Season of Glory (28 page)

We all drew our swords. Vidar pulled out his guns and began firing, but both trackers
pulled shields from their backs, which seemed to repel his bullets, and continued
their advance. Behind them now, the four Sheolites followed.

Kapriel and Keallach moved out together, attacking with such efficiency that it again
struck me that they were exactly where they belonged. Together, they were stronger
than any of us, even paired with our Knights. Together, they pressed back one tracker
until he fell to his back, then they quickly dispatched the second. Keallach sliced
him across the belly, and when he bent, Kapriel took off his head.

I gaped at them.

But they weren't done. They circled the first tracker, who had leaped to his feet
in a spookily inhuman move and now had a sword in both hands. His eyes shifted back
and forth,
waiting for one or both of them to make a move. Bellona and Vidar had
taken on the four scouts, and I knew Chaza'el and I had to come to their aid. But
I was still fuzzy-headed, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, and
overwhelmed by the incessant cold radiating from my arm cuff . . .

Incessant cold.

“Andriana,” Chaza'el whispered, turning to me with eyes wide, pupils dilated. He
grabbed hold of my hand and yanked me downward, just as a sword came past that would
have cut me in two. Chaza'el rammed his dagger into Sethos's calf and reached up
to meet the other tracker mid-tackle. They rolled across the floor, Chaza'el half
the tracker's size—yet still somehow ending up on top. He sprang away, tossing another
dagger with deadly accuracy, which the tracker only narrowly caught before it pierced
his neck. The tracker advanced on him again.

My eyes tore back to Sethos, and I chastised myself that I hadn't been watching the
viper all the while. My head truly wasn't quite right. He spat blood and wiped his
lips with a gloved hand, narrowing his gaze at me. I looked away before our eyes
locked, aware that he used that connection to somehow gain entrance to my mind and
heart.
Maker, give me strength,
I prayed, unsheathing my sword at last and preparing
to meet his advance. I knew he was far stronger, but the One who had made me was
stronger yet.

His first strike made my whole body feel like it was ringing in response. But he
didn't stop there. Again and again, he struck, and clearly knew as well as I did
that, with each blow, I weakened. I gave up one foothold after another, my desperation
growing at the same pace as his glee.

This was not a man who wished to preserve me for his emperor.

This was a dark angel who wished me disposed of, before I destroyed everything he'd
built.

When I felt the cool stone at my back, I lifted my sword to block his next strike.
He pressed his own sword downward, and our blades got closer and closer to my neck.
The metallic slide sent shivers down my arms. “You,” he hissed, “have caused me
much trial.
You
have threatened all I've worked for.” Then he pressed inward, and
with a wave of fear, I knew he intended to slice my throat with my own blade.

The weight of it choked me.

Wind began to blow around us, driving out the dust, making me blink constantly in
an effort to see. Then Sethos's eyes widened, even as he continued to stare at me.
He still pressed inward, but now I was able to press back.

“Majesty . . .” he ground out, sounding only spiteful.

“Let her go, Sethos!” Keallach cried, reaching his hands out to him. He was using
his gift to move Sethos the tiniest amount—every smidgen of which I was grateful
for because it granted me that much more oxygen.

“Yes, let her go!” Kapriel echoed, but with his command he sent a burst of air that
made Sethos careen two steps to the side, away from me.

I gasped for air, aware for the first time that sweat streamed down my face and neck.
Vidar shouted and drove forward, blade high—his bullets likely gone—bringing his
sword down on Sethos from behind when Sethos rammed a short sword backward, through
my Ailith brother's belly.

“Vidar!” I screamed, feeling as if his name spread out over minutes, not seconds.

Kapriel sent another burst of air in Sethos's direction, nearly succeeding in forcing
him from his feet.

Sethos gave him a long, steely look, then turned and fled down the alcove passageway.
Ronan and our trainer tore past us in pursuit, but my eyes were on Vidar. I grabbed
hold of him as he crumpled to his knees. But he was heavy, and he fell partially
atop me. Still, I held on to him, easing him to the side and to his back, pressing
down on his wound with both hands. I grimaced as blood seeped between my fingers,
staining them as red as the Sheolite cloaks. “Go find Tressa!” I urged Kapriel and
Keallach, hovering above me.

It was then I saw Chaza'el, his head still, eyes wide. At first I thought he was
having another vision, lying there so still. But with a gasp, I knew that he was
dead.

“No,” I muttered, tears springing to my eyes. “No, no, no!” I looked to the twins
again, already turning. “Hurry! Please hurry!” I sobbed. Perhaps, if she was in time,
we could pray—pray all together—and bring Chaza'el back to us. We couldn't lose both
of them. I forced myself to concentrate on Vidar. Even in the dim light, I could
see he was fading to a ghastly shade of gray.

“Tell Bell,” he grunted, his voice terrifying with gurgles, “that I always knew she
secretly loved me.”

“Shut up,” I said, fury washing through me. “You use your energy to
fight
this, Vidar.
You hear me?
Fight
this.”

“It's bad, Dri,” he said, and I felt the terror within him, the giving up.

“Yeah? So was Ronan! So was Killian! Tressa and Niero . . . they healed them! You
just stay still and stay quiet, and pray the Maker doesn't take you home yet. Do
you hear me?”

“Dri? You're shouting.”

“Oh, Vidar,” I sighed, half laughing, half crying.

Bellona cried out behind me and rushed in our direction, sliding to her knees beside
us. “Vidar,” she began. “What happened?”

“Don't make him talk,” I said, fear rising in me as the blood continued to seep between
my fingers and spread out across Vidar's tunic in a widening pool. “We need a medic.
And Tressa. Tressa, most of all.”

“Where is she?” Bellona said, rising.

“No, Bellona—the twins went after Tressa. They'll be back soon. See if you can find
some gauze, or something to help stanch this blood.”

“Two pretty girls, looking . . . after . . . me,” Vidar quipped, but his tone had
none of the lightness of his words. I looked in alarm to his eyes as they rolled
backward.

“Vidar!” I grunted, pressing harder, as if I could will the wound to seal itself.

Ronan, Niero, and our trainer came into view, and my heart leaped, hoping that Niero
might again intervene on our behalf. On Vidar's behalf, I thought, looking upon my
brother with every ounce of hope in me.

“We need Tressa!” Bellona cried, fury carefully masking her panic as she placed her
fingers over mine.

“Keallach and Kapriel are looking for her,” I explained to the others. “But we don't
have much time.”

Niero moved to the torch on the wall and drew a long, thick dagger from his belt,
placing the tip of it directly in the flame.

“What are you doing, Niero?” I asked shakily, well aware of his intent, but hoping
he would resort to his . . . other methods. “Tressa is coming!”

“If she does not reach us in the next moment or two, you know what I must do.”

I can save him with human methods,
he willed into my mind, meeting my gaze.
He can
survive this.

He intended to seal Vidar's wound shut with a searing blade.

The horror of it sickened me. “Niero . . .”

“It is the Maker's way, to show us the means to accomplish his task,” he said, turning
back to the flame.

I winced and stared back at Vidar's terrible wound. “We don't even know if there's
more damage inside,” I muttered.

“If there is, only Tressa's prayers can heal him. And those will work regardless
of whether the skin is sealed or not. Right now, we must stop the bleeding, or we
will lose two Remnants this day instead of one.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I again looked to Chaza'el, so terribly still.

“Lift his tunic,” Niero said a moment later. “Ronan . . . Dri.”

Ronan took hold of my shoulders and gently eased me back. “No,” I cried, watching
as Vidar's blood continued to spill faster when my pressure lifted. But still Ronan
pulled, clearing a space for them to do what they must.

“Try and bring the skin together,” Niero directed Bellona.

She pressed from either side, leaving enough room for his blade to cauterize the
skin together. She turned her face, and after looking to the empty doorway, said,
“Do it.”

Niero pressed down with the hot blade without pause. My stomach roiled as the peculiar
odor of hot blood and seared flesh filled the air, wafting upward in steam. I turned
away, pressing my face into Ronan's chest. He stroked my hair with one hand and held
me tight with his other arm.

Vidar came to with a scream, and Bellona shoved his shoulders down. “Look at me!
Look at me!” she cried, forcing him to concentrate. “You are not alone. We are with
you!” But by then, it was over. Niero lifted the blade and flung it toward the wall,
bending to take one of Vidar's hands in both of his. “Forgive me, brother. It had
to be done. You were going to bleed out.”

Vidar nodded, silent, lips parted in desperate pants that were partly tears. Sweat
ran down his temples, and his eyes were wide and round. Once Bellona captured his
attention, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth so hard I could see the muscles
in his jaw and neck pulse with the effort. Blessedly, he blanched and passed out
again a moment later. I think we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Niero laid his broad palm on Vidar's chest and bent his head, closing his eyes as
if in prayer. I knew he was searching my brother to find out just how bad his wounds
might be. After a moment, he looked toward us, face grim, which made my heart pound
in fear. “Go and see if you can find Tressa—see what keeps her and the others. We
will bring Vidar to the meeting room. Gather every elder you see and tell them to
go there, along with the Ailith. We must decide on how we shall proceed.”

Ronan and I immediately did as he asked, running out the tunnel and to the stairs.
But when we got to the lower levels, horror overtook us. This was why the others
hadn't returned with Tressa and Killian. Everywhere we looked, there were dead or
dying people.

Men, women, and children, some infants, lying beside their parents.

Worse were children weeping, clinging to mothers and fathers who were long dead.

There were murdered elders too. I glimpsed one, slumped against a wall, his eyes
wide, as if in shock, as if he couldn't believe that this was how it would end. Another
lay twisted on the floor, as if she had been writhing in pain when she died.

The stone floors were covered in blood. We almost slipped several times because of
it. The walls were streaked with it, reminding me of my home after the Sheolites
came and took my parents. I had been so afraid . . .

“My parents,” I said, gripping Ronan's arm. “
Our
parents.”

“They should be safe,” he said, not sounding entirely sure. “I doubt our enemies
took the time to break through that reinforced door. But we'll go to them.”

I nodded, my stomach twisting as I saw yet another dead child in the arms of a wailing,
wounded mother. There were survivors, and that was a blessing. But their combined
emotion—terror, grief, agony—made me turn and vomit.

Ronan's hand covered my shoulder until my belly was emptied.

“I'm sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. It was the last thing
he needed to deal with.

“It's understandable, Dri. I know . . . I know this must be a lot for you. Feeling
everything. Everyone.”

An armed guard came trotting through from the direction of the front gate. Ronan
stopped him. “Have you repelled them all?”

“For now,” spat the young man, probably only a season younger than Ronan and me.
“But we're trying to re-form in case they return.”

“How many dead outside?”

“Only a few. Most retreated inside before the stones were rolled into place after
the helicopters arrived.”

“How'd they get through?” Ronan asked, his tone tight and high, as if he still couldn't
believe it. We thought we were invincible within the castle cut from the cliff.

“They blasted through. They had missiles on those helicopters.” He turned his face
and shook his head. “
Missiles
.
Some say that they had dynamite too, at the gates.
How are we to fight against such a well-armed enemy?” He shook his head again. “The
explosions killed some. And then the cursed Sheolites swept through while we were
still trying to regain our feet, killing everyone in their path. If there hadn't
been guards deeper in the Citadel to repel them, they might still be here, murdering
all who remain.”

I swallowed hard at the thought. Worse, I knew that they'd been after us—the Ailith.
How many had died, standing between our enemy and us?

Ronan reached a hand out to cover the young man's shoulder in encouragement as we
prepared to move on. “The Maker shall sustain us,” he said. “He will show us the
way. Do not lose heart. Share that with everyone you see, all right?”

The guard nodded and moved on. I clung to Ronan's words too.