The thirty surviving men and women drew up their horses at the foot of the ancient earthwork that covered the tombs of their ancestors. Thumbs were pressed to middle fingers—a mark of respect to Theltek of the Hundred Eyes, the god who watched over the dead until the day they would rise.
Carred dismounted and passed her reins to Derin, then took her spyglass from her saddlebag.
“You’re in charge till I return,” she told him.
Derin narrowed his eyes in question, but knew better than to ask. If the plans Queen Talia had hatched with Carred were to be shared with the troops, Derin would have known of them by now.
Carred couldn’t have explained the Queen’s designs to him anyway, as she didn’t fully understand them herself. All she knew was that they began here, in some obscure way, on Hallow Hill.
The bank she trudged up was slick from the persistent rain. She slipped and muddied her hands breaking her fall. After that, she kept to the worn patches in the grass, avoiding the fragments of bone that protruded from the ground.
The ruined building at the top looked as though it had once been the base of something much larger—a tower, probably, that had long since toppled. It was constructed from the blue-gray stone that had been shipped from the Plains of Khisig-Ugtall at some distant time, when the savages that lived there had traded with Niyas. The centuries and the weather had darkened the stone and left it scabbed with yellowish lichen.
There was no entrance, nor did Carred expect one. No one in living memory had entered the structure, nor the burial chambers said to lie within.
She moved to the brink of the hill and gazed west over the forest, where the still-smoldering ruins of Naphor were visible in the distance. Specks of light snaked across the settlements outside the city walls. She blinked, trying to focus her eyes in the twilight. The snaking lights were moving.
Extending her spyglass’s brass tube, she raised the device to her eye. The lights were torches held by mounted knights—the Order of Eternal Vigilance. White-robed priests trailed them, some cradling red-skinned infants in their arms. It made no sense. Why not leave the Niyandrian babes with their families? They posed no threat now the Queen’s army had been destroyed.
Carred panned the spyglass across the closest of the settlements and understood. There were bodies everywhere—in the mud-packed streets, lying in doorways, atop the roofs. And blood. So much blood, as if it had rained from the skies. Cold fury gripped her. Her hands shook, making it hard to focus as she turned the spyglass to one farmstead after another.
Dead.
All dead.
And they call us demons!
But why? Why kill civilians? Why take their children?
The whisper of the wind answered her. “They seek Queen Talia’s infant daughter.”
Carred stiffened. She’d heard no one approach. She had to force herself to turn. Like all Niyandrians, she’d heard the stories about the spirits that lingered at sites such as this: those who harbored grudges against the living, and whom it was prudent to appease.
A shadow detached itself from the sepulcher.
Despising the quaver in her voice, Carred said, “The Queen doesn’t have a daughter.”
“You are so sure?”
“I shared her bed long enough. So, yes, I’m sure.” There had been no sign of pregnancy, and Talia loathed men. Hated them.
“Powerful sorcery determines what is seen and unseen,” the shadow said. “What better way to conceal a child than for no one to know it ever existed?”
The figure took a step toward her, its heavy boots making no sound. There was something not quite solid about it. The breeze blowing across the hilltop didn’t cause its cloak to flap, and there was nothing but blackness beneath its cowl. At its hip hung a sword that Carred would have needed two hands to swing. The hilt was wound with silver wire, the cross-guard studded with dark jewels. She almost recoiled from the musty stench coming off the figure.
Carred tried to mask her fear with anger. “You lie, wraithe.”
For what else could it be but one of the ancient beings that haunted the ruins the length and breadth of Wiraya? The only evidence of their once-mighty civilization now lay buried beneath the remnants of all cultures that had succeeded them.
The wraithe glided closer, and Carred looked to one side, unable to endure the empty gaze from beneath its cowl. Only a rare few had survived encounters with wraithes. The rest met a gruesome death or simply disappeared.
“What is it you most desire, Carred Selenas?”
“Did Queen Talia give you my name?”
The Queen had hinted at her hope of an alliance with such creatures, but if Talia had been successful, that alliance had come too late. Or the wraithes had betrayed her.
The wraithe said nothing, merely watched her and waited.
What did she desire? Nothing. Not now that Talia was gone, the hope of a new Niyandrian empire shattered.
But Carred did want something, she realized, though it was as impossible as the dreams of the corpses buried all over Niyas, waiting patiently for the day of their rising.
Don’t leave me in the realm of the dead …
“I want my queen back,” she said. Part of her didn’t. Part of her still trembled at what she’d seen last night. But she was a loyal daughter of Niyas. And she was in love, she told herself. Despite her fear of what Talia had gotten into, what the Queen had become—perhaps what she’d always been—Carred loved her like no one else. Desired her. Would have walked through fire to please her.
Still the wraithe didn’t respond. She could feel it watching her, though she dared not look. Worried she’d answered incorrectly, she tried again.
“I want Niyas for Niyandrians.”
“Resistance.” The wraithe extended a hand. On its palm sat an engraved ring of dark metal. “Your queen wished the same thing.”
“Where did you get that?” Carred demanded.
Had the ring been on Talia’s finger when she battled the mainlanders? She couldn’t recall. But it was the Queen’s ring, of that she was certain. An heirloom passed down from Talia’s father—a foreigner, it was rumored. A man Talia refused to talk about.
“Your queen gave it to me to show you. She said you would not trust easily.”
“Give it to me,” Carred said.
The wraithe closed its fist around the ring, seemed to consider for a moment, then surrendered it to her.
There was no weight to the ring. Carred ran her fingers over the dark metal band to convince herself it was real.
“Other payments have been made,” the wraithe said. “They are sufficient for me to do as your queen and I negotiated.”
“And that is?”
Its voice took on an amused tone. “What do you make of your new rulers?”
“You tell me.” Carred gestured to the west and the destroyed capital. “Followers of a false god. Murderers.”
“They would not agree with you.”
“I’ve no problem disagreeing with evil.”
A shiver passed beneath the wraithe’s cowl. Perhaps it was chuckling. “Is it evil when cattle are slaughtered and salted for the winter?”
“We’re not cattle.”
The wraithe didn’t respond, just watched and waited for her to say more.
“If the invaders find Talia’s so-called daughter,” Carred said, “what will they do? Kill the child?”