Catching himself, the leader of the Redcloaks coughed, pursing his lips into a thin line. “The birds were just a distraction,” he said brusquely. “The real fight is still to come.”
The ground shook as two mortar shells from the incoming fleet struck the side of the mountain—Zerif’s fleet was now in firing range. There was the sound of an explosion near the port, and Abeke watched as the Expiator burst into splinters and sank into the cold water.
“There goes our ride home,” Abeke said as the ship’s mast slid below the surface. She stared at the approaching fleet, half shrouded in smoke from the cannon fire, searching for a sight of Zerif’s dark tunic.
“Ready arrows!” Shane called. “Wait for my mark.” He and the other Redcloaks positioned themselves at the windows. “There’s a cache of arrows along the back wall,” he said to Abeke.
“Thanks, but I brought my own.” Abeke drew back her green cloak and removed a single arrow from her full quiver. The black point glinted in the light of the setting sun—it was sharpened obsidian. She had spent most of her voyage honing them to razor points—sharp enough to cut through any armor or shield Zerif might use. She nocked it into the string of her bow, steadying her aim.
“Obsidian points,” Shane said, eyeing her full quiver. “How many of those are for Zerif?”
Abeke tightened her grip on the end of the nocked arrow. “As many as it takes.”
“I’d hate to have you as an enemy,” he said weakly. “Again.”
Abeke looked at him, unable to tell if this was a joke. It was harder to read his expressions now—the reptilian glint in his eyes made him appear less human.
“I’m not going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, turning back to the window. She had thought about it, of course. But whatever anger she felt toward Shane was tempered by her memory of their time together among the Conquerors.
Once, Shane had been a guide and friend to her. Maybe the first true friend she ever had. He had been the one who taught Abeke that she could find family wherever she was and encouraged her to find it in Uraza.
There was another rumbling sound—much louder than the mortar shots. Abeke placed her hand on the ledge to keep herself from falling. She could feel the entire mountain shaking from the vibrations. “Sounds like they found a bigger cannon,” she said.
“Not a cannon, hollow-girl,” Yumaris said, shaking her head. She touched the ground, which was still shaking. “Something much bigger. Something deep below … ”
The old woman gestured for them to come to the archway and look inside the mountain. Abeke joined her. The icy tower in the middle of the volcano was slowly rotating, dropping huge chunks of ice onto the floor. She feared the ice might crush the Redcloaks, but when she looked farther down, she saw that the floor was gone. The wedge-shaped sections of the stone around the tower had begun to slide away from one another—pulling apart like the folds of an iris. “Um, what’s happening to your base?”
Shane stepped beside her and shook his head. “No clue. It must have something to do with what your friends were up to.”
The shaking stopped as abruptly as it had started.
The panels in the floor had pulled a few feet from one another, revealing gaps that led to a hollow chamber deep below—how deep, it was impossible to tell. The tower in the middle groaned and shuddered, unable to turn any farther. “Whatever that tower is supposed to do, I think it’s broken,” Abeke said. “The ice must be jamming the mechanism—preventing it from fully opening the floor.”
“I hear it down there,” Yumaris whispered next to them. “So, so hungry … ”
Abeke didn’t have time to consider the old woman’s words, because the next moment a mortar shell from Zerif’s fleet crashed into the rock just above their keep. The impact seemed to jolt the entire ledge, nearly knocking Abeke into the abyss below.
She and Shane both ran back into the keep and resumed their positions, just as another cannon fired—striking the keep directly. The impact of the shell knocked the archers backward, raining rubble and shards of ice down from above.
Shane dove on top of Abeke, knocking her clear of a huge chunk of rock that had been blasted loose—rock that would have easily crushed her. Abeke blinked up at Shane, who was staring at her, his expression unreadable. “I … can’t breathe,” she said.
Shane nodded and pulled himself off her. “A simple thanks would suffice.” He dusted off his red cloak and picked up his fallen saber.
Abeke sat up, rolling her eyes. When it came to her and Shane, there was nothing simple about it.
“If Zerif keeps up this cannon fire, we won’t live to see the landing party,” she said.
Shane nodded and helped her to her feet. “I agree.”
“King!” Talon shouted. “Check the water! We may be in luck.”
Abeke and Shane rushed to the ledge and looked out toward the fleet. White foam sprayed against the choppy waves. Shouts from possessed Greencloaks rang over the water. The largest ship in Zerif’s fleet was keeling heavily to one side—nearly capsized. Abeke searched the waters for a reason. Was something attacking the ship from below?
Then she spotted it.
At the helm, three long tentacles with opalescent skin were wrapped around the ship’s wheel. The other five were presently engaged in grappling the helmswoman, dragging her away from the steering.
“Mulop!” Abeke said. “He’s attacking the fleet.”
Another ship sloshed to one side as the first boat rammed into it. There was an earsplitting crack that rang out over even the sounds of birds and waves and cannons—the mast snapping in two. It crashed down onto the deck of the second ship, shattering wood and sending it careening to the side. The cannons that had a moment before been pointing straight at the mountain were now ripped from their stows and flung into the water.
Mulop was single-handedly disarming the entire fleet.
“So much for the cannons!” Shane said, grinning.
But the celebration was cut short before it had even fully begun, for the next moment, Abeke saw the tentacles spasm in pain and grow limp—sliding from the Greencloak and wheel. The octopus’s iridescent skin seemed to change before her eyes, turning to a dull, pale color.
“Mulop,” she said. “He’s been infected.”
She thought of Niri sitting underground—the agony the girl must have been experiencing as her spirit animal was ripped from her soul and bonded with Zerif. “Someone should get Niri,” she whispered. “She’s trapped in that cavern.”
“No time … ” Shane said. “They’re here.”
Animal snarls and roars filled the air. Zerif’s ships had reached the port and an attack party had thrown claw-shaped anchors into the ice. Greencloaks roared as they slid down the ropes and landed at the edge of the island. Animal companions leaped from the ship and joined their sides—snarling and squawking and growling. Abeke watched, openmouthed, trying to count the forces, which seemed to have doubled in size since she last saw them. Zerif must have been adding to his numbers as his fleet traveled from port to port in pursuit of the Expiator.
“Wait for my mark,” Shane called. “We’re going to be driving them to the ledge on the eastern shore, so focus on the group in front. Push them to our left.”
Abeke and the Redcloaks held their arrows tight, waiting for his command. Even at this distance, Abeke could see the black stains on their foreheads, marking them as slaves to Zerif. And somewhere in that horde was Zerif himself. She adjusted her grip on the end of her arrow.
“Fire!” Shane cried.
Two dozen arrows soared out from the keep and plunged down to the ice below—lodging into Greencloaks. Screams rang out through the air as six men staggered to their knees, their animal companions faltering beside them. The remaining Greencloak forces veered to one side to avoid the assault.
“Perfect!” Shane said, nocking another arrow. “Keep pushing them in that direction.”
Abeke drew another arro
w from her quiver and took aim.
“Fire!”
Another volley, this one more successful than the first. A group of fifty or so Greencloaks had splintered off from the main group and was moving closer to the shelf. Abeke and the other archers reloaded and shot again, pushing the invading group to the edge of the ice.
“Release the flue!” Shane cried into the tunnel.
Abeke heard the sound of gears moving deep within the rock and the next moment a burst of searing lava erupted from the side of the mountain. It filled one of the icy trenches, which hissed and steamed, dividing the approaching forces in half.
The lava continued down its path until it reached the fifty Greencloaks huddled on the eastern shelf. Here the trench branched into two smaller streams, which surrounded the group. The ice at this point was thinner, and as soon as the lava made contact, it burned right through and plummeted into the freezing water.
The entire shelf splashed into the ocean. Greencloaks and beasts screamed and splashed, trying to swim to shore in the cold sea.
“Oh-ho!” Yumaris shouted, clapping. “All those nasty greenie-cloaks turned to icicles!”
Abeke glared at the old woman. “If you don’t stop talking about my friends and allies like that, there’s going to be one more icicle floating around out there.”
Shane nodded solemnly at Abeke. “We take no pleasure in this,” he said, “but the plan worked well.”
Abeke only frowned, turning back to the window. Cheers could be heard echoing up from the chambers below. The Redcloaks hadn’t defeated Zerif’s forces, of course, but they had reduced its numbers by a quarter.
Still, the battle was far from over. Already another wave of Greencloaks had descended from the ships. And the possessed Mulop was already in the water where the Greencloaks had fallen. He was using his tentacles to catch and drag them back to shore—freezing cold, but still alive.
The Redcloaks released another two gates, filling trenches with lava to drive back the incoming forces. The flow created a molten perimeter around the mountain. There was a shout below as another gate opened at the base of the volcano.
This time, instead of lava, there was a flutter of red fabric as a troop of Redcloaks slid down the icy slope, swords in hands. These Redcloaks were not ordinary fighters, for they all possessed traits of the animal companions that they had merged with. They were faster, stronger, fiercer than any human could hope to be. They met the approaching Greencloaks head-on, pushing Zerif’s forces back toward the water.
“Fire!” Shane cried, and another volley rained down on the Greencloaks. Abeke crouched beside him, lending her arrows to the cause. Shane and his Redcloaks were fine shots, but none half as good as her. When she let fly an arrow—it always found her mark.
“Nice work, Greencloak!” Talon said, reloading her crossbow. “I think half the fighters in that field have your arrows in them.”
Abeke didn’t have time to respond to the compliment. She was too busy searching the field for her real prey. And then, in the shifting steam, she saw him—
Zerif.
The man had let his troops charge ahead of him like a coward. Now he was stepping down from the gangplank of his ship, his dark tunic rustling in the wind.
Abeke held her breath, drawing back her arrow. Zerif probably thought he was well out of range, but he couldn’t account for the arrows Abeke was using—their obsidian points chiseled to perfection. The ends had been nocked with feathers taken from Essix herself.
The air was cold, but a thin trickle of sweat ran down Abeke’s brow.
“Patience,” she whispered to herself. She would only have one chance to surprise him.
Zerif reached the shore and marched into the fray—a pair of short swords in his gloved hands. Zerif had seen his share of battles, and even without the power of his Great Beasts, he was a formidable swordsman. He charged toward a Redcloak named Flip who had managed to bound over the main Greencloak forces with a series of impossible, froglike jumps.
Zerif crouched down and slashed one blade quickly through Flip’s heel. The Redcloak collapsed, screaming. Zerif stomped on Flip’s neck to stifle his cry, before pushing his sword through his heart and silencing him completely.
Abeke wanted to look away from the scene, but she didn’t dare blink, for fear of losing her target.
“Patience … ” she whispered to herself, steam rising from her mouth. The air was blisteringly cold, and she had to fight to keep her aim steady. She could feel the other archers watching her now. Shane had suspended fire, so none of them could distract her from her target. One clean shot and she could end this entire war. “A little closer … ”
Zerif was almost in range now. He had released his Great Beasts, which slithered and stampeded alongside him—his personal guards, all bonded to him through the parasites: Dinesh the Elephant, Rumfuss the Ram, Gerathon the Serpent, Tellun the Elk, Suka the Polar Bear, Arax the Ram, Halawir the Eagle, and …
Abeke caught her breath. “No … ”
Shane appeared beside her, glancing out the small window. “What’s wrong?” he said. “You have a shot, take it.”
Abeke blinked, her arrow still nocked in her bow. She adjusted her grip.
“I … I can’t … ” Standing in front of Zerif was a sleek yellow beast with deep purple eyes. It was Uraza. Her Uraza. The leopard had climbed onto a hunk of fallen ice and was blocking Abeke’s shot. If she missed by even an inch, it would go straight through Uraza’s neck. The leopard paused, tilting her head up toward the mountain—and then looked directly at Abeke.
Abeke lowered her bow, dropping to the ground. “I can’t do it,” she said. Her voice was shaking. Her hands slick with sweat. “I can’t shoot her.… ”
She caught the eyes of Talon and Shane, both of whom were looking at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She sat up and looked back toward the battlefield—but Uraza and Zerif were both gone.
The ground shook beneath her, violently enough that she had to steady herself against Shane’s arm. Chunks of rock and ice fell from the walls around her. There was a huge cracking sound and the entire island shuddered. Redcloaks and Greencloaks alike cried out as the impact threw them all to the ground. A huge crack formed up the side of the volcano wall, showering rubble down on the fighters below.
“What’s going on down there?” Talon shouted. “It feels like the mountain’s being torn apart from the inside.”
Yumaris, who had been huddled in the corner, skittered out from the shadows. “That is the sound of destruction. The end of Erdas.” Her face was pale, and for once she sounded completely sane. “Look! Look!” She dragged Abeke and the Redcloaks through the archway to the path overlooking the volcano floor.
The stone panels at the base of the tower had been smashed apart, creating a larger hole. From somewhere deep below, a gargling shriek rang out, curdling the air. Abeke felt a prickly nausea stutter up her spine. She inched closer to the edge of the path for a better look. The broken floor revealed a deep steaming hole that seemed to disappear straight into the heart of Erdas. Streams of hot lava trickled from the edges, bathing it in a dark orange light. And slithering out from that hole was a hideous creature made of slick black tentacles and glowing red eyes.
“The Wyrm,” Yumaris whispered. “It’s here.”
WHEN ABEKE WAS YOUNG AND AFRAID OF THE DARK, her mother used to tell her that fear of a thing is more terrible than the sight of it—that the imagination conjures visions worse than anything nature can produce. She would light a torch in their rondavel and explain there was no terror so great it could withstand the light of reality.
But now, staring at the Wyrm, Abeke knew her mother had been wrong. This creature was more disturbing than anything she had ever conceived—and the light of the cavern only served to expose its horror.
The Wyrm was a roiling, slithering nightmare that coated whatever it touched in black ooze. It perched itself on the edge of the chasm from which it had
crawled, peering around at the ruins with glowing red eyes. It opened its mouth to reveal row after row of razor-sharp teeth, and screeched.
“Wow,” Shane said. “The Hellan carvings didn’t quite do it justice.”
Yumaris started shaking, backing away from the ledge. “So hungry … so hungry … ”
Battle cries rang out as a few Redcloaks on the lower levels charged the creature, blades drawn. The Wyrm hissed and shot its tendrils out, snatching up the Redcloaks. It snapped their bones like twigs before hurling them away.
“Shane!” It was Talon. Her face was pale. “You need to look outside. The Greencloaks—something’s happening to them.”
Shane and Abeke pulled themselves away from the sight of the Wyrm and followed Talon back to the window. The icy battlefield was strewn with the bodies of fallen Greencloaks—cut down by arrows and lava and Redcloaks.
But now they were moving. One by one the fallen Greencloaks picked themselves up from the snow. The resurrected army raised their weapons and cried out, their voices as one, in a sort of inhuman roar.
“The Wyrm,” Yumaris said, clutching Abeke’s arm in her gnarled hands. “It calls to them. Makes them stronger.”
“How much stronger?” Shane said, readying his bow.
But he found out soon enough. The reinvigorated Greencloaks charged toward the mountain, cutting past the remaining Redcloaks like they were nothing. Shane called a volley of arrows down on them, but even though most of the arrows found their marks, the horde kept running. They tore through the stone gates with their bare hands and swept into the mountain.
Abeke listened to the shouts and clashing blades as the battle moved inside the volcano. She thought of Rollan, who was on one of the lower outposts—maybe even within reach of the Wyrm. She closed her eyes, hoping he was smart enough to stay clear of its flailing tentacles.
“How do we stop that thing?” she said.
Shane shook his head. “I have no idea.” He had cast aside his bow and drew his saber. The other Redcloak archers drew their own swords. “But we’ll die trying.”