Season of Glory (17 page)

“The One who was, and is, and is to come,” whispered the young mother, rising to
stare at Tressa, nodding again, as if accepting it as truth. Trembling, she turned
to take her lord's hand, and I could see that he, too, now had tears streaming down
his face.

“The One who was, and is, and is to come,” he repeated, sinking to his knees. The
young mother did the same beside him, looking up at their child, for the moment
utterly broken, yet utterly hopeful.

“Yes,” Tressa said, laughing under her breath as she wept, lowering the child back
into the cradle of her arms, kissing him on the forehead, and returning him to his
parents. “
That
is the One who has restored your child to you. I beg you to honor
this gift, my lord and lady. Forever.”

The little boy, now pink and squirming, gathered himself up for a proper cry, mewling
with the strength of a healthy newborn. His parents laughed, eyebrows high in surprise,
looking at each other, then to the baby, then back to us. The lord rose—wiping his
wet face with the backs of his hands—and helped the mother of his child up to her
feet, then reached out to Tressa.

“I am overwhelmed,” he said to her, then glanced at Kapriel. “At once aghast at all
I have done and failed to do. I didn't know. Could not imagine . . . My friends,”
he said, desperation weaving his brows together, “forgive me for wanting you dead.
For any harm I did to you or yours. I did not recognize you for who you were . .
. servants of . . .”

“The Most High,” Kapriel said gently.

The lord nodded and then bent his head a moment. “Does your Maker . . . Is there
room for one such as I among your people? Can you ever accommodate one as friend
who was once your mortal enemy?”

Kapriel stepped forward, and Tressa looped her hand through the crook of his arm.
They shared a smile before looking back to the lord. “There is always room in the
Maker's kingdom,” Kapriel said.

The lord thoughtfully took his son from the young mother's arms and knelt again before
Kapriel. The woman did the same.
“From this day forward, I am in the Remnants' debt.
All I am, all I have is yours to use as you wish. I, Lord Darcel, swear allegiance
to you, the true Prince of Pacifica.”

“As do I, Lady Shabana of Zanzibar,” she said.

Kapriel smiled and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Allegiance to the Maker
and his people is the best place to start. But that will demand some sacrifices.
Are you ready to change the very face of Zanzibar? Change the laws to abide by the
Maker's ways?”

The lord faltered a moment, looked down to his child, and then looked up in agreement.
“I am.”

“Then rise, brother. We will serve the people of the Way together.”

CHAPTER
18

ANDRIANA

W
e have to get out of here,” Ronan said in my ear. As the day of feast celebrating
the
safe
arrival—and healing—of Lord Darcel's heir wore on, we'd thought the press of the
peoples' need would wane, but it simply swelled. More and more of the ill were brought
to see Tressa, and hundreds of others begged for a word or a prayer with one of us.
Kapriel called upon the clouds to build and build into a terrifying, swirling mass
that looked as if it might sweep us away, and then with a wave of his hand, it became
awash in the colors of a rainbow and then dissolved into mist. Chaza'el shared visions
of what he saw in Zanzibar's future—a great city with many towns surrounding it,
living no longer in fear, but in strength. Vidar located three men and a woman beset
with demons, and together, we freed them.

By evening, we were aware that pilgrims were coming to us from outside the city,
summoned by the stories of miracles and hope. Only the closing gates stemmed the
tide for the night.

“It's good, though, right?” I said, wading down the street, the Knights doing their
best to press the people back as we made our way to the relative sanctuary of the
palace. “All of these people,” I said, gesturing over their heads—sending many people
into gasps of hysteria, as if my mere action held some sort of miraculous power—“they
will protect us, if the need arises.”

“We think,” Ronan said. “They're in the infancy of their faith,” he went on. “And
no infant is trained to go head to head with a Sheolite scout, let alone a tracker.”
His eyes traced the lines of the rooftops, searching for any lurking enemies, even
as we spoke.

His barely disguised mention of Sethos sent a shiver down my spine. He was right.
We had to go. We all knew it. It was a heady experience, being here during this time
of transformation. Seeing a city change before our very eyes, between one sunset
and another. Horrible laws had been abolished. Women freed. Men incarcerated for
abuse. People of all ages healed. The broken were forgiven. Families discovered new
hope. My heart felt at once full and yet weary, as if I could not take in one more
ounce of the Maker's glory, his ability to take something that was so dark and release
a hidden light.

We'd lost Tressa and Killian in the crowds, but up ahead I could still see Vidar
and Bellona. I noticed Vidar studying the city wall above us. No longer did the guards
patrol with a stance that said they wanted to keep others out; they patrolled to
keep order, as best they could, among the people that thronged the city streets.
The marketplace and pubs and inns swelled with activity, and merchants left their
stores at night beaming. Free trade and more traffic made for far better commerce;
however, we also knew that those of the underworld
had slipped in among the pilgrims,
pickpocketing and robbing both the wealthy and the poor.

Still, it was a good place, this city, for the first time. It was now a whole place,
not the dark shell of a town. And Darcel, the Lord of Zanzibar, and his new wife,
Shabana, were the right leaders for it. They had wed almost immediately, and his
harem now prepared to vacate the palace and reestablish themselves with the ample
funds Darcel had gifted them.

“One more dinner here, together,” I said to Ronan. “And then we shall slip away as
the pilgrims sleep. Darcel has promised us two Jeeps to carry us all the way to
the Valley. We'll make far better time than we had on our mudhorses. And even if
Keallach's spies have told him of our presence here and they threaten to close in
with force, they'd still have to be a day away, right?”

He nodded, his green eyes still clearly troubled by the unseen threat that always
followed us. Again, Vidar's tight attention caught my eye. Bellona stood beside him,
and they stared upward, as if looking for one particular guard. We came alongside
them, and Ronan whispered, “What is it?”

“Those of the dark are with us,” Bellona grunted. “We need to get the Rems into the
palace.” A swirl of foreboding entered my belly, and I looked up again, even as Ronan
took hold of my elbow and pulled me forward.

“The angels defend us, even now,” Vidar said to me with hooded eyes. “But there are
more dark ones arriving by the moment.” It was then that I saw Niero had disappeared.
Was he up there, doing battle on our behalf?

I felt a mad impulse to turn and run for the city gates. But we had to get back to
the palace, to find Tressa and Killian, Chaza'el and Kapriel, before we went. And
the sun was coming
down. As much as I'd proposed leaving under cover of darkness
moments earlier, the thought of heading out across the desert with Sheolites in pursuit
struck terror within. Images of the time we'd tried to outrun Drifters in the desert—with
Niero getting shot and me getting captured—cascaded through my mind.

People began screaming ahead of us, turning in a wave and stampeding toward us. A
woman fell, and Ronan helped her back on her feet so she might escape being trampled.
We were pressed and pushed until we had no choice but to turn and run with the rest,
before we'd seen what so alarmed them. Was it soldiers? But I knew from the chaos
all around me—the particular fear in those who passed me—that it was worse. The
Sheolites and their wraiths were here.

“This way!” Bellona screamed to us, dashing into a side alley as the bulk of the
crowd pressed onward, along First Street, toward the main gates. She yanked Vidar
behind her, and Ronan was pressing me forward, urging me to follow them. But still,
I looked back. I wished we could get to the palace to be with the others. But Raniero
and Azarel were with Kapriel and Chaza'el, and hopefully Tressa and Killian had joined
them. They wouldn't be without defense. We simply had to find our way back to them
safely.

Bellona and Vidar ran to Second and then Third, down the alleyway before taking a
sharp right, where we could be out of view for a moment. We gathered together, and
I knew that in the deep shadows my expression of panic must mirror what I saw on
my friends' faces. “How?” I said, panting. “How could they have gotten inside once
the gates were closed?” I realized I'd felt a measure of security when the gates
closed at sunset, thinking any battle would be at bay until at least morning.

“Over the wall,” Vidar said, pushing damp hair from his forehead. “That was why the
unseen battled to make a way for them. They knew surprise was their best method of
attack.”

“Because they wanted us separated, yet trapped, within these dreaded walls,” Bellona
hissed, pacing. “To divide us is their best opportunity to capture us. We should've
left this morning and gotten back to the Citadel.”

“And missed what the Maker released today?” Vidar asked, shaking his head. “Never.
This was exactly what we came for. To heal the babe, yes. But we also came for the
people who turned to us afterward—
that
is what pleases the Maker most.”

“They would have come after us anywhere, Bellona,” Ronan put in, taking my hand.
“Haven't you felt it building, the threat? They've been hovering near, waiting. We
were not born to cower in the Citadel. We were born to move out and into the world
in the Maker's name.”

“Yeah, well, now we need to find our way back to the palace,” Bellona groused, “so
we can live to move out into the world again tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Ronan said, and we set off running.

As the street opened up before us, I saw Vidar falter—heard him urge his Knight to
wait—then saw Bellona abruptly dodge and roll, coming to her feet with a knife in
each hand. Vidar slid, feet first, narrowly avoiding the swinging blade of a Sheolite
sword. Ronan skidded to a stop, lifting his arm to protect me. “Back!” he cried.
I leaned hard against him—my momentum too much to fully stop in time—but in the same
movement, I turned on my m to run in the opposite direction.

But it was Ronan's turn to run into me as I came to a dead stop again.

Because two blocks away was Sethos, striding toward us with twenty Sheolite scouts
behind him. In their crimson capes, they were like blood oozing from a vein, passing
between the tight adobe walls that only allowed them to come toward us one man at
a time. If we could hold them off, we could handle them, one at a time. If only the
first didn't happen to be Sethos.

He continued his brisk, confident pace toward me, not running and well aware that
we couldn't go far. Behind me, I heard another tracker's shriek and groaned, inwardly.
We were surrounded.

“Come along, Andriana. Ronan. There is no need for this to become bloody,” he called,
lifting a hand to us as if he might be conciliatory.

“Oh, I think it will be bloody,” Ronan said, stepping in front and tucking me behind
him. “This city is ours now. It has been claimed for the Maker. Lord Darcel stands
behind Prince Kapriel.”

“A faulty decision that will be corrected shortly,” Sethos said, nostrils flared.

From above, a brick came down, narrowly missing Sethos. Then another fell, striking
the man behind him.

“Leave them alone!” cried a woman, tossing a third brick after pulling it from the
crumbling wall before her.

“You will not have them!” cried another. More bricks rained down. Sethos stopped,
cursing and pointing upward to those behind him, sending men after those who dared
to defend us. Two archers began shooting at the women, whom I saw had been joined
by several men and children too.

We weren't alone in this battle. And our best way out was behind us. My heart leaped,
as if it had previously slowed to a
deadening beat. Energy shot through me, sending
my fingers splaying. I turned and ran back to Fifth, pulling out my sword from the
scabbard at my waist. I heard Ronan do the same behind me. We emerged onto the wide
street, and I whirled, striking the nearest Sheolite with every ounce of force I
had within me, concentrating on the Maker and his mission rather than on any emotion
my enemy might feel.

“Duck,” Ronan grunted, and I fell low without question, hearing the whistle of a
blade swing past me. As if in an intricate dance, my Knight stepped forward and
stabbed my assailant under the arm, where his leather armor breastplate gapped for
a moment. I rose, turned, and with one, smooth stroke, nearly severed him in half.
Across from me, Bellona did the same with her adversary, wincing as blood spurted
across the street. But she was immediately on the move, turning to face the tracker.

He sneered at her as the two of them circled, panting, sizing each other up. “Give
it up, Knight. This is
your
last order.”

A dagger came sailing through the air, blade over handle, whipping between Ronan
and me, and almost pierced the tracker's throat. But he reached out and caught it,
just as the point nicked his skin. He flicked it back at Vidar so fast that Vidar
blinked in surprise. He bent backward at the last possible moment, and the blade
passed just beyond his nose. “Man,” he said, straightening and wiping his upper lip.
“I have to confess I'm not feelin' a lot of the Maker's love for these guys.”