Storm and Steel (35 page)

After half a bell, they came to the edge of town. The walls rose amid the blocky rooftops. The gatehouse dominated the view, flanked by square towers on either side. Though not as huge as the gates of Erugash, they looked plenty strong to Horace. On a whim, he headed toward one of the towers. He
couldn't locate the entrance at first, so he stopped a passing guardsman and asked for directions. The soldiers looked him up and down, his gaze settling on the sword at Horace's side, and then pointed out a doorway inside the gatehouse. Horace had to get past a guard post to get inside the massive fortified structure and a watch-sergeant to enter the tower, but finally he climbed the flights of interior steps to the crest of the tower.

He exited onto a narrow parapet connecting to the wall's segmented allure. A sentry turned his way, gave a nod, and returned to his vigil.

The view of the town was amazing. From up here he could appreciate the precision of Sekhatun's architects. The town was a perfect square. The streets ran at right angles to the walls, creating a crosshatch of arteries. At its heart was also a square delineating the town center, dominated by the palaces and government buildings. And temples. The largest was the temple to Kishar, the Earth Mother and protector of women. Yet the largest crowd filled the courtyard of a smaller temple, crowding around the rust-red ziggurat at the epicenter. The temple of Hinurat, its iron gate thrown wide open. Smoke rose from the flat crest of the temple where hecatombs of oxen were being offered to appease the war god. If this were Arnos, the church bells would be ringing as the clergy led services to pray for the Prophet's blessing on the armies. Another example of how they were not so different.

On the other side of the wall, fields stretched along the banks of the river, peppered with farmhouses and storage hives. People traveled on the road. Some walked, but many drove two-wheeled carts. They might be farmers heading back home after a day at market. Horace reminded himself that the gate sentries would need to be more attentive in the coming days in case the rebels tried to infiltrate the town, though he didn't know how he could stop them. After all, they'd been able to enter Erugash and make their attacks without being caught, and that was done under the nose of the last First Sword.
Who paid for his mistakes with his life.

He could also see how sparsely manned were the walls. Along the western ramparts, he counted only a dozen sentries. He saw, too, several places where the walls were in poor repair, with crumbling allures and missing battlements. One of the watchtowers south of his position sagged as if it were about to topple over at any moment.

Horace tried to imagine how an attacker would view the town's defenses. The leaning tower and vacant merlons were a dead giveaway, but he thought many of these weaknesses could be disguised in a short amount of time. If he could present a more intimidating posture, perhaps the enemy would seek another target. That didn't necessarily solve the queen's problem, but it might get him off the hook. Best of all, it would mean he didn't actually have to kill anyone.

The biggest problem with trying to formulate a defense plan was that he had no idea how many fighters the rebels could field. The reports he received varied wildly, with some commanders claiming numbers that had to be inflated to disguise their own inability to stop the slaves. At least, Horace hoped so. He put his hand in the pocket of his tunic, feeling the cool smoothness of the orb. He rolled it around with his fingers.
I can do this. I'll stop the attack, whenever it comes. And maybe afterward I can convince the queen to show some leniency. Yes, she'll have to listen to me after I deliver such a victory.

“All right,” he said. “We're done here.”

As they left the gatehouse and headed back to the palace, his uncertainty returned. The town walls, which had been a source of comfort just minutes ago, now felt confining.

A soldier in a militia uniform hailed them on the main street leading back to the palace. He bowed and held out a scroll with both hands. “Lord Horace,” he said, his face still pointed toward the ground. “I was bid to deliver this to you.”

Mezim took the scroll and broke the wax seal. Unrolling it, he read quickly. His features were grave as he presented it to Horace.

Horace read it for himself and felt a growl lurking in the back of his throat. The message was a challenge to duel, sent by Naram et'Nipthuras. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it back to the militia trooper. “I don't have time for this. Tell him to stay away from me.”

The soldier bowed again, even lower, as Horace stalked past him. He was thirsty. He hoped the governor's wine cellar was well stocked.

Byleth strode through the palace corridors, her anger nearly overwhelming her composure with every clack of her heels against the marble flagstones. She was being tested, challenged from every direction, mostly by foes she could not see or touch. It was maddening. She already regretted unleashing her wrath on Horace in her letter.

Well, not entirely. He did shoulder much of the blame for Lord Ubar's death, but she should have seen it coming. Her First Sword was no hothead like her brother Zazil. Horace had a brain. And a heart, too.
I'll deal with him tomorrow. Right now, focus on the more important target.

Lord Astaptah had been avoiding her since their last conversation. The Nisusi coalition forces were advancing, and she needed them dealt with. Now, not later. She wasn't going to accept any excuses this time. Astaptah would fulfill his obligation to her or…

Or what? I'll cast him back into the desert like a deformed infant? By the gods above, I would if I could, but I still need him. His machine is the only thing between Erugash and a complete collapse.

She had just left a meeting with her other advisers. Demonstrations were appearing all over her city, and there were also reports that some of the militia had lain down their weapons to join the protests. She'd ordered the executions of the protest ringleaders and any soldiers who participated, and then thrown her council out of the throne room. Things were getting out of control, and she needed some good news. A victory to put her back on the path to glory.

They came to the black iron door to the catacombs. Byleth reached out with her
zoana
and pulled. Hard. The portal resisted for a moment, as if sensing her ire, but then gave way with a raspy screech. She beckoned for her entire complement, a dozen of her finest guards plus Xantu and Anshara, to follow as she entered. She intended to make a statement her vizier could not misunderstand today.

Plunging into the hot, dark tunnels beyond the doorway, she surrounded herself in a cocoon of
zoana
. The winds caused by her power rolled out ahead of her and returned laden with the stenches of brimstone and ash. She charged into the central cavern that housed the storm engine, ready to unleash her anger, and halted on the top catwalk. The chamber was empty except for the
device, which was covered under a black canvas sheet. By its look, the place could have been deserted.

“Come,” she said as she descended the metal ramps to the ground floor.

Wrapped in her power, she hardly felt the intense heat of the magma at her feet. A couple of her soldiers gasped until
zoana
flickered from Xantu, and they quieted. She walked onward, trusting them to follow.

Her first thought was to check the cells where Astaptah kept his captives. She was heading toward that tunnel off the main cavern when she caught a trace of power coming from another direction. It had a strange texture that made her stop in mid-stride. Something flitted in the shadows, too quick to be seen.
What has Astaptah been doing down here? The air is charged with a different energy.

“Do you feel that?” Byleth asked her
zoanii
.

Lady Anshara shook her head, her face solemn. “No, Your Majesty. I feel nothing…except the stink of this place makes my skin crawl. I fear I'll need a bath to get it off.”

Xantu looked ahead down the tunnel from which the sensation seemed to emanate. “A trickle of
zoana
, but it feels…odd. Like biting into a rotten fruit.”

Byleth headed toward the mysterious tunnel. It dipped down slightly, almost causing her to stumble in the gloom as the luminance of the central chamber receded. Byleth formed a small globe of white light and sent it floating ahead. The tunnel extended farther than she first imagined, dipping a second time before sweeping to the right in a long curve. As she traversed the arc, the sound of a voice came from ahead.

The tunnel opened into a cave. It was mammoth, extending at least a hundred yards to the other side and more than half that distance across. The walls were roughhewn but somewhat smooth with striations of brown and red and gold running through the gray basalt. Their surface reflected the light from dozens of black candles set around the chamber.

Lord Astaptah stood in the center. Before him knelt a young man in a simple gray robe, head bowed as the vizier chanted above him in an alien tongue. Byleth looked to the ceiling, and her insides turned to ice as she spied
the seven statues of black stone lurking above. They were huge, like giants watching over the chamber. Astaptah had constructed a new shrine to his dark gods.
Holy Lady, how did he manage it? Right here beneath my feet. What else is he hiding down here?

Byleth wanted to barge in, but she waited at the entrance of this subterranean temple and watched. Six of Astaptah's odd servants stood in a ring around the kneeling man. They swayed back and forth, the hoods of their shroud-like robes pulled down over their faces. There was
zoana
present in the chamber. She couldn't see its flow, which was strange in and of itself, but she felt its passage.

Lord Astaptah ceased his droning chant, and the young man rose to his feet, almost stumbling before he caught himself. A short exchange passed between them, and then the youth left by a passageway on the other side of the chamber, his head down in genuflection with both hands clasped before him. The unseen thread of
zoana
vanished.

As if that were a signal, Byleth crossed the threshold. Lord Astaptah looked over as she approached, dismissing his gray-mantled servants with a few words. The whispering irritated her further. “Lord Astaptah!”

He bowed smoothly. Byleth decided to show her displeasure the same way she had displayed it to Horace. Some men, it seemed, only responded to one tactic. She drew deep on her
zoana
and channeled it into a massive vise of solid air. She tried to remain impassive as she closed it around the vizier, although she had to admit to herself that it was a pleasure to exert her powers. So much of being a queen was about remaining in control. It felt thrilling to unleash herself.

The thrill dissolved as the power failed to contact Lord Astaptah. Something interfered, like an unseen bulwark. Her first guess would have been a shielding of Imuvar, but she saw nothing with her eyes, nor her Sight either. It threw her off-kilter for a moment. She felt Xantu and Anshara fill with power behind her. Though part of her wished to test Astaptah's defenses, she threw out both arms toward her bodyguards, stopping them before they moved to protect her. Something flared in Astaptah's eyes. A look of readiness, just for a brief moment but so supremely confident it convinced her to stay her
hand. As quick as it came, the look left his gaze, and he bowed again, this time a little lower. “Majesty,” he intoned. “I welcome you to my new sanctuary.”

Byleth glanced at the tall black statues around them. Yes, that was the secret behind his newfound power. This place was sanctified in some way that protected him. She rebuked herself in silence. Astaptah was resourceful in the extreme. She should have known better than to confront him here in the seat of his power. Forcing her herself to appear calm, she walked around him in a slow circle. “It is quite impressive, my lord. I wasn't aware you were making alterations to these old catacombs.”

She stopped on the other side of him, glancing toward the narrow passage his charges had used to leave. “Was that the son of Lord Arkhandun?”

“Yes. He is now committed to our cause. To your continued rule, that is.”

Why do I doubt you recruited young Uriom for my benefit, Lord Astaptah?

“A new sanctuary. New followers. What else have you been doing down here? Specifically, what have you been doing to carry out my commands? I hope you haven't forgotten the
army
on its way here to slaughter us all! Why is the storm engine covered up?”

Astaptah turned to remain facing her. His overall appearance had reverted to nonchalance, with his hands pulled up inside his long sleeves. “I did not wish the heir of House Arkhandun to see it and begin asking the wrong questions. Not until he is fully indoctrinated. As for the larger problem, I have been studying it.”

“Studying?” She bit her tongue to keep her voice from rising into a shout. “I did not ask you to study it, Astaptah. I gave you a direct command to destroy the army before it reaches our gates. Yet you have not done so. What is the delay?”