The Key to Creation (55 page)

Infuriated beyond reason, Hannes gripped his Fishhook staff. “You are an abomination,
ra’vir
! I curse you with all the power that Ondun has granted me!” The prester pointed an accusing finger and continued with increasing vitriol, hurling damnation. “I call upon Aiden to destroy you! In the name—”

Javian swung his Fishhook cudgel and struck the center of the prester’s forehead, caving in his skull and leaving a crater of bone fragments and brain. Hannes fell to the floor of the ice cave, dead before he could even finish his prayer.

Ishalem

After the wall fell, the Tierran army plunged into Ishalem like a hunting knife gutting a fresh kill. Battle horns sounded.

“Victory is ours!” Anjine shouted above the tumult. “
Ishalem
is ours!”

The battle would continue for days, but she had no doubt as to the outcome.

The energized soldiers roared in response. Riding high on their horses, Jenirod and Subcomdar Hist led the initial cavalry surge, and the horses barely slowed as they picked their way through the rubble. The footsoldiers ran to keep up with the mounted men. Since Alamont’s long-range archers had already wiped out the Urabans clustered behind the gate, and the firepowder explosions at the wall had knocked the enemy reeling, they met with little resistance.

Anjine had wanted to lead the charge into Ishalem, but Subcomdar Hist and all of her advisers vehemently argued against it. Hist was firm, almost to the point of insubordination. “It is not
necessary
, Majesty. You must stay here. We will batter down their defenses and clear the way for your triumphant entry—that’s what we are for.”

Jenirod had always been a man full of bravado, but now he was completely serious. “You lead and inspire us by your presence, not by your sword arm, my Queen. We’ll clear out the last of the enemy and secure the city. Ishalem belongs to us now. There’s no need to hurry.”

Anjine knew the two men were right. It would be arrogant for her to believe that she could outfight a seasoned Uraban warrior. That wasn’t her role to play. And she dared not put her unborn baby at risk.

“We’ll be quick about it, Majesty,” Hist promised, then rode forward. Destrar Shenro had already led the first group into the city.

She sat her horse with her visor raised, a hard smile flickering on her lips. From behind the main battle lines, Anjine received reports throughout the day as the furious fighting continued. She looked longingly at the holy city.

Beyond the wall, Tierran soldiers continued to fall upon the enemy like a wolfpack on a flock of sheep. They would pave the road for her with spilled Urecari blood. She watched dust and smoke rise into the air, counting the hours until she could ride through Ishalem victorious.…

Hours later, as fresh groups of footsoldiers jogged past, and the rear ranks called out impatient encouragement, anxious to get to the plundering, a lone, slow horseman rode toward her from the near-deserted army camp—a familiar figure. Though he had donned his uniform again, Mateo looked pallid. He sat his mount unsteadily, holding the pommel to keep himself upright.

She reined her horse about to intercept him. “You should be resting! I told you to stay behind in the Saedran tent.”

“Yes, my Queen, and I disobeyed you.” His grin was so familiar. “I wanted to make sure someone was here to defend you. Just in case.”

“My entire army can defend me. I don’t need you here.”

“You need me, Anjine.”

She sighed. “Yes, I need you. But I need you
alive
.”

“I could say the same. Let’s make sure both of us stay that way.”

Anjine couldn’t imagine how he had managed to bind his wounds and gain enough strength to dress, much less saddle and mount a horse. He must have had assistance. The Saedran doctors would have argued, but Mateo could be very insistent. Besides, most of the battlefield physicians were with the army, following the charge so they could tend the wounded; Mateo would have been left virtually alone, and Anjine knew he would never just sit quietly.

Despite how weak and tired he appeared, Anjine was glad to have him there. His presence inspired her as much as seeing the wall fall down. “This is a very foolish thing you’re doing, Mateo.”

He gave her the mischievous smile she knew so well. “Yes, it is, but how could I miss this final battle, this glorious victory? I need to be at your side during the greatest triumph of your life.” He lowered his voice, though few soldiers remained close enough to hear him. “And I would rather die at your side than live without you.”

“I should never have told you I loved you,” Anjine said in a tone that was partly cross, partly teasing. “Now you’re going to distract me at a critical moment.”

“I shall do my best not to be a hindrance, Majesty.” He raised his head, listening to the sounds of continued mayhem in the streets. His expression was pensive.

She cocked her eyebrows. “You don’t look very joyous and triumphant, Mateo.”

“Oh, I want to see the enemy defeated for the terrible things they’ve done, but we are partly responsible for this as well. I cut off a thousand heads for you, because you commanded it.” His voice wavered. “When will it stop?”

“Tomorrow. This is the day we win the war.” She realized she sounded glib. “Let’s go see what the army has accomplished so far. Ride forward with me?” She nudged her horse, and together they made their way along the trampled road toward the holy city.

Anjine remembered when they had sailed to the holy city aboard the royal cog with King Korastine, when they were just innocent children. “You were with me the last time I entered this city, Mateo. It is only right that you should be here now.”

A wistful expression crossed his face. “Let us hope it turns out differently this time.”

Anjine heard the shouts of soldiers, the continuing clash of weapons up ahead. “It will.”

Ishalem, Main Urecari Church

Panic spread through the city as Tierran invaders swarmed into the streets. Ishalem was an anthill of confusion. Some people fled, while others rallied and fought back. Enemy soldiers came not just from the blasted wall, but also from the ironclad ships in the canal.

Ur-Sikara Kuari ordered the sturdy wooden doors of the main Urecari church thrown open so that refugees could take sanctuary. Soldan Vishkar had built the great structure as a place of worship with fortress-thick walls, and the people believed Urec would protect them. In the meantime, Asaddan took a ceremonial pike used to hold the Unfurling Fern banner, yanked off the fabric, and positioned himself at the church’s main doors as if he alone could guard against the Tierran army.

Anxious people crowded in to fill the huge worship chamber, babbling and wailing. Their voices spontaneously broke into familiar hymns, and the ur-sikara led prayer chants every hour. Kuari presented a particularly brave and strong face for them, letting her followers draw hope, although she was not convinced that even the massive building would save them.

Withdrawing to her anteroom where Istar and Ciarlo sat listening to the tumult outside, the ur-sikara said in a low voice, “When the Tierrans take over the city, they will defile this place first. Remember, the church stands on the former site of the main Aidenist kirk. This ground was sacred to them.”

Though he could hear the mayhem in the streets, Ciarlo insisted that the ur-sikara’s worries were unfounded. “Followers of the Fishhook know the word of Aiden. No true believer would cause the kind of carnage that you’re afraid of. We don’t harm innocents.”

Ur-Sikara Kuari let out a snort of derision. “How do you expect me to take you seriously, when you speak such foolishness? After all the monstrous things your people have done?”

Ciarlo let out a frustrated sigh. “Adrea, tell her it will be all right. They are
Aidenists
.”

Istar placed a hand on each of her brother’s shoulders, as if lecturing a child. “That may be what the Book of Aiden
says
, Ciarlo, but that isn’t the way all Aidenists behave. The same is true for the Urecari. Both Aiden and Urec must have turned from us in disgust by now.”

Kuari paced the anteroom. “I don’t expect Aiden or Urec to magically solve our problems. We created this mess ourselves. It is our responsibility.”

Istar looked at her brother and the ur-sikara, knowing that Omra was out there somewhere, fighting against her own former people. She realized that she might have to do something herself.

Scattered contingents of the Tierran army spread into neighborhoods, setting fires and attacking anyone who stood against them. When the first line of troops rushed the main church, Ur-Sikara Kuari shouted for the panicked stragglers to hurry inside. Asaddan barricaded the sturdy doors as the Aidenist invaders ran up, swords drawn; he slammed the crossbar home moments before sword hilts and gauntleted fists pounded on the door.

“See that all the other doors are secured,” Kuari called out.

The big Nunghal prowled the perimeter of the chamber, carrying the long pike. A broken roof tile hurtled through one of the windows from the outside, and when a zealous Aidenist soldier tried to crawl through the broken window, Asaddan jabbed at him with the blunt end of the staff, smashing the man in the teeth. The soldier screamed and dropped away.

Ciarlo still wore nondescript robes and a hood to hide his pale hair and blue eyes, but many Urecari refugees looked askance at him. Others glanced suspiciously at Istar and her Tierran features. She stared back at them, confronting their silent accusations. There wasn’t much she could say.

Soon the hammering on the main wooden doors became a heavy pounding that made the hinges rattle.

“They’re using a battering ram,” Istar said.

Ten blows, and then twenty. Finally, a pale crack splintered down one of the thick planks like a streak of lightning.

“They’ll be inside before long.” Asaddan stood with his pike ready. “I suggest the rest of you find someplace to hide, or a way to defend yourselves.”

Another heavy blow from the battering ram, loud shouts from the soldiers outside, and the crack in the door widened. Ur-Sikara Kuari stepped forward, looking fearsome. “I will stand and defend my church.” The refugees scrambled to the back of the main worship chamber, hoping to remain unseen, while some crowded around the ur-sikara, ready to give their lives.

Ciarlo placed himself between Kuari and the door. “Let me talk to them—I can make them leave us alone, if they are true Aidenists.”

“Ciarlo, they’ll kill you,” Istar said.

He gave his sister a beatific smile. “My faith is an anchor.” The battering ram smashed again, and the crossbar fell out of its cradle. The planks split apart, and Aidenist soldiers began to hack at the debris with their swords. Someone thrust a staff and colorful flag through the gap; Istar recognized the banner of Alamont Reach.

Looking annoyed rather than frightened, Asaddan seized the staff and yanked it out of the man’s hands, tossing it with a clatter into the worship chamber. The soldiers howled, redoubled their efforts against the door, and pushed their way through the broken planks.

The leader of the small fighting group was thin and haughty, his eyes shining, his hair wild. He spoke in Tierran, although he couldn’t have expected the refugees to understand him. “I am Destrar Shenro of Alamont Reach. I claim this church in the name of Aiden.”

Ciarlo surprised them by planting himself in front of the soldiers, holding out both of his hands. “By the Fishhook, I command you not to harm these people! I speak on their behalf, in the name of Aiden.” He fumbled for the pendant at his throat and yanked back his hood to reveal his blond hair.

Shenro didn’t pause. He ran forward, swung his sword without even looking at his target. Ciarlo stumbled backward, too close to get out of the way. But the downsweep of Shenro’s blade was blocked with a loud clang as Asaddan brought the pike into the sword’s arc. The Alamont destrar staggered, his arms jarred by the impact of the counterblow.

Asaddan swung his pike to smash the side of the destrar’s head, then skewered Shenro through the chest, driving him to the ground. He ripped the weapon back out and held it before him to face the oncoming charge.

The other Alamont soldiers pushed their way inside the church, but the crowded refugees battered them with poles and heavy candlesticks. The Nunghal was a tornado, sweeping his pike from side to side, stabbing them and pushing the bodies back through the door. It was over quickly, and four Tierran men lay dead. The other six—and only six, for it had been a small contingent—fled.

Ciarlo was on his knees, praying over the Alamont destrar. He touched the Fishhook pendant to the dying man’s lips. The ur-sikara stood behind him. She did not look smug. “You aren’t even a follower of Urec, and he tried to kill you.”

“I’m not a follower of Urec either,” Asaddan said, propping the bloody pike upright. “But I defended my friends.” He was barely even winded.

Kuari pointed to the crowds in the church. “We need to barricade that door again and protect all the windows. They will be back.”

The Ice Grotto of Terravitae

As the searchers entered the sea caves, the chill in Criston’s heart felt colder than the ice encrusting the tunnels. Swimming in the frigid water, King Sonhir and Kjelnar drew the ships’ boats along. Saan and the strange girl Ystya rode next to Criston in the lead boat.

Mia hunched forward, her hands grasping the gunwales. “Do you think Prester Hannes would harm Javian?”

Criston’s answer was terse and grim. “I don’t know what the prester is capable of doing.”

Saan’s Tierran words were halting. “We know he murdered a priestess of Urec.”

From the other boat, Yal Dolicar made a rude noise. “Come now, Captain—Sikara Fyiri was an infuriating woman, and she would not have hesitated to kill the Aidenist prester, given half a chance.”

The two Saedran chartsmen did not comment, but King Sonhir gave a snort as he splashed along. “Now you see why my people sank our continent and retreated beneath the shelter of the waves.”