<< Prologue 1 | Chapter 1 >>
A shock wave roared through the streets of Endur, and blazing hot air ate through Azekiel’s clothes. She couldn’t remember when and how she had fallen to the ground, but the impact squeezed all the air out of her lungs and brought black spots into her vision for a moment. Something dark, probably red, wafted above her like a cloud of blood, then something heavy fell onto her and clung to her tightly, as another blast of burning air blew over her and burned the tips of her fingers.
Then everything was silent, and only the thumping of her heart let her know she wasn’t dead. Incredibly hot air rasped through her throat with every breath she took, but now it didn’t burn her anymore. Her senses felt cottony and numbed and a cloud of smoke, dust and tattered cloth darkened the world around her, getting only marginally lighter as the dark figure above her let go and got up.
The dead silence made every movement around her look like a bad dream, be it the way Liel got up, or the shadows of guards and militia members running through the unnatural fog towards the source of the bang. The snow around her had melted in the blink of an eye and was now soaking into her clothes and hair, biting her skin with the cold of winter. The cold helped her come to a little bit more and gradually, her hearing came back to the distant screams of fighting. Liel was holding a hand out to her, ready to help her up. His shoulders and back were steaming and smoking from where he had taken the brunt of the heat wave.
Azekiel took his hand and let him pull her upright, but even though his lips were moving, she still couldn’t understand his words yet. As soon as he realized this, he put an arm around her and dragged her away, trying to hold her upright and get her to run at the same time.
Each of their hasty steps vibrated through her bones and his grip on her arm felt like a steel wrench closing into her flesh, but what really shocked her to her core were the sights around her as they ran through the city. The streets had been swallowed by an inferno of flames and death. Buildings were burning, the dying were tumbling out of them and onto the snowy pavement, as panic-stricken guards and other men at arms stumbled around aimlessly. There was no enemy in sight, just confused, dazed defenders, blackened bodies, blood and the never-ending flames.
Again and again, the distant thunder struck, followed by splintering and cracking sounds, and the explosions went from one building to the next like a wave, east to west, like deadly strings on a pearl. The screams and sounds of fighting only started inside the city wall as the giant, eons-old building slowly buckled, twitched, and then fell in on itself like a pile of sand.
Even as her lungs burned, Liel didn’t allow her to stop. He dragged her down Butcher’s street, east of the necropolis, pulling and supporting her in equal parts with a strength she hadn’t believed such a lithe, limber man could have. It helped, and she finally found enough of her balance and strength to hold her own. When she told him as much in breathy gasps, he didn’t seem all that happy to let go of her all at once, but finally obliged… Only to suddenly change course and pull her into one of the very few buildings still untouched by fire or explosions.
The inside of the small one-room-shack was surprisingly dry. Puffs of dust rose as they stumbled inside, getting bigger when Azekiel fell to her hands and knees in the middle of the room. The brick walls dampened the screams and sounds of fighting to a kind of almost-silence, and in that sudden silence, Azekiel heard her heart thunder like a drum orchestra.
Reddish light flickered through the partly barricaded windows, painting bloody shadows on the walls, all but telling the story of death and combat on the streets outside.
A rumbling sound caught Azekiel’s attention. Liel was pulling a shoddy, almost broken Schrank in front of the gaping hole that had once been a door, blocking out most of the eerie twilight. The darkness and the sudden quiet felt surreal. Everything felt surreal. Maybe she was dreaming?
Azekiel tried to listen inside herself, to really feel her battered body through the shock and fear. No way could she have gotten out of that unscathed, she had to be hurt somewhere. But why then didn’t she feel any major pains, why didn’t she feel any different than she had felt before the storming of the wall?
The shivers came then, starting at her arms and shoulders. Her breathing began to speed up until the room was filled with the sounds of her hysteric gasping, and the more she tried to catch her breath, the less breathing she could actually do. It got to the point where she felt like suffocating, unable to control herself, unable to calm down.
It was then, at that moment of total panic, that Liel’s calm, soft voice sounded right next to her ear. “Calm down. Calm down. You are safe now, just slow your breathing. Count to three with every breath in, relax before you faint.”
As much as she hated him, those words, his presence, his voice were like an anchor for her mind. She grasped at them like a drowning woman, trying to do as he told her to, with at first meager, then increasing success. It still took an eternity for her to get to a point where she felt like air was actually reaching her lungs, but at last, she did it.
Liel had embraced her at one point and now carefully let her sink to the ground, where she rolled to her side and closed her eyes. The dry, dusty dirt beneath her felt cool, not as cold as the snow before, but comfortable against her hot head, just as calming as Liel had been just now. Those few moments of quiet and calm were more than she’d had for months.
When Liel spoke again, his voice came from a spot right next to one of the barricaded windows. He still sounded much calmer than Azekiel felt.
“We are safe here as long as we keep quiet and calm. Endur is lost by now, but I have a plan to get both of us out of here alive. You will have to trust me, though, and I mean trust unconditionally.” He stared at her with that fiery, assertive, charismatic look of his, as if to dare her to deny him, then continued. “You will have to follow my instructions to the point, no questions asked, no buts and no ifs, or we both die. Do you understand?”
Did she? For a few heartbeats, Azekiel tried to catch up to his words. It was hard, her mind tried to wander, to shy away from the thought of life outside of Endur, but she could also feel him waiting, waiting for her to answer. Did she understand?
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes harder against the realization. She didn’t want to understand, but she did. By the gods, she did.
She didn’t see him smile, but she could hear it in the sneer of his reply. “Good. Very good.”
In the next few hours, the sounds of fighting closed in on them, but it never came close enough to actually threaten them. When the screeching sounds of swords against swords and the calls of dying men and women finally started to grow dimmer, Azekiel fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.
Azekiel awoke to a roaring headache. Her whole head was pounding and her joints and limbs were hurting, but that had to have been expected. The taste of dirt and soil in her mouth was another story. As she slowly rolled onto her back, she tried to dislodge clumps of dried spittle from her swollen tongue and her teeth, coughing ever so often.
The small living space of the hut they had taken refuge in was still shrouded in twilight, but the sounds of fighting had vanished. How long had she been asleep? And where was Liel?
Dusk flooded through the wooden planks covering the windows, hinting a sunset she couldn’t quite see. It answered one of her questions: obviously, she had slept most of the day, longer than she had been able to sleep for months. Ever so often, calls echoed from the street in front of the house, but they were in a language Azekiel didn’t know or understand. Had the Yespharites already succeeded in taking the city?
The thought was almost physically painful to her. After all, more than two-thousand armed men and women had been left inside the city walls when they had been breached. When she sat up, trying to get her bearings, a shadow sich lösen from the wall next to the front windows and crept closer. Liel’s green eyes pierced through the half-darkness like two bright, cat-like stars as he crouched down in front of her.
“Water,” she croaked with a voice that didn’t sound like her own, rough and parched, hoping the double plea of that word and the way she sounded would get Liel to have mercy. It brought a strange expression to Liel’s face, telling of thoughts that probably would make her blush if she knew, but his eyes kept a darkness that had nothing to do with lust. Still, whatever he saw in her face as a reaction to his expression, made him hide behind a schalkhaftes smile, and it brought Spott back to his face.
Fumbling through his knapsack, he produced a small earthen bottle of port wine. “Shht, be quiet or we’ll be found,” he whispered, offering her the bottle.
Her thirst made her grab the bottle before her mind had a chance to ask what was in it. She simply uncorked it and took five big swigs before Liel pulled it away, shaking his head to her retching. The port burned like fire in her dried-out throat, but it also quenched the worst of her thirst. He balanced the open bottle on his knee, smirking at her as he whispered, “As I said, Endur is lost. The Yespharites broke the last resistance two hours ago, and fought their way into the necropolis. They killed the precentor as soon as they found him. I still know a way out, though, and I’ll show it to you under one condition.”
Abgelenkt, Azekiel tried to blink away the tears the alcohol had brought to her eyes and focused on the lowly priest’s face. How could he know a way out that she didn’t know? What kind of contacts did that man have? The priests of the lower god Thoronac had always been a kind of mystery to her, but there was an old saying: ‘Never let a servant of Thoronac help you across a river if you can’t swim.’
Azekiel didn’t trust him, but right at that moment, locked in a crumbling, creaking ruin, she didn’t have much of a choice.
“What do you want, shaveling?” she sneered.
Liel smirked and lifted the bottle to swing it between his fingers until the liquid inside sloshed around melodically. Just about nothing Azekiel did or said could rile him up, and it made her even angrier at him. How could he be that calm at such a time? He had grown up in Endur just as she had, he was a local for better or for worse, but still, with his home in tatters and ashes, he didn’t seem to feel anything, at all.
“My condition is simple. I want you to save a very expensive and rare relic from the temple inside the necropolis, before those heathens get their dirty hands on it, and bring it with you.”
Azekiel’s heart skipped a beat, then sped up as she stared at Liel, mouth agape with shock. A relic? Save a holy relic? Her? The sheer thought made her blanch and gasp for air with the sheer enormity of the whole idea. Never in her life had she even had the chance to get close enough to see a relic, but touch it? Take it away from its rightful place?
“A relic? Me? How in all hells should I manage such a feat? You said yourself, the Yespharites have already taken the necropolis. How in the abyss would I even get in? And how would I get out again? It would mean death, for both of us!”
Melodic, guttural laughter flooded the room, crawled beneath the clammy layers of her armor and snailed its way down her back like a warm breath. Liel had this uncanny ability to laugh in such a demeaning, titillating way it made her feel strangely hot all over. Azekiel had learned by now to hate and crave it in equal amounts. It weakened and lulled her like nothing else. So pleasant, so hypnotizing, so dangerous.
“We can both slip in and back out, without the Yespharites attacking us,” he finally continued, still sounding incredibly amused, “I have certain acquaintances on the inside, who think I’m at their side— which I’m not, of course— “ he quickly added when Azekiel threw him a shocked glance. “Anyways, I can get us in front of the temple doors, but not any farther. You’ll have to find your own way from there, get into the temple, take the relic from its pedestal and make it back to me with it. You know how the Pale Lord will bless you if you save his most holy object, don’t you?”
Azekiel sat there, dumbfounded. The words sunk in slowly, but it still sounded insane, no, rather like the idea of a total manic. Something inside her shivered with dread at Liel’s words, but it was more than fear. It felt like an instinct trying to warn her with all possible force, because… why? As much as she tried to, she couldn’t put her finger on why the idea of saving Neq’roth’s relic might be a catastrophe. Of course she would save that last bit of a centuries-old culture, her culture, and of course she would use any and all force necessary to do so. Nevertheless, the feeling of dread nested in the back of her head.
A weight, light as a feather and heavy like winter’s cold wrapped itself around her mind, slowing down her thoughts and throwing them in disarray. It had to be the port wine, she mused, although she didn’t know how being drunk should feel like. Blinking, Azekiel tried to remember what she had been worried about just now, but the longer she tried to remember, the quicker those last strands of dread dissipated. Of course, Liel was right. Save the relic, the one that… Had he told her which one? Blinking again, she frowned and then shrugged. It didn’t matter which one he wanted her to take. It was a good plan, a safe plan, and easy. Liel had thought this through, she could see that now, it just had taken a bit for her to catch up.
Noticing her thirst once more, Azekiel grabbed for the bottle in Liel’s hand, pulling it out of his grip. He smiled that salacious smile of his, but this time she didn’t care. After all, why shouldn’t he look at her like that? She was young, and although spindly thin, she was an attractive, athletic woman, a reliable, pious town guard in a good position, wasn’t she? Every man with half a brain would desire her!
Another three sips of the port helped against the raging thirst, and with every mouthful of heavy wine, Liel came closer. He was such a beautiful man, now that she could see past that strange expression in his eyes, tall and virile and helpful and oh, so available.
Just as the sun finally set, her senses finally gave in to the beautiful tumble of phantasms. She barely heard Liel’s last words, whispered into her ear.
“Tomorrow, my girl, tomorrow we raid the temple.”
The rust-colored robe enveloped Azekiel like a second skin. She wasn’t used to the lightness of cloth instead of her worn-in metal armor, unarmed except for a smallish dagger she had hidden beneath the layers of the garment. Walking felt like flying, and it unsettled her. ‘Unsettled’ being a very friendly description for the feeling of gut-wrenching panic gripping her heart she felt, every time they passed Yespharites.
And who could blame her? The first group of Yespharite warriors they had encountered had almost slit their throats, and they had only stopped their advance when Liel had uttered a few words in that alien language of theirs. It had to have been magic words, because as soon as he said them, the commander of the group pulled his men back and let them continue on their way without a second glance. They had sent two of their guards with them, but those two were just as silent as Liel and Azekiel themselves, and seemed to be happy with simply following them around.
The darkness, as it dominated most of Endur and all of the holy necropolis, seemed to frighten the Yespharites, though. Of course, how could they ever understand what a blessing the darkness was, a sign of favor from the Pale Lord that would only leave the ruins of the city, once the last Neq’rothim was dead? The heathens tried to battle it with torches and candles, and they had desecrated the obsidian walls of the necropolis by hacking the light fixtures into them wherever they found a weak spot. The light still looked bleak and subdued, and Azekiel had to smile at their meager efforts. It felt strange, that smile, unsettling even though it was her own face making that grimace. It reminded her of the queasy feeling she got whenever Liel smiled his smile at her. Did he feel the same as she just did, every time he had that expression? If so, Liel had to have strange knowledge indeed, as he always seemed to smile at the most bizarre moments.
Still, this was not the time or the place for such mullings. As they walked through the necropolis, flanked by Yespharites, whom Azekiel should have killed on sight, were she to enact her beliefs, she had to wonder why they let two people in the garments of Thoronac clerics simply wander into the enclave. Thoronac was a god of intrigue, lies, knowledge and obfuscation, and as such surely not a friend to the goddess of silence, sleep and death, Yespha. Why on earth were they able to just waltz through, and get nothing more than unhappy glances from the occupying forces?
Somehow, Liel must have been able to lie his way into their ranks. As much as Azekiel despised the followers of lower gods, in this case, having a priest of Un-Truth with her was actually good luck. She had to smile at that thought, too, and it felt better this time.
As they turned onto the street leading from the west gate to the necropolis, Azekiel threw an admiring glance at Liel’s back. He was walking in front and a bit to the side from her, head held high, postured and self-confident, with an even stride and calm demeanor. Now he actually looked like the priest she knew him to be, but it also unsettled her to actually see how easily he could change his behavior to fit the situation.
As they turned onto West Road, one of the biggest streets and leading from the West Gate directly to the Necropolis itself, a faint aroma of smoke and blood followed their path. The snow was still flecked with dark red from the fights the other night, and behind the crumbling ruins of the great wall, spots of flickering lights told of the pyres burning outside the city limits. There were heaps of corpses yet to be burned, not only to keep them from being turned into shambling undead by the last few remaining necromancers, but also because the ground was too frozen to actually dig graves for so many dead.
Azekiel did her best to follow the instructions Liel had hammered into her head. ‘Always walk with your head held low, hands clasped, and always keep yourself behind me and to one side. And whatever they try to do to you, you are not to resist!’
Indeed, there was no way for her to forget those orders. Maybe Liel had bewitched her, making her hear his voice in her head whenever she checked her memory for his instructions. It felt decidedly too creepy to give it much more thought.
And she didn’t have to mull it over any longer, as the group came to a halt in front of the giant, deep-black doors of the necropolis. It was one of the few architectural treasures that hadn’t fallen to the onslaught of the Yespharites yet, and it opened silently, just like it had all the times before.
Inside, the Yespharites had taken it on themselves to litter the once so dark hallways with spitting torches and braziers, fighting the fight against a darkness so unnatural, it had sent fear into Azekiels bones when she had first come to experience it.
Pictures, statues, tessellations, all lay destroyed and piled onto heaps on both sides of the hallway, signs of victory that hurt Azekiel’s heart as they passed by. They also walked through a throng of Yespharite patrols, who ignored them just as the others had.
Liel seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, and their Yespharite guard simply followed his instructions, unquestioning. They turned into the hallway of the Pits of Rite, passed them to walk along the Pondering Gardens, and turned into another hallway at the Chambers of Sacrifice. Azekiel knew the way, and it led directly to the Council Chambers— and the Sanctum, the private chambers of the precentor. Were those Liel’s destination? That would be madness, but there was nothing she could do, or say, to stop him now. Everything depended on her playing her part.
When the group actually stopped in front of the Sanctum gate, Azekiel held her breath for a moment as all but two of the Yespharites took their leave, simply walking away without another look at them. This was a crucial moment, and Liel had given her another set of instructions to follow precisely. ‘As soon as we stop again, you have to focus on my hands, concentrate on them and nothing else, no matter what happens. You mustn’t listen to what I will say when that moment comes, you absolutely mustn’t! You watch my hands, you ignore my voice, and you wait for sign. I will point at one door, and you will silently and calmly walk over and go inside that room. You will not talk, you will not crouch or flail around, you will act like you have a right to be there, and a job to fulfill. Do you understand?’
Azekiel had only nodded to that, her insides twisting with nerves.
When the cue came, a subtle, calm sign pointing to one of the doors behind the Yespharites, she turned slowly and started walking. Cold sweat ran down her back as she tried to make as little noise as possible, head still held low, more gliding than walking. Liel kept talking behind her, a melody almost like a calm river, nonsensical to Azekiel’s ears.
The black, forbidding door he had pointed to loomed bleakly above her. Azekiel had no idea what might be behind it, she only knew that this was one of the chambers reserved for the precentor, a holy place not to be entered by anyone but His Highness or his esteemed guests. And now her, as it seemed. Carefully opening the door, she stepped into the total darkness behind it, frowning at the sudden change in lighting. Just as Liel had ordered, she slowly shut the door behind her, trying to make the click of the lock as muted as possible.
Then Azekiel sank against the door, gasping for air and breaking out in violent shivers. Damn that Liel and his crazy plans! This was madness, sheer and utter madness! As soon as she felt calm enough, she took another look around.
The room in front of her was of an oval shape, dominated by an indentation in the middle. Stairs led into the depth, lit by only three torches, and even those burned in a dark violet light. Neq’roth’s holy color. Between those torches, pillars and showcases heaped with relics and artifacts lined the walls, each and every one a holy item by itself, priceless and unique. The destruction Azekiel had witnessed outside in the hallways hadn’t been able to touch this room, and the air was cold, fresh and serene.
Why hadn’t the Yespharites destroyed this room yet? There was no other place more holy or filled with dark power than this one, it would have been only logical to raze it to the ground as quickly as possible, but there was not a scratch on anything. Even the white stone tridecagram on the floor was still intact.
Something nagged at the back of Azekiel’s brain, but she shook the feeling away. There was no time to be lost, not this close to their goal. Liel hadn’t known much about what might be behind the door, but he had told her exactly what he wanted from there. ‘It’s a dagger, a very special dagger. Black with no reflection, not iron but made of wood. It is the most powerful relic in that room, so take it, and only it, no matter how important you might think the other items to be. Only the dagger, nothing else!’
Still frowning, Azekiel walked deeper into the room, looking around nervously. There was no showcase or pillar that stood out in any way, so she walked the whole room, looking at all the amulets, bone cups, caskets, staves— and finally, she found what she had been looking for. A dagger, black as night, dull even under the flickering torch flame. With an elated hiss, Azekiel jumped forward and grabbed it, happy to be done with—
A pain, deep like bubbling lava, crept up her arm, set her hair aflame and singed every single nerve in her skin, then jumped into her face.
With a howling scream, Azekiel fell backward and into the indentation, her hand closed around the dagger like a wrench. As the pain in her face intensified, she hit at it with her fist, hoping to stop whatever was tormenting her like this from eating at her skin, but it didn’t help. The taste of blood filled her mouth, but still she kept going, not letting go of the dagger, trying to slam the pain out of her, and just when she thought her whole body might catch flames, she set the dagger to her face and cut at the source of her torment.
The blade touched her blood, and the pain ceased instantly. A thundering, bone-wrenching voice thundered through her head.
Azekiel couldn’t remember how she had gotten back onto her feet, but she remembered Liel’s further orders well enough. The demonic black dagger disappeared beneath her robe, exchanged for a dull, ordinary dagger which she placed where she had found the relic. The right side of her face burned and pounded fiercely, but pain was something she had learned to endure. It was nothing against the things the Yespharites would do to her, if they caught her in here.
She had no real memory of leaving the room, closing the door and creeping back to Liel, and their walk back out of the necropolis felt like a hazy dream to her. Did nobody see the blood on her face? Didn’t she smell of burnt hair, burnt flesh? Why did nobody give them so much as a second thought?
Azekiel wanted to ask Liel all those questions, but their escort was still following them. When they reached the outskirts of the city, the broken ruins of the West Gate, Liel stopped and turned to her.
“Go, now. Go and be quiet. Nobody will ask you anything, I made sure of that. But say not a word and run as far as you can. I will find you, as soon as my work is finished here.”
When she opened her mouth to ask a question, Liel shook his head, kissed her forehead and turned her around forcibly.
“Go. Now.”
And Azekiel went. Away from Endur. Finally away.
City of Endur - 2 days before the turn of the year, incursion of the Yespharites
~~~
Then everything was silent, and only the thumping of her heart let her know she wasn’t dead. Incredibly hot air rasped through her throat with every breath she took, but now it didn’t burn her anymore. Her senses felt cottony and numbed and a cloud of smoke, dust and tattered cloth darkened the world around her, getting only marginally lighter as the dark figure above her let go and got up.
The dead silence made every movement around her look like a bad dream, be it the way Liel got up, or the shadows of guards and militia members running through the unnatural fog towards the source of the bang. The snow around her had melted in the blink of an eye and was now soaking into her clothes and hair, biting her skin with the cold of winter. The cold helped her come to a little bit more and gradually, her hearing came back to the distant screams of fighting. Liel was holding a hand out to her, ready to help her up. His shoulders and back were steaming and smoking from where he had taken the brunt of the heat wave.
Azekiel took his hand and let him pull her upright, but even though his lips were moving, she still couldn’t understand his words yet. As soon as he realized this, he put an arm around her and dragged her away, trying to hold her upright and get her to run at the same time.
Each of their hasty steps vibrated through her bones and his grip on her arm felt like a steel wrench closing into her flesh, but what really shocked her to her core were the sights around her as they ran through the city. The streets had been swallowed by an inferno of flames and death. Buildings were burning, the dying were tumbling out of them and onto the snowy pavement, as panic-stricken guards and other men at arms stumbled around aimlessly. There was no enemy in sight, just confused, dazed defenders, blackened bodies, blood and the never-ending flames.
Again and again, the distant thunder struck, followed by splintering and cracking sounds, and the explosions went from one building to the next like a wave, east to west, like deadly strings on a pearl. The screams and sounds of fighting only started inside the city wall as the giant, eons-old building slowly buckled, twitched, and then fell in on itself like a pile of sand.
Even as her lungs burned, Liel didn’t allow her to stop. He dragged her down Butcher’s street, east of the necropolis, pulling and supporting her in equal parts with a strength she hadn’t believed such a lithe, limber man could have. It helped, and she finally found enough of her balance and strength to hold her own. When she told him as much in breathy gasps, he didn’t seem all that happy to let go of her all at once, but finally obliged… Only to suddenly change course and pull her into one of the very few buildings still untouched by fire or explosions.
The inside of the small one-room-shack was surprisingly dry. Puffs of dust rose as they stumbled inside, getting bigger when Azekiel fell to her hands and knees in the middle of the room. The brick walls dampened the screams and sounds of fighting to a kind of almost-silence, and in that sudden silence, Azekiel heard her heart thunder like a drum orchestra.
Reddish light flickered through the partly barricaded windows, painting bloody shadows on the walls, all but telling the story of death and combat on the streets outside.
A rumbling sound caught Azekiel’s attention. Liel was pulling a shoddy, almost broken Schrank in front of the gaping hole that had once been a door, blocking out most of the eerie twilight. The darkness and the sudden quiet felt surreal. Everything felt surreal. Maybe she was dreaming?
Azekiel tried to listen inside herself, to really feel her battered body through the shock and fear. No way could she have gotten out of that unscathed, she had to be hurt somewhere. But why then didn’t she feel any major pains, why didn’t she feel any different than she had felt before the storming of the wall?
The shivers came then, starting at her arms and shoulders. Her breathing began to speed up until the room was filled with the sounds of her hysteric gasping, and the more she tried to catch her breath, the less breathing she could actually do. It got to the point where she felt like suffocating, unable to control herself, unable to calm down.
It was then, at that moment of total panic, that Liel’s calm, soft voice sounded right next to her ear. “Calm down. Calm down. You are safe now, just slow your breathing. Count to three with every breath in, relax before you faint.”
As much as she hated him, those words, his presence, his voice were like an anchor for her mind. She grasped at them like a drowning woman, trying to do as he told her to, with at first meager, then increasing success. It still took an eternity for her to get to a point where she felt like air was actually reaching her lungs, but at last, she did it.
Liel had embraced her at one point and now carefully let her sink to the ground, where she rolled to her side and closed her eyes. The dry, dusty dirt beneath her felt cool, not as cold as the snow before, but comfortable against her hot head, just as calming as Liel had been just now. Those few moments of quiet and calm were more than she’d had for months.
When Liel spoke again, his voice came from a spot right next to one of the barricaded windows. He still sounded much calmer than Azekiel felt.
“We are safe here as long as we keep quiet and calm. Endur is lost by now, but I have a plan to get both of us out of here alive. You will have to trust me, though, and I mean trust unconditionally.” He stared at her with that fiery, assertive, charismatic look of his, as if to dare her to deny him, then continued. “You will have to follow my instructions to the point, no questions asked, no buts and no ifs, or we both die. Do you understand?”
Did she? For a few heartbeats, Azekiel tried to catch up to his words. It was hard, her mind tried to wander, to shy away from the thought of life outside of Endur, but she could also feel him waiting, waiting for her to answer. Did she understand?
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes harder against the realization. She didn’t want to understand, but she did. By the gods, she did.
She didn’t see him smile, but she could hear it in the sneer of his reply. “Good. Very good.”
In the next few hours, the sounds of fighting closed in on them, but it never came close enough to actually threaten them. When the screeching sounds of swords against swords and the calls of dying men and women finally started to grow dimmer, Azekiel fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.
City of Endur - one day before the turn of the year, incursion of the Yespharites
~~~
The small living space of the hut they had taken refuge in was still shrouded in twilight, but the sounds of fighting had vanished. How long had she been asleep? And where was Liel?
Dusk flooded through the wooden planks covering the windows, hinting a sunset she couldn’t quite see. It answered one of her questions: obviously, she had slept most of the day, longer than she had been able to sleep for months. Ever so often, calls echoed from the street in front of the house, but they were in a language Azekiel didn’t know or understand. Had the Yespharites already succeeded in taking the city?
The thought was almost physically painful to her. After all, more than two-thousand armed men and women had been left inside the city walls when they had been breached. When she sat up, trying to get her bearings, a shadow sich lösen from the wall next to the front windows and crept closer. Liel’s green eyes pierced through the half-darkness like two bright, cat-like stars as he crouched down in front of her.
“Water,” she croaked with a voice that didn’t sound like her own, rough and parched, hoping the double plea of that word and the way she sounded would get Liel to have mercy. It brought a strange expression to Liel’s face, telling of thoughts that probably would make her blush if she knew, but his eyes kept a darkness that had nothing to do with lust. Still, whatever he saw in her face as a reaction to his expression, made him hide behind a schalkhaftes smile, and it brought Spott back to his face.
Fumbling through his knapsack, he produced a small earthen bottle of port wine. “Shht, be quiet or we’ll be found,” he whispered, offering her the bottle.
Her thirst made her grab the bottle before her mind had a chance to ask what was in it. She simply uncorked it and took five big swigs before Liel pulled it away, shaking his head to her retching. The port burned like fire in her dried-out throat, but it also quenched the worst of her thirst. He balanced the open bottle on his knee, smirking at her as he whispered, “As I said, Endur is lost. The Yespharites broke the last resistance two hours ago, and fought their way into the necropolis. They killed the precentor as soon as they found him. I still know a way out, though, and I’ll show it to you under one condition.”
Abgelenkt, Azekiel tried to blink away the tears the alcohol had brought to her eyes and focused on the lowly priest’s face. How could he know a way out that she didn’t know? What kind of contacts did that man have? The priests of the lower god Thoronac had always been a kind of mystery to her, but there was an old saying: ‘Never let a servant of Thoronac help you across a river if you can’t swim.’
Azekiel didn’t trust him, but right at that moment, locked in a crumbling, creaking ruin, she didn’t have much of a choice.
“What do you want, shaveling?” she sneered.
Liel smirked and lifted the bottle to swing it between his fingers until the liquid inside sloshed around melodically. Just about nothing Azekiel did or said could rile him up, and it made her even angrier at him. How could he be that calm at such a time? He had grown up in Endur just as she had, he was a local for better or for worse, but still, with his home in tatters and ashes, he didn’t seem to feel anything, at all.
“My condition is simple. I want you to save a very expensive and rare relic from the temple inside the necropolis, before those heathens get their dirty hands on it, and bring it with you.”
Azekiel’s heart skipped a beat, then sped up as she stared at Liel, mouth agape with shock. A relic? Save a holy relic? Her? The sheer thought made her blanch and gasp for air with the sheer enormity of the whole idea. Never in her life had she even had the chance to get close enough to see a relic, but touch it? Take it away from its rightful place?
“A relic? Me? How in all hells should I manage such a feat? You said yourself, the Yespharites have already taken the necropolis. How in the abyss would I even get in? And how would I get out again? It would mean death, for both of us!”
Melodic, guttural laughter flooded the room, crawled beneath the clammy layers of her armor and snailed its way down her back like a warm breath. Liel had this uncanny ability to laugh in such a demeaning, titillating way it made her feel strangely hot all over. Azekiel had learned by now to hate and crave it in equal amounts. It weakened and lulled her like nothing else. So pleasant, so hypnotizing, so dangerous.
“We can both slip in and back out, without the Yespharites attacking us,” he finally continued, still sounding incredibly amused, “I have certain acquaintances on the inside, who think I’m at their side— which I’m not, of course— “ he quickly added when Azekiel threw him a shocked glance. “Anyways, I can get us in front of the temple doors, but not any farther. You’ll have to find your own way from there, get into the temple, take the relic from its pedestal and make it back to me with it. You know how the Pale Lord will bless you if you save his most holy object, don’t you?”
Azekiel sat there, dumbfounded. The words sunk in slowly, but it still sounded insane, no, rather like the idea of a total manic. Something inside her shivered with dread at Liel’s words, but it was more than fear. It felt like an instinct trying to warn her with all possible force, because… why? As much as she tried to, she couldn’t put her finger on why the idea of saving Neq’roth’s relic might be a catastrophe. Of course she would save that last bit of a centuries-old culture, her culture, and of course she would use any and all force necessary to do so. Nevertheless, the feeling of dread nested in the back of her head.
A weight, light as a feather and heavy like winter’s cold wrapped itself around her mind, slowing down her thoughts and throwing them in disarray. It had to be the port wine, she mused, although she didn’t know how being drunk should feel like. Blinking, Azekiel tried to remember what she had been worried about just now, but the longer she tried to remember, the quicker those last strands of dread dissipated. Of course, Liel was right. Save the relic, the one that… Had he told her which one? Blinking again, she frowned and then shrugged. It didn’t matter which one he wanted her to take. It was a good plan, a safe plan, and easy. Liel had thought this through, she could see that now, it just had taken a bit for her to catch up.
Noticing her thirst once more, Azekiel grabbed for the bottle in Liel’s hand, pulling it out of his grip. He smiled that salacious smile of his, but this time she didn’t care. After all, why shouldn’t he look at her like that? She was young, and although spindly thin, she was an attractive, athletic woman, a reliable, pious town guard in a good position, wasn’t she? Every man with half a brain would desire her!
Another three sips of the port helped against the raging thirst, and with every mouthful of heavy wine, Liel came closer. He was such a beautiful man, now that she could see past that strange expression in his eyes, tall and virile and helpful and oh, so available.
Just as the sun finally set, her senses finally gave in to the beautiful tumble of phantasms. She barely heard Liel’s last words, whispered into her ear.
“Tomorrow, my girl, tomorrow we raid the temple.”
Necropolis Endur - turn of the year, incursion of the Yespharites
~~~
The rust-colored robe enveloped Azekiel like a second skin. She wasn’t used to the lightness of cloth instead of her worn-in metal armor, unarmed except for a smallish dagger she had hidden beneath the layers of the garment. Walking felt like flying, and it unsettled her. ‘Unsettled’ being a very friendly description for the feeling of gut-wrenching panic gripping her heart she felt, every time they passed Yespharites.
And who could blame her? The first group of Yespharite warriors they had encountered had almost slit their throats, and they had only stopped their advance when Liel had uttered a few words in that alien language of theirs. It had to have been magic words, because as soon as he said them, the commander of the group pulled his men back and let them continue on their way without a second glance. They had sent two of their guards with them, but those two were just as silent as Liel and Azekiel themselves, and seemed to be happy with simply following them around.
The darkness, as it dominated most of Endur and all of the holy necropolis, seemed to frighten the Yespharites, though. Of course, how could they ever understand what a blessing the darkness was, a sign of favor from the Pale Lord that would only leave the ruins of the city, once the last Neq’rothim was dead? The heathens tried to battle it with torches and candles, and they had desecrated the obsidian walls of the necropolis by hacking the light fixtures into them wherever they found a weak spot. The light still looked bleak and subdued, and Azekiel had to smile at their meager efforts. It felt strange, that smile, unsettling even though it was her own face making that grimace. It reminded her of the queasy feeling she got whenever Liel smiled his smile at her. Did he feel the same as she just did, every time he had that expression? If so, Liel had to have strange knowledge indeed, as he always seemed to smile at the most bizarre moments.
Still, this was not the time or the place for such mullings. As they walked through the necropolis, flanked by Yespharites, whom Azekiel should have killed on sight, were she to enact her beliefs, she had to wonder why they let two people in the garments of Thoronac clerics simply wander into the enclave. Thoronac was a god of intrigue, lies, knowledge and obfuscation, and as such surely not a friend to the goddess of silence, sleep and death, Yespha. Why on earth were they able to just waltz through, and get nothing more than unhappy glances from the occupying forces?
Somehow, Liel must have been able to lie his way into their ranks. As much as Azekiel despised the followers of lower gods, in this case, having a priest of Un-Truth with her was actually good luck. She had to smile at that thought, too, and it felt better this time.
As they turned onto the street leading from the west gate to the necropolis, Azekiel threw an admiring glance at Liel’s back. He was walking in front and a bit to the side from her, head held high, postured and self-confident, with an even stride and calm demeanor. Now he actually looked like the priest she knew him to be, but it also unsettled her to actually see how easily he could change his behavior to fit the situation.
As they turned onto West Road, one of the biggest streets and leading from the West Gate directly to the Necropolis itself, a faint aroma of smoke and blood followed their path. The snow was still flecked with dark red from the fights the other night, and behind the crumbling ruins of the great wall, spots of flickering lights told of the pyres burning outside the city limits. There were heaps of corpses yet to be burned, not only to keep them from being turned into shambling undead by the last few remaining necromancers, but also because the ground was too frozen to actually dig graves for so many dead.
Azekiel did her best to follow the instructions Liel had hammered into her head. ‘Always walk with your head held low, hands clasped, and always keep yourself behind me and to one side. And whatever they try to do to you, you are not to resist!’
Indeed, there was no way for her to forget those orders. Maybe Liel had bewitched her, making her hear his voice in her head whenever she checked her memory for his instructions. It felt decidedly too creepy to give it much more thought.
And she didn’t have to mull it over any longer, as the group came to a halt in front of the giant, deep-black doors of the necropolis. It was one of the few architectural treasures that hadn’t fallen to the onslaught of the Yespharites yet, and it opened silently, just like it had all the times before.
Inside, the Yespharites had taken it on themselves to litter the once so dark hallways with spitting torches and braziers, fighting the fight against a darkness so unnatural, it had sent fear into Azekiels bones when she had first come to experience it.
Pictures, statues, tessellations, all lay destroyed and piled onto heaps on both sides of the hallway, signs of victory that hurt Azekiel’s heart as they passed by. They also walked through a throng of Yespharite patrols, who ignored them just as the others had.
Liel seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, and their Yespharite guard simply followed his instructions, unquestioning. They turned into the hallway of the Pits of Rite, passed them to walk along the Pondering Gardens, and turned into another hallway at the Chambers of Sacrifice. Azekiel knew the way, and it led directly to the Council Chambers— and the Sanctum, the private chambers of the precentor. Were those Liel’s destination? That would be madness, but there was nothing she could do, or say, to stop him now. Everything depended on her playing her part.
When the group actually stopped in front of the Sanctum gate, Azekiel held her breath for a moment as all but two of the Yespharites took their leave, simply walking away without another look at them. This was a crucial moment, and Liel had given her another set of instructions to follow precisely. ‘As soon as we stop again, you have to focus on my hands, concentrate on them and nothing else, no matter what happens. You mustn’t listen to what I will say when that moment comes, you absolutely mustn’t! You watch my hands, you ignore my voice, and you wait for sign. I will point at one door, and you will silently and calmly walk over and go inside that room. You will not talk, you will not crouch or flail around, you will act like you have a right to be there, and a job to fulfill. Do you understand?’
Azekiel had only nodded to that, her insides twisting with nerves.
When the cue came, a subtle, calm sign pointing to one of the doors behind the Yespharites, she turned slowly and started walking. Cold sweat ran down her back as she tried to make as little noise as possible, head still held low, more gliding than walking. Liel kept talking behind her, a melody almost like a calm river, nonsensical to Azekiel’s ears.
The black, forbidding door he had pointed to loomed bleakly above her. Azekiel had no idea what might be behind it, she only knew that this was one of the chambers reserved for the precentor, a holy place not to be entered by anyone but His Highness or his esteemed guests. And now her, as it seemed. Carefully opening the door, she stepped into the total darkness behind it, frowning at the sudden change in lighting. Just as Liel had ordered, she slowly shut the door behind her, trying to make the click of the lock as muted as possible.
Then Azekiel sank against the door, gasping for air and breaking out in violent shivers. Damn that Liel and his crazy plans! This was madness, sheer and utter madness! As soon as she felt calm enough, she took another look around.
The room in front of her was of an oval shape, dominated by an indentation in the middle. Stairs led into the depth, lit by only three torches, and even those burned in a dark violet light. Neq’roth’s holy color. Between those torches, pillars and showcases heaped with relics and artifacts lined the walls, each and every one a holy item by itself, priceless and unique. The destruction Azekiel had witnessed outside in the hallways hadn’t been able to touch this room, and the air was cold, fresh and serene.
Why hadn’t the Yespharites destroyed this room yet? There was no other place more holy or filled with dark power than this one, it would have been only logical to raze it to the ground as quickly as possible, but there was not a scratch on anything. Even the white stone tridecagram on the floor was still intact.
Something nagged at the back of Azekiel’s brain, but she shook the feeling away. There was no time to be lost, not this close to their goal. Liel hadn’t known much about what might be behind the door, but he had told her exactly what he wanted from there. ‘It’s a dagger, a very special dagger. Black with no reflection, not iron but made of wood. It is the most powerful relic in that room, so take it, and only it, no matter how important you might think the other items to be. Only the dagger, nothing else!’
Still frowning, Azekiel walked deeper into the room, looking around nervously. There was no showcase or pillar that stood out in any way, so she walked the whole room, looking at all the amulets, bone cups, caskets, staves— and finally, she found what she had been looking for. A dagger, black as night, dull even under the flickering torch flame. With an elated hiss, Azekiel jumped forward and grabbed it, happy to be done with—
A pain, deep like bubbling lava, crept up her arm, set her hair aflame and singed every single nerve in her skin, then jumped into her face.
With a howling scream, Azekiel fell backward and into the indentation, her hand closed around the dagger like a wrench. As the pain in her face intensified, she hit at it with her fist, hoping to stop whatever was tormenting her like this from eating at her skin, but it didn’t help. The taste of blood filled her mouth, but still she kept going, not letting go of the dagger, trying to slam the pain out of her, and just when she thought her whole body might catch flames, she set the dagger to her face and cut at the source of her torment.
The blade touched her blood, and the pain ceased instantly. A thundering, bone-wrenching voice thundered through her head.
“WORTHY.”
Azekiel couldn’t remember how she had gotten back onto her feet, but she remembered Liel’s further orders well enough. The demonic black dagger disappeared beneath her robe, exchanged for a dull, ordinary dagger which she placed where she had found the relic. The right side of her face burned and pounded fiercely, but pain was something she had learned to endure. It was nothing against the things the Yespharites would do to her, if they caught her in here.
She had no real memory of leaving the room, closing the door and creeping back to Liel, and their walk back out of the necropolis felt like a hazy dream to her. Did nobody see the blood on her face? Didn’t she smell of burnt hair, burnt flesh? Why did nobody give them so much as a second thought?
Azekiel wanted to ask Liel all those questions, but their escort was still following them. When they reached the outskirts of the city, the broken ruins of the West Gate, Liel stopped and turned to her.
“Go, now. Go and be quiet. Nobody will ask you anything, I made sure of that. But say not a word and run as far as you can. I will find you, as soon as my work is finished here.”
When she opened her mouth to ask a question, Liel shook his head, kissed her forehead and turned her around forcibly.
“Go. Now.”
And Azekiel went. Away from Endur. Finally away.
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