The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,52
Desecrated. Violated. The galla had not only consumed its citizens, they'd sucked the life out of the very stone and wood from which the city was built.
She heard a keening noise, shocked to realize it came from her own throat. Haradis wasn't Saggara, but it was Kai to its bedrock, just as she was. Brishen's adamant refusal to come here or send scouts in his stead made sense to her now. Traumatized by what he'd been forced to do to become eidolon, he'd realized what his fellow Wraith kings hadn't, what the Kai themselves refused to acknowledge: The galla had shattered the Kai kingdom and the spirit of its fading people in ways the human kingdoms could never understand and must never know. Saggara represented a sliver of hope of what survived. Haradis was the culmination of all that had been lost.
Serovek remained quiet, a solid, comforting presence, as Anhuset continued to keen low in her throat, a soft dirge for all the Kai, both living and dead. She turned to her companion when she finished. Sympathy softened his expression though he didn't offer meaningless platitudes, for which she was grateful. Her unexpected grief still threatened to swallow her.
“We stand before an open grave,” she said. “I'm glad I took your advice and chose not to come alone.”
“I would have followed had you chosen to do so. Even the strongest shouldn't bear the sight of this place in solitude.”
She shook her head. “I didn't think it would be so...” She trailed off, uncomfortable with revealing her turbulent emotions, even when they threatened to burst from in a despairing, raging scream.
“How could you?” Serovek's voice sounded as heavy as her spirit. “More than lives were lost here. You have the right to grieve, but your grief will have to wait.”
His practicality worked its own particular magic on her, and the horror freezing her in place faded. “True.” She physically shook off the lingering effects of shock. She was here to scout, not to mourn. “I think we should wait to split up. Haradis may be dead, but it may not be abandoned.”
They entered cautiously, picking their way across rubble scattered across moonlit streets. Anhuset spared a glance at Serovek, noting the tight set of his mouth and hollow expression. He might not have suffered the shock she did at the sight of Haradis's current state, but he carried with him the memory of it overrun by the galla.
There were places in the world ancient or haunted or both. Remnants of Elder magic spun by the long-vanished Gullperi lingered there, along with ghosts unable to break the tethers that bound them to the life their bodies had forsaken. Haradis was old but not ancient, and the magic of the Kai had been drained by sorcery that made five men eidolon. From what she could tell, it wasn't haunted either. Even the dead didn't loiter in Haradis. It was emptiness profound—except for her instinctive certainty, she and Serovek weren't alone.
“Are you looking for anything in particular or just noting things to report back to Brishen?” Serovek asked the question in the same low voice, his gaze sweeping back and forth across the wrecked landscape.
“The latter.” Her instincts continued sounding an alarm that there was something here to find, but as of yet, it chose not to make itself known. She kept a tight grip on her knife, even knowing the weapon might be useless against whatever hid from sight.
Serovek followed her to one of the market squares, once a lively place whose perimeter was lined with stalls and interior enjoyed by visitors strolling under starlight and children playing on a manicured lawn. The grass was dead, the stalls collapsed heaps of debris. Bits of clothing littered the square. Anhuset paused in front of a cluster of rags. On first glance, it looked as if a washer woman had dropped her basket and left the spilled contents where they lay. Frocks and tunics, a cloak, even shoes and boots lay within the heap, all stained with dark splotches.
“I won't describe what seeing a full hul-galla in one place is like,” Serovek said as he squatted next to the heap. “But I think seeing this was worse, and it's everywhere in Haradis.”
Confused by his comment and the scene before her, Anhuset poked at a dress hem with the tip of her knife. “But what is 'this?' All I see is a pile of dirty, discarded clothing and shoes.”