Season of Glory (19 page)

“But Niero isn't—” Bellona began.

“Niero will join us in time. He'll be all right,” Vidar said to her.

“How will you hold the city against them?” Killian asked Darcel.

“Their forward forces surprised us,” the young lord replied, face grim. “They won't
do so again. And this city has stood for a very long time. Thanks to you, we have
renewed reason to hold the gates.”

We all rose, accepting packs from servants, which I assumed had water and food in
them. Then we said quick farewells to Lady Shabana, holding her bundled babe, and
followed the lord down the hallway to a servant's passage, then into the bowels of
the
palace. Behind a trapdoor, we entered a tiny, rough-cut tunnel, cold and damp
and full of spiderwebs. Carrying a torch, Darcel led us all the way to the end, and
after pulling an ancient key from his pocket turned it in the lock of one door and
then another. Wet, slimy steps were below us, and by the smell, I knew they led to
a sewage tunnel. “Forgive me,” said Lord Darcel, his nose wrinkling at the foul stench.
“It's the only way out of the city that I know of, without everyone knowing you've
gone. And we want our enemies to think you're still here. It will buy you precious
time.”

It was an ancient, last-resort escape route. This was perhaps the only time it had
ever been used as such. But undoubtedly every royal who'd ever inhabited the palace
had known of it. I had to admire Darcel—a man who had probably never had dirty hands,
let alone been ankle-deep in sludge—as he led us through one iron gate after another.
At the end, he opened the fourth gate and pointed out into the inky black night.
“Once away from the wall, head directly east to the river. There, you will find Drifter
drivers waiting with Jeeps that will get you to the Valley before morning. They
work for us and have sworn to care for any that I protect with their lives. You can
trust them.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I said.

“Thank you, Ronan of the Valley.” He took my arm and then Killian's, then said good-bye
to the others. “If our enemies come against you in the Valley, we will come to your
aid. We owe you our lives. Our future too.”

“We're indebted to you,” Tressa said.

“It is to you and yours that I owe my debt,” he said, kissing her hand and holding
it with no trace of the lechery that once was so evident in him. “You,” he went on,
his voice cracking, “have changed me. In so many ways. For as long as I live, know
I will serve you and yours in any way possible.”

“Serve the Maker in all things, and all will be well,” she said. “Continue all that
has begun! It's a new day, Lord Darcel. For you, your family, and your people.”

I shook my head as we slipped out of the city, wondering at all that had transpired.
Of all the people who had found new life after encountering us, the Lord of Zanzibar
had to be the biggest transformation of all. And what his transformation meant, for
an entire city . . . in retrospect, it made clear exactly why the Maker had sent
us here. At no other time in his life had Darcel been ready to hear the truth, let
alone abide by it.

“What about Niero?” Tressa asked as we all hurried toward the river.

“I imagine he'll be along shortly,” I said, giving Dri's hand a squeeze.

“How?” Killian asked. “Will he sprout wings and fly?”

“He'll find a way,” I managed to say, my voice strangled. I didn't know why Niero
had kept his angelic secret from us for so long, but I was determined not to be the
one to break such a confidence.

“If he can make it out of Wadi Qelt and arrive beside the Isle of Catal in a boat,”
Kapriel said, “I'm sure he can manage this as well.”

“I don't like it,” Killian said. “We're best when we're all together. Strongest.”

But when we reached the river, relieved to wade in and wash away the stench of the
foul sewer, Niero surprised us. “About time you arrived,” he said. “The drivers are
just over the hill.”

“Niero!” Killian cried, reaching for the man's arm in the dark. “How did you—”

“I went over the wall instead of under it. The lord had told me how he intended to
spirit us out of the city. I took a chance that I might find you here.”

“Did you kill Sethos? Is he gone?” I asked, taking my turn to grip the man's arm.
But it was . . . different, knowing what Raniero truly was. It made me feel cautious.
Not in the sense that I couldn't trust him, but more like he was again new to me,
like an old friend or a brother returning home after several seasons away.

“No,” he said, and I could hear the bitter disappointment in his tone. “Time and
again, he went after you; once he knew you were beyond his reach, he escaped me.”

My head jerked upward. We could all hear the sounds of engines in the distance, as
vehicles bounced over the sand dunes, making their way toward us with headlights
off. We all stood and gathered together, Knights before their Remnants, Niero before
Chaza'el and Kapriel.

When they pulled up before us, their faces becoming clear in the dim moonlight, I
drew my sword.

Because the Drifters who had come to fetch us and take us home were familiar . .
. in a very bad way.

They were the very same group that had kidnapped Dri.

The same group that had shot Niero and left him for dead.

CHAPTER
21

ANDRIANA

H
ad these Drifters just happened upon us before the others arrived—those that had
answered
Lord
Darcel's call to transport his “guests” to the Valley?

“Easy there,” cried one man. “I'm coming toward you, alone. Do your best to not run
me through yet. I'm unarmed.”

He jumped to the ground and padded toward us between the second and third vehicles,
hands raised. It was Bushy, the huge, barbaric man who had so mistreated me. Left
me chained in the cave while he and his people all drank themselves into a stupor.
His eyes flicked over the others until they rested on me. He smiled and tilted his
head in my direction. Ronan shifted, blocking his view. I moved to peek over his
other shoulder, but Bushy was looking at Niero.

“'Spect I deserve this kind of greeting,” he said, reaching a hand out to Niero.

Niero did not take it.

“But we're friends now, or would like to be. People of the Way, my group of Drifters
are now.”

“You,” scoffed Killian, gesturing toward him. “Forgive me for being skeptical.”

“Don't blame you,” Bushy said, raising one brow and nodding. “We captured two people
you had run across, a grandmother and her young grandson. They told us what had
happened. At first, we didn't believe it, but the more that sprite of a goatherd
and old cheesemaker yammered on about their story, the more our minds started to
open.” He put his hands on his hips, bowed his head, and shook it. “Takes some people
a long time to put their faith in something like the Way, and others not long at
all. I ‘spect the Maker had been workin' on me for a good, long while. We were ready
for a change.” A grin spread across his lips, and I remembered well his white teeth
and foul breath. “And it doesn't hurt that it lifts my skirts to do what anyone in
power has forbade everyone to do . . . claim faith in the Maker.”

Vidar stepped out from behind Bellona, walked right up to the giant of a man, and
looked up into his face a moment. Then he grinned and offered his arm. “Welcome,
brother. We are glad to have you. As well as to get a ride rather than walk for two
days home.”

We climbed into the Drifters' vehicles, still a bit dazed by yet another turn, yet
feeling utter peace about it too. “Now this could only be of the Maker,” I whispered
to Kapriel as he climbed in beside me. “If you had met these people when we had .
. .”

He gave me a little smile. “Don't you see it yet, Dri? The Maker is calling the worst,
the farthest, the hardest to him first.
It's like folding a pastry in and in and
in further, until all are included. He's long had a heart for those who have no one
else, or perhaps they are the first to recognize how much they need him. Those who
have power and authority? They shall be last.”

“Except for the Lord of Zanzibar.”

He smiled again. “Well, yes, him.”

“And you, the lost Prince of Pacifica.”

“I've been the Maker's subject since the day my parents first told me of him and
what I had been born for. But few would say I have any power and authority.”

“You bear the power and authority of the Maker,” I said. “That's all any of us need.”
The engines rumbled to a start. I glanced over my shoulder as Ronan climbed in behind
me, electing to stand beside Chaza'el. “What could be greater?”

“Perhaps that power
and
the throne of Pacifica?” Kapriel said, grinning at me.

“Well, that would be good,” I said, joining in with my own conspiratorial smile.

KEALLACH

I
n the cramped transport, I paced back and forth in front of Sethos and two of his
wounded
Sheolites.
He stood stiffly before me, staring straight ahead. Maximillian, Daivat, and Fenris
stood behind me.

“Let me be sure I understand this,” I said. “You had a hundred Sheolites at your
disposal. Three of your elite trackers. A device to tell you
exactly
where my brother
and Andriana were. And you
lost
them.”

“We were far outnumbered, Majesty,” Sethos said stiffly. “The Zanzibians turned against
us, from soldier to commoner. And
the city was full of the faithful. We got close—very
close—to Andriana. But then the one they call Raniero intervened.”

“Raniero, their captain? He is a match for you?”

“He is,” Sethos said. “I'm sorry, Highness. I have failed you.”

“Yes. Yes, you have,” I bit out. “And now it's time to take things into my own hands.”
I turned and strode to the technician who had a screen before him and was overlaying
a map of the city and the outlying regions. It only took a moment to see the two
blinking lights indicating Kapriel and Andriana. They'd made it out of the castle,
under cover of darkness. They were escaping.

Heading home, back to the Valley.

I paced back and forth, thinking, pressing the sides of my head and squinting my
eyes, trying to find a way through. We could try and capture them again, out here.
But we would be outnumbered if Zanzibian patrols on the wall saw us and intervened.

Deep within, I knew such an action would ruin everything. After the complete turning
of Zanzibar, after such wins for the Way, they would be feeling strong, as if the
Maker himself was encouraging them onward. He was, in a way. And I had to harness
that power too . . .

No. I couldn't force Andriana and Kapriel to come back with me to Pacifica and gradually
win their full support.

I had to convince them to give it to me willingly.

ANDRIANA

The sun wasn't even up yet when we arrived at the Valley mouth, with grit covering
our faces and weariness making our eyes ache. But we were home and arriving victorious,
in many ways. The Maker had sent us to Zanzibar, and we'd returned after claiming
the city—that horrendous city—as our own.
We'd battled back Sethos and his Sheolite
warriors and all survived to see another sunrise. We'd seen Lord Darcel's son restored
to him and the nobles and commoners alike commit to One higher than they. The incredible
sequence of events still made my heart swell with praise for the Maker and the way
he had made for us. And for them.

We shook hands with our unlikely saviors—the very people who had once threatened
to sell me to the Zanzibians—and tried to convince them to join us in the Valley.

“Nah,” said the bushy-bearded man—Redd, I'd learned his name was—with a shrug, patting
his steering wheel. “Gotta stick with these, and you Valley-dwellers don't go in
much for roads. But if you need us, we won't be far. For now, we'll make sure that
no one comes after you. Rest easy. You can trust that you'll get all the way to the
Citadel this night.” They handed us several torches and a lighter. Vidar set one
torch after another aflame.

“Thank you,” Kapriel said.

Redd gave him a surprisingly regal bow and rose slowly, grinning. “I await the day
you ascend the throne, my prince. When the kingdom is at last in your hands again.”

Kapriel spread out his arms. “The kingdom is already here. It is, and has always
been, and will be forever, the Maker's own.”

“The One who was . . .” said Redd.

“The One who is,” said those nearest.

“The One who is to come,” said everyone else, in unison.

With that, we turned to go, climbing the path inward that had become decidedly more
worn with all the pilgrims and refugees who had arrived. It was wider and flatter,
with more rocks dislodged. There were wheel marks from where people had pushed carts
and wagons. Hoof prints from goats and sheep, herded inward. Mudhorse tracks too.

As always, the Valley felt as welcoming and reassuring to me as my mom's own arms,
opened wide. But this night, there was something different. Something off. One by
one, each of the Ailith slowed, recognizing it. We looked at one another, silently
understanding. We were not alone. There was another nearby.

One of us.

Except every last one of the Remnants was accounted for. Unless one of our lost brothers
or sisters had miraculously found their way here. My heart leaped at the thought.
After all, it had been our enemy who had told me that others had been captured and
murdered on the road to us. What if they had lied? What if . . .