A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,82

all.

Inside the cabin, I do not light the lamp. Instead I stand before the two scims gathering dust above the fireplace. They gleam dully, their beauty an affront when one considers what they were created for.

I think of the Augur, that odious, cawing wretch. Not just of his foretelling, which made no sense, but the last two words he spoke. Words that stirred my blood, that made the battle rage rise in me. My vow to Mauth rings in my mind, clear as a bell.

To rule the Waiting Place is to light the way for the weak, the weary, the fallen, and the forgotten in the darkness that follows death. You will be bound to me until another is worthy enough to release you. To leave is to forsake your duty—and I will punish you for it. Do you submit?

I submit.

No one has released me. I am still bound. And I do not know the fate of the ghosts the Nightbringer has already abducted. Whether I wish to fight his forces or not, I cannot let him steal away any more.

I reach for the scims gingerly, as if they will burn my palms when I touch them. Instead, they slip into my grasp like they have been waiting for me.

Then I leave the cabin and turn south to the Tribes, and the Nightbringer and war.

XXXII: The Blood Shrike

From the knolls and ravines of the Argent Hills, Antium is cloaked from view, hidden by thick fingers of evening mist rolling down the Nevennes Range. Its towers and ramparts disappear and reappear, a city of ghosts.

No. A city of living, breathing Martials and Scholars, waiting for you to lead the charge.

I used to love nights like this in the capital. My work would be done, Marcus would retreat to his quarters, and I’d walk the city, sometimes stopping at the stall of a Tribeswoman who brewed sweet pink tea sprinkled with almonds and pistachios. Mariam Ara-Ahdieh left Antium long before the Karkauns came. I wonder where she is now.

“Good weather for a battle.” Spiro Teluman hunkers down beside me, a scim hilt poking up over his shoulder. The smith’s legendary skills and long disappearance give him an enigmatic aura. The men around me, including Pater Mettias, eye him with a wary sort of awe.

Despite my gloves, my hands are numb. In the snow-choked dell behind me, five hundred of my men hunch in their cloaks, their breath rising in white puffs.

“Sword-breaking weather, Teluman,” I say. “I don’t like it.”

“The scims are Serric steel.” Teluman’s tattoos are hidden by the dark, form-fitting armor he forged. In the gloom he is nearly impossible to see. “They won’t break. How’s the armor?”

“Strange.” It fits like a glove, makes me difficult to see, and is so light that I might as well be wearing fatigues. But it’s strong—Harper and I tested it for hours before donning it.

Still, other than Mettias, the Martials refused to wear it. Witchery, they said. Teluman argued over it. But I wasn’t willing to issue a command that wouldn’t be followed.

“Shrike.” Harper appears on my right. My heart thuds a bit faster, traitor that it is. This is the first time he has spoken directly to me in days. “Something is off,” he says. “There aren’t enough guards on the walls. The streets are empty—the squares are empty. This doesn’t feel right.”

It is the last thing I want to hear. The people of Antium await aid. They await the weapons and soldiers that will allow them to cast out the Karkauns.

“Where the bleeding hells is Musa?”

“Here.” The tall Scholar, also clad in Teluman’s armor, materializes from the darkness like a wraith. “The wights say the Karkauns have gathered near a big, bloody rock close to the main palace. They’ve turned it into an altar. They’re shouting, screaming, murdering people—that sort of thing. And they’re leading prisoners there. Mostly Martials. Some Scholars too.”

He must speak of Cardium Rock. “Women?” My fist clenches on the scim at my waist. “Children?”

Musa shakes his head. “Men. Boys. Captured soldiers. Those who didn’t fight or couldn’t. There are thousands of them.”

“Our spies said the men were killed—”

“Does Antium have an extensive system of dungeons?” Musa says, and at my silence, he nods. “They weren’t killed, then,” he says. “They were hidden. Saved for . . . whatever the hells this is.”

“The Soul Catcher holds the ghosts,” Teluman says. “The Karkauns cannot summon them again to strengthen their army.”

“The Soul Catcher is hundreds of miles from the Waiting