Five Lands Saga Box Set 1 (Five Lands Saga Box Sets), page 124
Jaeme gasped for air and stumbled but his body didn’t explode, and neither did Kenton’s. Farther ahead of them on the street, he could hear Sayvil and Nikaenor calling his name, and he wanted to yell at them to run—don’t wait. Some of the bearers could still get away.
But Daniella stepped forward, and as she did, the pressure in Kenton’s head eased rather than grew. She stalked toward him, and as she did, the whirling of blood pulled closer to her in the air, as if she were drawing it in.
And then Kenton remembered. The little red-haired girl, on unsteady legs. Stepping forward, touching her hand to his father’s head. His blood exploding out of his body in a fine mist and never landing. His body a husk of itself, not mangled like the others Daniella killed.
She needed his soul. She could kill Kenton—perhaps everyone in the gods-damned city—at a distance, but to take his soul, she had to stand next to him. She had to touch him.
Kenton wheeled around and shoved Jaeme farther down the street. “Run,” he said. “Run like all hells are after you. Go!”
Lovers or not, Daniella was damn well going to kill Jaeme. It was only Kenton and Perchaya she couldn’t kill in a conventional way.
The buildings around them filled with more screams.
Conventional, he supposed, only for her.
Jaeme hesitated for a beat, then they both sprinted toward the others farther down the street.
Ahead of them, Nikaenor stumbled, and Kenton hauled the boy to his feet as they approached the city’s cattle yards. The smell of livestock hung thick in the air along with the smell of blood, and the stones, though more frequently cleaned here than in Bothran, were still lined with animal dung.
Sayvil stopped, staring ahead down the street. Kenton’s stomach sank as he saw what gave her pause.
At the edge of the swine pens, soldiers and citizens alike stood behind an enormous barricade made from wagons and torn-down road stalls and other pieces of wood they had scavenged. In the windows of the building above, archers had taken position, and jutting out from the barricade were lances and spears.
“Halt,” one soldier yelled. He wore the regalia of a commander, but from the bloody state of it, Kenton guessed he’d been field promoted today when his captain had met a violent end. This group, rather than fleeing, hoped to hold back the woltrecht. Or the blood witch, if they were aware of her, which was even more futile.
“Run!” Nikaenor shouted at them. “All hells rain down on us! Flee the city or the rivers will run with your blood!”
That was more poetic an image than Kenton would have been able to conjure at that moment, but it had no effect on the soldiers beyond the barricade. He heard the sound of hooves on stone as the cavalry behind the barricade backed up, no doubt preparing to jump and charge to keep them away.
There wasn’t time for this. Kenton caught sight of Sayvil motioning to him from a gap between two buildings, a path around the barricade, small though it may be.
“Do as he says!” Kenton shouted, grabbing Nikaenor by the arm and pulling him and Jaeme after Sayvil. Quinn ran ahead of them between the buildings, leading them down alleyways that Kenton hoped to the gods Quinn knew.
Behind them, he heard another cry of halt, a few arrows whizzing through the air, and then low moans that escalated into piercing screams and finally silence. Sayvil and Nikaenor shouted as they ran. “Run! Run! The blood witch is coming!” and while later they might all find time to be horrified that they’d taken to calling Daniella that name, at this moment, to the people of Drepaine, it was the only mercy they had to offer. Jaeme and Kenton added their voices, and people emerged from their homes and joined them, until they were part of a large crowd, screaming and crying and running through the smith district toward the west gate.
Behind them, those who hadn’t heeded the call met a different end. Cries curdled in the mouths of people dying all around them. Kenton wasn’t sure if the screams were constant, or if each successive one echoed in his ears, long after the voice that uttered it had been stopped.
They found the west gate blessedly open, and groups of people flooding through it from all directions. They elbowed their way through, lost in the masses, and Kenton paused only once to step up on an overturned apple cart and look back into the city.
Daniella was nowhere to be seen, and the blood trail hadn’t yet reached this part of the city. They’d managed to outrun her. Gods help them, they had to keep running and never stop. They joined the throng pushing out of the gate, moving south along the strip of land between the city wall and the harbor and then across the Oresh Bridge toward the Sevairnese city of Telvanir. Back onto the soil of Sevairn, leaving Andronim stained in blood behind them.
Once well clear of the city, most of the citizens stopped, gathering in clumps, hugging each other, crying hysterically about those they’d lost or left behind. Kenton led the others through them, until finally a grove of trees along the bank of the river afforded them some cover. Jaeme fell to the ground, his hands digging through his hair, dyeing the sandy blond a deep, dark red. Kenton wasn’t sure if the blood was his or Daniella’s, or a mixture of all those who had had their souls ripped from their bodies today, not by Diamis’ daughter, but by his weapon.
Kenton’s voice caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, Jaeme,” he managed.
“Perchaya,” Nikaenor said. “We have to go meet her—”
“We can’t,” Sayvil said. “Daniella knows where we said we’d meet if we were separated. Daniella knows . . .”
“Everything,” Kenton finished.
Daniella knew everything they’d planned to do. Gods, even where they were going to meet Saara, who would be receiving their message before Kenton could send warning, and then sailing immediately to meet them.
It was too late. They wouldn’t be able to reach her.
Kenton shook his head. This wasn’t the moment. “We have to hide. Tehlran knows that Daniella has turned. He’ll have his remaining soldiers after us, and soon they’ll know everything she knows. We need to find someplace to lie low and figure out how to find Perchaya without letting Daniella know where we are.”
Nikaenor stared back toward the city, his eyes hollow, and Kenton put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” he said.
Nikaenor shook his head, and Jaeme doubled over, pressing his forehead into the dirt. Sayvil collapsed into Quinn’s arms, and gods only knew where Perchaya was—dead or alive. Perhaps Daniella found her, perhaps that was why she’d stopped, why they’d gotten away. An image ran through his mind of Daniella, drenched in blood, laying her hand on Perchaya’s head, and blood bursting forth from her like petals from a flower.
The rest of the world drained away, and, for a brief moment, Kenton thought that he knew what Jaeme must feel.
Thirty-eight
The first indication to Perchaya that something else had gone wrong came when the crowds of people stumbled through the southern gate of the city, headed east along the river toward the Oresh Bridge, shoes dripping with blood, whispering and wailing and moaning about the blood witch. The stories poured forth without provocation. The woltrecht rampaged through the city, and then—depending on the tale—transformed into or belched forth or was murdered by a woman drenched in blood. Citizens of Drepaine in all manner of dress and all levels of wealth huddled together, many crying for loved ones left behind.
The blood witch, they said, killed far more than the beast had, her magic draining people of their souls while they huddled in their homes, her terrible presence sweeping through the city.
Perchaya wasn’t certain what would have happened to trigger this particular explosion, though Daniella’s magic reacted instinctively whenever her life was threatened, and there were certainly a lot of forces inside the city that might have done that. She’d lost control in the blood mage conclave—killed innocents, slaves, children. The first time this had happened, she’d killed a room full of Tirostaari guards.
But as more survivors poured from the city, Perchaya was certain that this time, she’d killed far, far more. Perchaya wore the ring that had called the bearers together, and that made her immune to the effects of Daniella’s maelstrom. In Tirostaar, it had only been Perchaya’s presence that had called Daniella back from the dark magic. In Remalia, she’d somehow managed to pull herself back from the madness, but now, without anyone there to help her—
Perchaya’s stomach sank. Daniella had been with Nikaenor. What had become of him?
Reisa made her way through the survivors at Perchaya’s side, holding little Liese asleep on her shoulder. “This evil,” she said. “Did Iadan bring it here as well?”
“No,” Perchaya said. The risk was too great that she might be overheard, so she didn’t add the thought that followed. I did.
Perchaya loved Daniella, and for the good of the people of Drepaine and the safety of Daniella herself, she had to find her. She had to—
Gods, would there be any bringing her friend back from this? From the horror she’d wrought and the additional horrors Perchaya might not even know about yet? Had Kenton and the others returned from the castle yet? If Nikaenor had been with her—
Perchaya couldn’t think about that. She had to go back into the city to find Daniella, to do what she could for her.
“I’m going to give you directions to a hiding place,” Perchaya said. “You and Liese should be safe there.” She was thinking of the place where she and Kenton had rested a bit their first night out of Drepaine. It was only an hour or so walk, just over the border into Sevairn and to the east of the bridge—a copse of trees that Kenton had felt hidden enough to give Perchaya some time to breathe after their escape.
After all she’d been through since, it felt strange to think of how difficult that had seemed at the time. At this time of year, the fields on the way there would provide more cover than they had then, but there would also be more workers to avoid.
“You can’t go back into the city,” Reisa said. “Not for Iadan. Whatever his fate, I’m sure we’ll know soon enough.”
“I’m not going for Iadan,” Perchaya said.
“Kenton, then. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Perchaya answered honestly. “But I’m going to find out.”
Reisa nodded resolutely, and on her face, Perchaya thought she saw a kind of sad resignation, as if she were accustomed to being abandoned by the people she loved.
Perchaya explained how to find the hiding place, and Reisa nodded.
“And if you don’t come back,” Reisa said, patting Liese’s back a little too quickly, “what are we to do then?”
Perchaya wanted to tell her sister that this wasn’t possible, but she knew she couldn’t. Not for this journey into the city, and not for the journeys that would come after. She still had a mission, a duty. Nothing had changed about that.
And yet, Perchaya found herself promising it anyway. “I’ll meet you before nightfall, or I’ll send word as to where I am.”
Sometimes the hopeful uncertainty was the best story to tell.
It wasn’t hard to get into the city. Refugees still poured out going the other way, and all the gate guards had abandoned their posts, probably taking part in the rescue effort in the areas ravaged by the woltrecht or managing the new threat.
Not that Perchaya imagined there was anything the city guard could do against Daniella. Far better for everyone to steer clear—not that the soldiers would listen to her.
Just inside the gate, Perchaya approached a group of refugees—a woman and two wide-eyed children, neither taller than her waist. “Excuse me,” she said. “The blood witch. Do you know where she is?”
The woman looked at Perchaya as if she was daft, but she shook her head. “There were screams coming from the central market square,” she said. “Wouldn’t go in that direction if I were you.”
Ignoring the woman’s wise advice, Perchaya headed off toward the center of the city at a run.
She encountered several barricades, armed by soldiers and city watch, but those were easy enough to slip around. Other than at the barricades, the streets were mostly empty, except for people who carried sacks or blankets tied up around things they were bringing from their houses—hopefully fleeing their own houses, at least, and not looting. Within minutes, Perchaya turned a corner around a stone building and stopped short.
The body of the woltrecht—Perchaya couldn’t imagine what else could have left a fleshy mound that large, though the corpse looked as if it had been turned inside out—lay slumped on the ground. The entire area was devoid of soldiers and eerily quiet, as if the buildings had either emptied or those inside feared to make a peep.
Or they were all dead, Perchaya thought, surveying the many exsanguinated bodies littering the square. Some wore blood-drenched Sevairnese livery, and others blood-soaked cloaks.
Like the one Iadan had been wearing. Gods. Perchaya stepped across red stones, still sticky with blood, and searched among the dead.
She found him lying next to a platform that might once have held a statue, a deep slash across his body. His eyes stared, but they hadn’t turned red from broken blood vessels. He’d already been dead before . . . whatever happened that set Daniella off.
Perchaya reached down and closed Iadan’s eyes. She wanted to mourn for him, but mostly her heart broke for her sister. Reisa hadn’t wanted to raise her child alone, but now she would have no choice. Iadan had insisted that he understood the risks he’d taken.
Looking around the blood-soaked square, Perchaya wondered if even now, he would say it was worth it.
Perchaya continued to search among the bodies, but she didn’t see Nikaenor among the dead. Perhaps he’d also gotten separated from Daniella. Perhaps he’d run toward the castle or swum up one of the canals to find and warn Kenton and the others.
Perchaya hoped that was the case, but whatever had happened, he didn’t appear to be here. Perchaya took a shuddering breath, choking on the death in the air. She left the square, following the trail of blood and corpses mangled in the streets. After half a block, she had to admit that this hadn’t been one isolated event. The area on the other side of the square had been clean of bodies, but here, people had fallen while fleeing for their lives, choking on blood and bile.
Daniella hadn’t erupted once in a cloud of violent magic. She’d moved, killing as she went. Leaving an obvious trail for Perchaya to follow, yes.
But also a nasty wake of blood and death.
Where had she been going? What was she running from?
Perchaya moved as quickly as she could, dodging another barricade, though this time there wasn’t a living soul left to stop her. The shriveled bodies of soldiers slumped over their crossbows, blood pouring down over the carts and barrels they’d thought to use as defense.
Daniella could kill through walls, and Perchaya didn’t have the heart to open any of the doors on the street. There was no movement within that she could discern, and she was fairly certain she knew why.
The trail turned shortly after the barricade, no longer moving west out of the city, and heading instead, Perchaya quickly realized, toward the palace. Daniella might have been looking for Kenton, searching for help, though with this kind of power surrounding her, Kenton would only have died trying to save her.
Perchaya was supposed to have been with her. It had been her assignment, and she’d stepped away, going after Reisa instead. She was the only one among them immune to Daniella’s powers, and she’d been the one to stop Daniella from killing them all in Tir Neren—thrown her arms around her suffering friend and talked her down until the magic lost its control over her.
She’d left Daniella on her own and look at what happened. She’d abandoned her post, and while many of these deaths were on the heads of Iadan and the resistance, far more rested on Perchaya.
With trembling hands, she continued to follow the path of destruction. As she did, the radius of carnage seemed to shrink, until Perchaya passed side streets completely empty of dead bodies, and there began to be fewer and fewer on the road and along the edges of the canal. Perchaya couldn’t be sure if Daniella had begun to pull back her powers or if the citizens had simply been given more time to evacuate.
Perchaya moved up the roads where she’d once fled from the palace after the attempt on Daniella’s life caused a riot in the streets. She recognized the side street where she’d first met Kenton, where they’d hidden together from the soldiers. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet it was those very events that put them all on the path that led to this carnage, this failure.
Perchaya stepped between two buildings, and the Lunar Palace came into view. She half-expected, after her trek through the city of blood and death, to find its brilliant white stone turned entirely red, but it stood tall in the sunlight, looking as pristine and immovable as ever.
And there, on the front steps where once a resistance fighter had tried to take Daniella’s life with a crossbow, stood Daniella herself. Her red hair was stained an even darker red, her clothing drenched in so much blood that she left a trail of it behind her as she moved up the steps. Across the bridge, a contingent of soldiers waited, crossbows pointed at her, looking like they wanted to flee.
At the top of the steps, Tehlran held up a hand for them to wait.
Perchaya bit her lower lip, resisting the urge to call out to Daniella. What was she doing? Had something gone wrong in the castle, and she’d come to rescue Kenton and the others? Gods, there had to be a better way than to walk through the front door.
As she approached Tehlran, though, Daniella didn’t attack. In fact, she calmly spoke to him for a few moments, though Perchaya was much too far away to hear what she was saying.
Tehlran gave a short nod, then beckoned to one of the soldiers—a commander of some sort, Perchaya thought, squinting to make out the various colored braids pinned to his shoulder.
