To Dellithion Omvide

1010 A.D.
The Realm of Wyn Avuqua

Far to the South, smoke rises from Shartiris, adding a darker bruise to an already wounded sky. The nearer Tiris Avu burns like fallen torches in the grass. Loche stares at the higher center tower that still stands and wonders if Queen Yafarra and her son Iteav are hidden somewhere within listening to the boom of beaten doors, marching boots in the halls and the screams of fallen immortals funneling up through the cylinder tower. He wonders if Edwin is with them.

They have come the mile to the dike. He sits with his back against the rock wall. Julia and Leonaie are still at his sides. They are breathing heavy from the last sprint. One of Vincale’s sentinels fell just minutes ago as a sortie of some ten Godrethion spied the company crossing a road. William, Corey and the sentinel turned and gave battle as the rest continued north. Only William and Corey returned.

“Come,” Vincale says, lowering himself down from the wall. “We will enter into Keptiris through the arch. I can see the Book Houses from here. We’ve enemies to pass, but their main strength is still outside and pressing the wall. I think they are finding that we are not easy to kill. Come.”

The captain moves through a low fissure in the stone.

They pass the Keptiris fountains that just a day before were filled with light and the music of water. Now, haunting every fountain are at least two or three severed heads. The spray of the water is a ghostly pink in the dim afternoon. The mist smells of tin.

Loche is dizzy with every step. Soon the wall behind them is just a black line drawn across the horizon. Beads of ice sift down between the raindrops and crackle on his hood. There is no sign of Edwin. They cross into another huddle of low houses, and Loche is struck with the feeling that he has been here before. Rounding a hedge, he understands the feeling. A muffled cry from Julia confirms his fear. The highest of the log houses is on fire. The very house where he and Julia had visited the day before —where they had gathered beside a warm hearth, where they dined and sipped wine. Laughed. It is the house of Teunwa’s friends. The couple’s bodies are heaped upon the long porch. Both are headless. Blood is spattered across the snow. Julia squeezes her arm tighter around Loche as they trudge forward. He watches the white vapor of his breath gust in rhythm with Julia and Leonaie.

Itonalya resistance is all around them. Groups of Shartiris press an enemy host back through a dike arch just yards away. To their left, houses are being routed by a large force of Godrethion. The god-soldiers mutilate unarmed women and children. A sudden volley of arrows sings from out of the dark sky. The expertly aimed bolts fell nearly twenty enemy soldiers. The surviving raiders run for cover.

Thus far, Loche has not needed to draw his sword, for the artistry of Vincale and his sentinels, along with Corey, Talan and William, have effectively carved out their path with little effort. But at any moment, it seems, a larger Godrethion host could take notice of their flight and smother their escape. Vincale is careful to keep the company in alleyways and beneath the boughs of trees.

Loche scans the roadside and the path ahead. He cranes around to see if Edwin is running up behind them. Blood sloshes in his brain like oil in a bottle. He feels he is peering into pages and pages of text—line upon line of inky words imprinted upon the sky, upon the vapor of his breath, upon the stonework road beneath his feet—like a swarm of insects. His hands come up and he tries to bat them aside.

“Not long now,” Vincale says between heaves. He gestures ahead. “They have not yet gained the center Book House. Hurry!”

Loche feels Leonaie and Julia yank him forward. He tries to read the words drifting in the rising smoke over Vifaetiris, but either the words or his eyes cannot stay still long enough. They descend into a narrow lane between high poplars and drop into a round courtyard. Five massive cedar trees reach overhead and shelter them from the falling sleet and snow. They stop. They wait. Vincale scans the entries and exits to the courtyard. From somewhere to the West comes the concussive pounding of heavy stones against the walls. Following after each chalky crack is a roar of frenzied soldiers.

Far to the North comes the unmistakable cracking of an automatic weapon. Four bursts. William looks at Corey. Corey says, “Neil? Alexia?”

William looks at Leonaie, “My guess is Emil Wishfeill has not yet departed…”

Leonaie’s arm flexes slightly behind Loche’s back.

“Now,” Vincale whispers, “follow,” and he rushes to the opposite side of the wide clearing. The company stays with him in a tight cluster. He leads them up through another lane of high trees to the face of a dark house with three steep gables. The captain does not linger but rushes straight to the heavy doors and enters.

Inside, Loche can see nothing but fading-to-black stairs down, and passages to his right and left. “Torches,” comes Vincale’s voice from the dense dark. The two sentinels reach to the sconces and pull down the unlit torches. Vincale produces flint. Before he can strike the steel across the stone, Loche hears a familiar click and ring behind him and he turns. William’s face strobes twice in spark-light, and then illuminates by the flame of a Zippo lighter. “Basil’s lighter…” he says with a grim smile. “I did not like him smoking cigarettes.”

The torches hiss to life.

Vincale leads down the stairs. At the bottom they rush through a pillared room. Open books upon tables and overturned chairs appear to have been quickly abandoned. Shadows unsnarl from the blackness and shift as the torchlight passes. Through another door, along another corridor, into another maze of pillars and bookshelves. Finally, Vincale halts at the top of yet another descending staircase. Far below an orange light flickers along the floor.

Vincale says, “Below is the tunnel to Omvide Dellithion.” He motions to the staircase. “By the time we enter, it is likely we will be trapped in between by the Enemy on both sides. We will not exit without a fight.”

William’s says half mockingly, “Why am I not surprised by this?”

“Let us hope by the grace of Thi our strength can match what we meet at the end.”

“Your Queen has killed Thi, Captain,” William growls. “Whatever we meet, our own grace will deliver us.” Vincale does not answer but starts down the stairs and into the tunnel. William’s eyes narrow following their guide. “And into Hell we go…”