabisu by running into Aletheia’s temple. A sensible choice, given that arsha’tûm could not enter holy ground.

Searching for priests, Edana, Bessa, and Alia separated. Edana to find the Sower’s priests, Alia to find priests of the Huntress, and Bessa to find priests of the Reaper.

For Marinite priests; however, they did not search: none lived in landlocked Elamis.

“But I know of a few sorcerers whose offerings are accepted by the Sea Lord,” General Shirzad said, sending a thrill of delight in them.

Fravak brought them to the grotto, the site of Gira’s murder. He had held off on allowing the faithful to congregate there, having his priests instead gather the civilians together in the great assembly hall.

“Have you seen the horde out there? I don’t—” he cut himself off, quelled by the expressions on their faces.

Edana surveyed the grotto. Had she come to it under different circumstances its ethereal beauty would have enchanted her. White marble walls with wide, undulating bands of lapis blue echoed the icy blue of the spring. Reflections of the water shimmered against the wall, creating a mystical atmosphere in the vast cavern.

Everything and everyone was bathed in a blue glow. With every step the Fire Lords took, the swan white flames embroidering the hem of their robes rippled with an iridescent sheen. In their midst Edana spotted Zareen Prime, whose long copper braid swung behind her as she paced.

The Fire Lords converged on the priests of the Sower and the Nasiru, who were conferring together near the lakeside. Behind the Fire Lords followed Bessa and the Lyrcanians. With a nod she concluded everyone who would be needed was right here in this room.

Of course, a few stragglers also came in: sorcerers and watchmen. Including the officer who had given her and Bessa the bracelets that marked them as outsiders. She looked him over, but he seemed more dazed than threatening.

“Is there a plan?” one of the sorcerers asked. He was rubbing his arms vigorously, as if trying to keep warm. The lake kept the grotto cool.

“Let’s discuss that,” Bessa said, taking over.

Near the shore of the spring, a natural rock formation rose up and jutted out over the water. While the formation might double as a diving point if someone wanted to jump into the water, Edana suspected no one would be disrespectful enough to do so.

With easy grace, Bessa loped up the rock, all the way to its summit. From this commanding height she easily captured everyone’s attention. They eyed her with wary respect, and Edana supposed it was because she had been the one to call out and face down the protector.

Bessa continued, “Blood-sucking monsters have us surrounded. They’re teamed up with manticores and lamia, and I don’t even want to know what else. But here’s our actual problem: somehow, it’s possible for someone to get in here and vanish through walls. How is that done, and can we do the same?”

“You want to go out there?” a sorcerer asked, gaping at her.

Bessa rolled her hand in a keep up gesture. “I want to capture someone. The person who summoned these fiends is in the citadel, I’m sure of it. Can we get into the citadel and make our way to the person we need to capture? Or, if not, can we keep anyone from coming into the temple to kill us?”

“I like the part where we kill the summoner,” another sorcerer said, stroking his beard as he gazed into the distance.

“We can’t kill that person,” Alia said quickly, leaping up to stand next to Bessa. “Let’s just say the Huntress has Her own plans for her. All the same, I think if we have her in our custody it will make the creatures out there a lot more docile.”

“Did you say she went through the walls?” Fravak asked.

Quickly, Bessa explained the Handmaiden materializing beside the satrap. She put special emphasis on the Handmaiden’s ability to manipulate objects.

This set the sorcerers to murmuring, and they conferred together for a moment. A sorceress spoke up, addressing Bessa.

“Even we can’t teleport without a portal. Naiads can use water, but this Handmaiden doesn’t sound like a naiad,” she said, and stopped to get Bess’s confirmation. When Bessa nodded, she continued, “The only other option is that she walked through Erebossa. Bodily, which is the only way she’d be able to touch something. But going into Erebossa in your own body is very dangerous if you’re a human or Salamandra.”

“How dangerous?” Bessa asked. “She was able to do it.”

“And if she’s commanding Erebossi then it would be safe for her,” the sorceress dryly replied. “Fellshades and arsh’atûm love to linger on the…edge of Erebossa, if you will. It’s one reason why scryers try to avoid Sendings as much as possible. They don’t want to chance fellshades hitching a ride back with them.”

The other sorcerers and scryers nodded, and audibly concurred with her explanation.

Edana pondered the situation. Multitudes of fiends outside the temple with flesh-ripping claws, bone-cleaving swords, and soul-gnashing powers were plotting and scheming to get inside and devour everyone. Or, perhaps their ambitions were more simple: keep everyone penned in the temple, where they would be free to starve to death.

But no giants walked amongst the monsters. That had to mean something, she hoped. For whatever reason no one invited the Atta’u to the banquet. Because Selàna didn’t want to destroy the city?

Papa had told her enough stories from his days in the legion for Edana to understand different objectives determined what tactics one might use. One only poisoned wells and salted the soil if one did not intend to farm that same land and drink from that same well.

On the Night of the Burning Sky, Lysander had allowed his fortress to be destroyed because the cost of trying to keep it would have lost them the battle. Losing would allow the giants and Murena to march on Valentis. Though painful, the fortress was an acceptable loss; Valentis would not have been.

Here and now, destroying Elamis was not an acceptable loss. Apparently, the lord protector’s inner circle shared her views on that matter: if they fancied themselves the new rulers over Elamis they would hardly want it wiped off the map.

It was her best leverage.

“What are you willing to lose?” Edana demanded. From her position behind the assembly, almost everyone had to turn to face her. They stared at her, uncomprehending. “I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake. At least two of the monsters out there specifically prefer to feast on children. Half measures are not an option. This is the time to get ruthless, not sentimental.”

Fravak started to speak, but Edana made a slashing gesture, silencing him. “Homes can be rebuilt; so can your businesses. Temples are sacred, but not at the cost of your children. Do you need the palace?”

Selàna could walk alive into Erebossa. Though perhaps not ideal, the nether realm afforded her protection from pursuit. In Erebossa she might gather any number of allies, and bring them along with her when she returned to attack the fane in the hour that pleased her best.

The crowd traded uneasy glances with each other.

Bessa took Edana’s point and drove it home. “Why should the palace be sacrosanct if the temple isn’t? The people inside it are willing to destroy this temple. They’re willing to murder people in this temple. Why should they be spared? The beastmasters can help us: awaken the dragon in your lake.”

“But the palace…”

Their hesitation made sense in a way, Edana considered. The grandeur of the palace bestowed a prestige to the city, on a scale fit for an emperor.

“The citadel is not worth your children, is it? It’s not worth your souls, is it?” Edana hardened her tone, impatient at having to even ask the question.

“It’s not,” the sorceress agreed. “But you forget that our powers have been muted. I kept hearing rumors … of the gods overthrown, and a new one taking their place.”

“And this new god would be able to restore your powers, of course,” Alia said. “I trust Protector Amavand’s scheme is now obvious to you all.”

“Yes…but we may not be able to so much as make it rain.”

Edana arched an eyebrow. “No? But last night I used a holy curse to kill infernal jackals. She”—Edana pointed to Alia—“is a priestess who once summoned an astral to fight off fellshades. We have more options than you think. And I have an idea.”

Four towers made up the corners of Arenavachi’s Fane. Two of them overlooked the square where the army of arsh’atûm gathered. And two of them overlooked the inner courtyard which surrounded Her stele. The huge open space was a weak point in the temple’s defense, which was why it was a perfect lure, Edana pointed out.

Into the courtyard the sorcerers projected the illusion of a nursery where babies slept. With the use of mechanical birds, they conveyed the sound of crying infants into the courtyard, strengthening the illusion.

The strix dove straight for it.

The first wave crashed against an invisible shield, disappearing into a fine red mist as they met the holy barrier the Eitanite priests had set up. Thereafter, the remaining infernal owls kept their distance from the temple’s air space.

The other arsh’atum had held back, contenting themselves with making terrifying noises. The barriers the sorcerers erected kept the manticores at bay, but the lamia sang. Their voices carried, allowing them to taunt parents with the threat of having their children devoured.

The crying children inside the temple masked the sound of the rabisu and the alû that were attempting to scale the walls, seeking the weak points.

In their overconfidence they had made themselves vulnerable to Edana’s trap.

Individually, the huntsmen struggled to unleash the elements. A situation Edana anticipated, and thus she did not have them work alone. Untouched by the Presence, the Salamandra were to join Alia’s group, Edana decreed.

Stationed in the summit of the northwest tower, Alia command the Salamandra raised their hands, which they lit with their own flames. Alia blessed them, turning their fires from blue-white to pure white. Holy fire, which the Salamandra rained down upon the infernal army.

In tandem with them, the venatori sorcerers banded together in the southwest tower to make a fierce windstorm that spread the inferno around the square.

Because Salamandra fire did not need fuel to burn, it would take more than water to put it out. Because the fire was holy it destroyed the rabisu, the lamia, and the alû. Where once they taunted, now the lamias only managed a single scream before the fires vaporized them.

The manticores fled, retreating as far as the lake.

This gave cover to the beastmasters in the central wing, who did indeed prod the Yellow Serpent from its slumber.

Against the three-headed dragon the manticores were no match. The dragon lumbered onto the shore. Its thick, yellow-brown scales rendered it unfazed by their the manticores’ flying stingers. Three dragon heads swiveled this way as each of them exhaled its venomous breath. With one powerful claw the dragon slashed through the nearest manticores, cutting several of them in half.

The other manticores retreated from the lake. Once out of immediate reach of the dragon’s maw and claws, the manticores yawned. So wide did their jaws open that they could have swallowed a man whole. This, in fact, was their preferred method of killing people.

From her vantage point, Edana looked askance at the manticores. Did they really intend to swallow a dragon?

Whatever the manticores intended, the Yellow Serpent had its own plans. It reared back its long, sinuous necks and opened its jaws. Ejecting poison from its throat into the gaping mouths of the manticores. Too late, the manticores slammed their teeth together. A heartbeat later, the malevolent creatures began writhing and roaring in agony. An agony which lasted only three heartbeats before the manticores dropped dead.

However, two other manticores had prudently hidden themselves behind shrubbery during the initial attack on the dragon. Now they emerged. Leaping up, they successfully landed onto two of the Yellow Serpent’s necks. Each managed to sink their teeth into the dragon’s flesh.

But the snatched them in its claws. With baleful eyes the Yellow Serpent examined them. The manticores must have realized their doom was imminent, for they writhed and struggled, trying to free themselves. The water dragon lowered first one, then another jaw to bite off their heads.

It tossed aside the now headless bodies. Every manticore was now dead.

Only the strix had remained.

Denied their ideal prey, they opted now to feast on the Yellow Serpent. They swirled about dragon, keeping clear of its claws. The Yellow Serpent; however, could not keep clear of their talons, which they sank into its necks. Though the dragon struggled, it could not shake the bloodthirsty birds.

Their perch secured, the strix viciously jabbed their beaks into the dragon’s flesh. No matter how many the dragon ripped apart, more strix would swoop forward, a ghastly mockery of the dragon’s regeneration abilities. The monstrous birds held fast, and began greedily drinking the Yellow Serpent’s blood.

In due course the dragon was avenged.

Given their normal diet of the innocent flesh and blood of infants, they had no defense against the poison surging through the dragon’s veins.

The strix fluttered weakly to the ground, realizing too late they’d doomed themselves. They disintegrated in an exhaust of the dragon’s acidic spit.

Its enemies felled, all three heads of the Yellow Serpent reared back before letting out a long, triumphant roar. It turned, completing one revolution in place before apparently deciding there were no more challengers. It slipped back into the lake with a huge splash and a fountain of white foam.

“The skies are clear,” General Shirzad said, when the water calmed again. “And the streets are empty. Now how many are coming with you?”

He turned to Edana and awaited her answer.

Her stomach rumbled dully. They had balked Selàna, so far without directly facing her or risking her death. But now, Edana had no choice but to confront Lady Nensela’s daughter, if only to keep her from bringing more arsh’atûm into the city. Edana had prayed for Lady Nensela’s recovery, but the thought of having to greet her old friend with news that she’d killed her daughter was more than she could bear.

Edana gestured, indicating Bessa and the Lyrcanians. “Us. And the strongest of the priests and salamanders. Your watchmen.” She stopped, seeing Bessa flash a vulpine smile. With a tilt of her chin Bessa indicated an approaching beastmaster. The man nodded at them, and Edana’s heart somersaulted in relief.

Alia and her friends had three gryphons, and Edana and Bessa had intended to share one of them. But they were going to require the aid of the Fire Lords as well as that of the priests. Therefore, those beastmasters not on Yellow Serpent duty had been set the task of summoning every drake the watch commanded.

From the tower, she could hear the reassuring sound of their roars as they flapped their wings in ill temper.

“Have the prophets reported in?” Edana asked. Following Lady Nensela’s example, she had asked the Fire Lords prophets to project Sendings of themselves to carry out a reconnaissance mission.

They found the Fire Lords in the grotto, clustered around three of them, who were awakening from their Sendings. Only three prophets were among them in the temple, limiting their coverage during the scouting. Three flame keepers stood watch over them. One of them, Roshan, was holding a pitcher that Edana suspected held wine.

Fravak, the high priest of Aletheia, paced nervously.

Kneeling in front of the prophets, Zareen Prime asked them questions designed to determine if they were themselves. That was when Edana noticed Eitanim priests standing by, ready to expel a fellshade if Zareen determined the prophets were possessed.

“They’re clean,” Zareen Prime judged.

She rose to her feet, and gestured for Roshan to pour the wine. Someone had set cups next to each of the three prophets. Zaran Secundus, Zaran Prime, and Zareen Tertia moved sluggishly, as if they were still asleep.

The wine revived them.

“You need to hurry,” Zareen Tertia told them, folding her legs under her as she sat up.

“Something is happening in the palace,” Zaran Secundus added. “Something stalks the halls there. I heard screams and sounds of battle, and saw bodies everywhere in the great hall.”

Zaran Prime witnessed people fleeing, making their way to a portal room to try and escape…but something was cutting them off.

“The gate is open,” Zareen Tertia explained.

The shadow gate.

A miasma flowed from it, and through the palace, killing all in its path.

Edana inhaled. Such things had happened, in the ancient past, usually the result of an arrogant or wicked sorcerer, according to the tomes in Lady Nensela’s library. It was one reason she didn’t lament the loss of so many gates. Was there any possibility Selàna had survived?

Shame pierced her conscience, as she considered that at least she could truthfully tell Lady Nensela that Selàna’s death did not come by her hand.

“The miasma will flow over here, too, won’t it?” Edana asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “The miasma is the death wind, isn’t it?”

Zareen Tertia believed so. “Someone holds that gate. A loathsome, monstrous creature that I think is in command there. He perceived me, but did not pursue me.” She shuddered, hugging herself and shaking her head as if to rid herself of a memory.

“You’re with us,” Zareen Prime soothed, encircling her shoulders..

After a moment, Zareen Tertia calmed herself.

Bessa wondered aloud how to shut the gate.

“That will be easy,” Alia said. “We spill blood on the gate seals. Preferably the blood of anyone assisting the arsh’atûm, if we can throw the monster itself through the shadow gate.”

An Eitanite priest spoke up. He pointed to Edana’s bracelet. Enameled in purple, the golden glyph incised in the bracelet stood out all the more. The glyph was the symbol for life. The priests of her people wore violet and silver robes, to symbolize the Great Sower’s life-sowing and protective aspects.

“You’ll need an aegis like hers,” he said. “It will counteract the miasma. Give us time, and we’ll prepare it for you.”

“We’ll meet you in the courtyard,” Edana continued. “Let’s hurry, before the citadel throws a new horror at us.”

The Watch possessed ten drakes, and each drake could readily carry four passengers. General Shirzad divided his forces like so: each dragon carried a beastmaster, a priest, a Salamandra, and a member of the watch.

Bessa rode with Tregarde, Edana with Sheridan, and a beast master accompanied Alia on the gryphons the Lyrcanians had acquired.

They flew high, arcing as wide of the lake as they could to avoid attracting the Yellow Serpent. As soon as they cleared the lake, Edana and Bessa unleashed the thunder maces, shattering the windows of a second floor gallery in the palace.

They went through, but did not land, for the floor was covered in bodies, from one end of the long room to the other. Some lay face up, others face down, but none revealed a mark on them, only faces frozen in a rictus of agony. Whatever killed them was not made of flesh and blood: the doors at either end of the hall were locked tight.

The miasma.

There was no other sign of it, and Edana wondered if it was supposed to be a sickly green, as Honoria’s had been. Or it would perhaps be more insidious: invisible and undetectable until it struck.

Where would Selàna be in all of this? Zaran Secundus had thought he’d seen someone matching her description, running toward the royal apartments.

The drakes burned down the double doors in their way, and the group flew through, the gryphons and drakes banking hard at an angle to accommodate their wingspans.

Half went right, the other half went left, according to the plan.

Still more bodies littered the path. Screams came to them, faint at first, then getting louder as they flew.

They slowed their mounts.

“Do we help them?” Bessa wondered.

Privately, Edana had asked herself the same thing. In her mind only wicked people lived in the palace, and it would be fitting for them to be done in by the creatures they were so casually unleashing into the world.

“No time,” Alia answered. “We find the Handmaiden and get out.”

Relieved, Edana nodded her assent. But no matter how she turned her head, she could not tune out the screams.

Shadows cast on the opposite wall told her that a strange beast was near, through a doorway to her left. The thing could follow them, but she stayed her hand: the mysterious creature may have companions of its own. Attracting its attention would cause more of a delay than they could afford.

Another turn down the corridors, and the tapestries on the wall grew richer, more opulent. The map the Fire Lords had drawn indicated they had found the royal apartments.

The drakes roared, the gryphons screamed, and Edana’s blood chilled when she saw what lay ahead.

Her nightmares were haunted with the memory of the freakish monstrosity Honoria had changed her into.

Now, in the flesh, a similar monstrosity rose up on serpentine coils. At the waist the coils ended in a ring of tiny heads of various beasts which howled and screeched.

Above the waist, the well-toned torso of a human woman who was sizing them up with a critical eye. In her red, scythe-like talons she gripped two long swords, shaped like falcatas but on a larger scale. The swords dripped with venom, the droplets searing the floor wherever they fell. Her wings unfurled as she prepared to launch herself at them.

Cold sweat broke out on Edana’s forehead.

“A drakaina,” she whispered.