Sera
Yelto led Sera and Tennech down a long corridor made of smooth stone that looked like it had come fresh from the quarry. Their footsteps echoed through the bare, hollow hall, and the torch Yelto was holding popped crisply as it burned.
Halfway down the hall, the big Khôl pressed his palm against a lighter section of the wall, and the stones slid heavily away. They made a scraping sound as they retracted into the wall, leaving a doorway where moments before had been impassable stone.
“I find it useful,” Yelto said as he turned back to look at them, “to keep my most precious possessions well hidden. Everything else is on display.”
“Most wise,” Tennech said with a slow nod.
“Besides,” Yelto added as he ducked his head to descend the stairs beyond the doorway, “what better place than a prison to keep someone valuable?”
Sera followed Tennech, who was right behind Yelto, down a spiraling staircase made of the same pale stone of which the hallway was comprised. Echoes were muted in the cramped space, and the torch that the Djozen carried suddenly came in handy. She wondered what kind of person was important enough to lock away yet worthless enough to be treated like a prisoner. A strange mixture, she thought. She had a suspicion that she was about to see for herself.
The air around them seemed to relax, as it suddenly felt lighter and less stifling. Moments ago it had felt to her like walking in front of an oven, but as they descended it became increasingly cooler.
From one of his pockets, Yelto produced a ring full of brass and silver keys. They clinked together as he grasped one of them upright, leaving the others to slide to the bottom and rock gently as they tapped against each other. He approached a sturdy wooden door and fit the key in the lock, turning it with ease and pushing the door back.
“We have a few of these to go through,” Yelto said, “so I apologize. But I assure you, it is worth having the extra security.”
Two soldiers stood on the other side of the door, and Sera wondered just how often they saw the sun. They nodded at the three of them and continued on through. The jingle of Yelto’s keys preceded the opening of another large door, this one mostly iron, with another pair of guards waiting on the inside.
“Now I’m intrigued,” Tennech said as he followed Yelto through. “This is certainly a lot to go through.”
“When one is gifted power,” Yelto answered without looking back, “one tends to protect it.”
Tennech raised an eyebrow and looked at Sera. Sera shrugged.
The three made their way to a door that was guarded this time by five guards, bigger than any of the ones by the other doors—and armed to the teeth. The biggest one, in the center, said something in Khôl which Yelto immediately answered. A challenge and response, Sera realized.
As one, the guards lowered their weapons and stepped out of the way. The biggest guard put a plain silver key into the lock on the heavy iron door. It made a satisfying thud as the lock opened. He pulled on a circular handle and the door groaned open.
Sera peered inside, but it did her no good; whatever was behind this door was sitting in a darkness blacker than even the deepest recesses of Khala Val’ur.
A female voice croaked its way through the void.
“It has been a long time since you have come to visit me, keeper of my prison.”
“Indeed it has,” Yelto called into the dark. “Indeed it has. And I’ve brought guests.” He held up his torch, casting its light farther into the cell and illuminating the source of his pride, the thing that he was so careful about locking away.
In the middle of the well-guarded cell sat a woman, silver haired and thin, her hands folded patiently at her side as though she had been waiting for them this whole time. Sera was surprised to see that the light of the torch did not fully illuminate her figure; instead, it passed right through her as if she were made of glass.
As if she was . . . a ghost.
“Daughter, son, step into the light,” the woman said. She was hidden mostly in shadows, and her ethereal visage flickered with the torchlight.
Sera and Tennech, intrigued, did as she asked, and a courtly smile fluttered across her lips. “The Dagger and the Seed,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“The Dagger?” Tennech asked defiantly. “How is it that you know that name?” His voice was steady, but Sera heard the momentary waver in it, which she recognized as fear. “I have never been beyond the Wastes, yet you speak as if you know me.”
“I do know you, Aldis Tennech.” The woman smiled again, and Sera saw a fierceness behind her sharp green eyes that reminded her of a wolf. “I am the one who goes between,” she answered. “Some call me the Ghost of the Morning; to others I am Mother to Wolves. But all you need to know, Dagger, is that I am called Asha Imha-khet, and I have seen what lies beyond this world and more. I have seen its beginning and I know of its end. And you, Dagger of Derenar, still have a part to play.”
“Explain yourself,” Tennech demanded as he took a step closer to the ghostly woman. “I have no patience for riddles.”
“Then I suggest you wait and see what comes to pass, though you will not have to wait long. For, rising with the sun, are the forces that shall bring ruin to Khadje Kholam, united by the Key and strengthening the Seed.”
With these words, she turned her icy stare to Sera.
“And you—” she began, but was cut off by a guard bursting into the room.
“Djozen,” he said between rapid breaths. “The tribes are here (gasp). They are led (gasp) by the Wolfwalker (gasp) Sivulu.”
Yelto clutched the blade that hung from his neck. “Then the time has come, just as the Ghost foresaw, General,” he said as he turned to Tennech. “Now you prove your worth.”