80

Marcus

“Open the gates!” Samsen shouts as we ride breakneck toward the west entrance to the city. “Open for the Heir of Baiseen!”

My horse is lathered, her flanks heaving like bellows. I’m gasping for breaths as hard as she is, but on we go, churning down the headland road to the gates. But we’ve made it! From this height, all appears peaceful below. No scent of fire, metal, or blood. No sound of battle. The palace torches are alight. The Sanctuary’s, too. The masts in the distant harbor rock back and forth. Flags, from what I can see at a squint, are all the ancient shearwater. Ours.

“No warships,” Ash says holding fistfuls of mane as she gallops bareback beside me.

True, but they must be nearly upon us.

We skid to a halt, the gates not budging.

“Open for the Heir!” I shout.

There’s a stir in the tower. “Who goes there?” a voice challenges us.

The horses shake and huff as Samsen stands up in his stirrups. “Are you listening? The Heir of Baiseen, Marcus Adicio. We bring news of imminent attack.”

The guards above us converse in hushed voices. “Come into the light, you who claim to be the Heir.”

“Claim?” I will give them five more seconds before I raise De’ral and point him at the gate, though with the Gollnar troops on our heels, I’d rather not. It would be good to be able to close this door behind us.

“It’s a reasonable request,” the guard says. “You ride Gollnar horses and wear Northern Aturnian uniforms, yet call yourself the Heir? Marcus Adicio never had a beard, even when he was in this world.”

“I most certainly am in this world, beard or no!”

“Not by the Magistrate’s account.” The Baiseen guards march out single file from the tower but do not open the gate. In moments, they have us surrounded.

“Fools!” Samsen steps directly under the torch light. “The Heir is right before you, very much alive, though the Bone Throwers know we have nearly been swept from the path.” He pushes back his hood and his pale-yellow hair dances around his face.

“Samsen?” the main guard says. “What trick are you playing?”

I rein my horse next to Samsen, recognizing the man. “Open the damn gates, Adrick, and let us through. It won’t go well if you don’t.”

His eyes meet mine and he audibly gulps. “Make way for Marcus Adicio!” He salutes with his sword and drops to one knee. “Forgive me, please. We were told of your passing—”

“You were told wrong,” I growl, more De’ral’s response than my own. “To the Sanctuary,” I command as the gates open. “Wake Master Brogal at once.”

But still, the gate is closed. “I’m sorry, sir.” Adrick catches my reins. “All petitions to the Sanctuary must report to the Magistrate first. No exceptions.”

“Since when?”

“A recent decree by the Magistrate.”

“My father will understand in this case. We must speak to Brogal immediately. Wake Father, too, of course, but it’s Brogal and the war council—”

Adrick wavers and coughs. “We will accompany you.”

“Fine, if you must, but let us in, and lock the gate behind. Gollnar troops camp a few hours to the north, waiting for a signal to attack. I’d rather you didn’t let them in.”

Adrick signals the gates to open but doesn’t let go of the reins. At a quick march, we are escorted into Baiseen. Finally.

Ash keeps her horse at my side. “It’s all right, Marcus. They’ll wake Brogal.”

“By my word, I will if they don’t.” I stand up in my stirrups and command. “At the trot! We have no time to lose.”