Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun (15 page)

Zera guided them to the southern edge of the roof. At once, Leitos understood what she had meant about boils on a leper.

Flat rooftops marched off in every direction, some higher and some lower, all pressed tightly together, save where streets and alleys divided them into islands. And while the paths below might be wide enough for a large wagon to pass unhindered, the buildings’ upper levels overhung the thoroughfares, narrowing the gaps between buildings.

Leitos was contemplating ways to bridge the distance, when Zera said, “We must jump.”

“It is ten feet across,” Leitos balked. He peered over the edge. “And four times that to the alley.” He wanted to tell her it was too far, but in seeing that mischievous grin of hers, the disturbing, eager gleam in her eyes, he screwed up his courage and nodded.

Zera paced out a route mostly free of cracks or holes. Without a word, she swept forward and made an effortless leap, more graceful in the air than on the ground. She flew across empty space, landed on an outstretched foot, and tucked into a roll. After a single revolution, she was again on her feet. She waved him on.

That was not so hard
, Leitos thought, his confidence swelling. Following in her footsteps, he trotted forward and jumped lightly. Where Zera soared, Leitos plummeted as if he had stones tied to his ankles. Instead of getting closer to the opposite roof, it seemed to recede. A scream lodged in his throat, and he clawed for the edge. He caught the lip, but at the same instant his chest and face slammed into the side of the building. His breath burst from his lungs in a whooshing grunt. His fingers scraped over rough mudbrick in a vain attempt to stop his fall. Friction seemed to hold him in place, a teasing hope. Then he was falling back, and the yawning gulf drew him down and away. Above, the sharp edge of the roof slanted horizontally across the night sky. Both began a sickening, weightless slide, as his body pivoted.

A hand flashed out, catching the strap of his satchel. The band of leather was twined under his arm and looped around his neck, and he jerked to a wrenching halt. Stitching popped with an ominous ripping sound, as the leather pulled tight against his throat. His flailing hands found that feeble tether and clung tight.

Zera gazed down, her loosened hair hanging around grim features. She reared back, hauling him up and over the edge. They both ended up sprawled on the roof.

“Next time,” Zera said wryly, “at least make a little effort. We are not stepping across cracked paving stones.”

Leitos stared up at the stars, heart pounding.
There will be no next time
. Even as he thought it, he knew that was not the truth—unless he wanted to become the feast for the
Alon’mahk’lar
.

“You made it look so easy,” he muttered, after he caught his breath.

“For me, it was easy,” Zera said, sitting up and wrapping her forearms around her cocked knees. “I have done this many times.” She cast him a sour look. “I did not think I had to explain the differences between a Hunter and a former slave.”

Disgusted with himself, Leitos sat up. “I am an idiot. It would serve you better to leave me here. Find another to save.”

Zera thought about that a moment, then rose to her feet. As she strode away, she pulled her hair back and retied the leather thong to keep it in place.

Leitos blinked in confusion. “Where are you going?”

“
Away
,” Zera said over her shoulder, not slowing. By now she was nearing the far side of the roof. In less than two heartbeats, she would be gone, bounding across to another rooftop.

“But—” Leitos began, scrambling to his feet.

Zera stormed back. “
But
nothing, boy. There is no place for weakness and self-pity in this world. You die or you survive. Life under the rule of the Faceless One is struggle and pain and sorrow. If you are favored by the gods, you may enjoy a rare and fleeting moment of joy. Lying down, surrendering, leads to death. Slow or fast it may come, but it is death all the same. Decide, here and now, if you want to fight and live, or quit and perish. Decide, Leitos, because there are many others who would chance all the remaining moments of their lives for the opportunity you have been given.”

“I will go with you,” Leitos muttered, his face hot with shame.

“Convince me,” Zera commanded. “Prove to me that I should squander any more of my precious time helping you.”

How can I?
Leitos thought, fighting the urge to cringe away from her authority, much the same as he had cowered before the slavemasters the whole of his life. Since fleeing the mines, he had made many vows to himself and the ghost of his grandfather. Those promises had sustained him, pressed him forward, but only because of the guilt he had felt at not holding to his oaths. Not once had he moved forward without the goads of fear and remorse to drive him. He had not grown strong, as Adham had urged, and certainly he had not grown cruel enough to stand and fight against the
Alon’mahk’lar
, let alone the Faceless One. Ever had he run like a timid mouse, scurrying from cover to cover, shadow to shadow, telling himself that he was planning, making ready, when in truth all he had been doing was delaying taking upon his shoulders the mantle of his own survival. To continue that path meant he would never avenge his people, never gain freedom, never grow into the man his grandfather had believed he could become.

While he sensed no single act could convince Zera to aid him further, Leitos understood well enough that he must step onto the road of his choosing, and tread that path until it lead to success or failure. In the end, it meant he could never halt. Perhaps he would fail—in all truth, the chance of his triumph was and had always been slim—but he must press on. As Zera had said, to lie down and quit was to die. And going forward, at this moment, meant only one thing.

Leitos set off, striding out, chin tucked low. He hopped a yawning hole in the roof, flashed over a gaping crack. Every step his speed increased, and the distance to the next gulf narrowed. His heart hammered not from exertion, but from willing his fragile spirit to overcome the curse of dread and subservience forced upon all slaves.

Arms and legs slashing the cool night air, he fought against intangible chains, sought to break bonds stronger than iron. He might die in the next breath … or he might survive. And was that not the thing he feared most—living, struggling onward into a misty future filled with unknown troubles?

The gap loomed, a black gulf that plunged as deep as his doubts. Leitos raised his head, the wind of his passage sweeping back the hair from his brow. It filled his ears with a rush, and below that came the distant cries of the hunting
Alon’mahk’lar
. He leaped, pushing off with all his strength; he soared, cumbersome but aloft.

When he landed, his weight folded his outstretched leg, and he fell in a sliding, bouncing tumble. There came no flash of revelation in the leap, no inner voice commended his triumph, there was not even time to contemplate what he had done.

By the time he gathered his wits, Zera was there, pulling him to his feet. They made several more jumps in quick succession, until they had gone as far as they could.

Zera hunkered down, gazing into the depths of a wide breach created by a crossing street. Nothing stirred, but the calls of the beasts that hunted them sounded nearer.

“They have found our scent,” she announced. “We have time only until they reach the first rooftop. After that, they will be upon us.”

Leitos did not need her to explain the ease and speed with which the loathsome creatures would follow. He scanned ahead, struggling to separate merged shadows, until he found what had to be the southernmost portion of the city wall. It was not very far now.

“We must go down.”

Zera searched around. “There,” she said with a measure of relief, and strode to a pair of thick vertical rails joined by a rung, jutting a foot above the building’s rear side.

Leitos gave the ladder a critical appraisal, then made to climb onto the uppermost rung. Zera stopped him.

“Due caution does not make you a coward,” she said gently, and eased him aside.

Taking the vertical rails in hand, she heaved against them. Heavily rusted cleats affixed to the building held them in place. The ladder rattled, but seemed sound. Next she tested her weight on the top three rungs. They creaked, but held.

“This will not hold us both at the same time,” Zera warned. “Come at my signal.” Then she was gone.

Leitos leaned over to watch her descend. The cleats groaned in their settings, and a rung gave way with a dusty crunch, momentarily leaving Zera dangling by one hand.

“Hold on!” Leitos hissed.

“I’m fine,” she answered, regaining a secure hold. She scrambled farther down and jumped clear. With her back pressed against the building, she looked first one way then the other, head cocked to catch the slightest sound. Only then did she motion him to follow.

He mounted the ladder, and in doing so caught sight of a pack of
Alon’mahk’lar
on the first rooftop. They gathered too far away to make out individual characteristics, but without question they sought the scent of their prey. Suddenly one of the beasts raised its muzzle skyward, baying. The others turned, silvery eyes glimmering like dull stars. As Leitos started down, the first one bounded across to the next rooftop.

Leitos flew down the ladder. Splinters gouged his palms, rungs cracked, and the by the time he was halfway to Zera, several cleats had given way. The ladder’s upper length sprang loose from the wall, swaying like a tree caught in a high wind. A loud popping noise heralded the ladder’s demise, and while still ten feet up, Leitos flung himself clear, landing with a pained grunt. The ruined ladder crashed down around him and burst into a cloud of dust and bits of flying wood.

“Time to run,” Zera said, again with that disturbing, overeager light in her eyes.

Leitos did not wait for her to take the first step.

T
he road out of the bone-town rose steep and winding for a mile or more, then crested a hilly plateau home only to rock, stiff thorn bushes, and sand. The familiar barrenness could not temper Leitos’s joy at escaping, but Zera’s words did.

“They follow,” she said in grim tones, head cocked in a listening posture. Leitos heard only the wind rattling through the nearby brush, the gentle hiss of sand swirling against itself. Nevertheless, he believed her. Not only could she see well in darkness, she also seemed to hear better than anyone he had ever known.

“I can still run,” he said, but worried about how long he could continue. As far as he could tell, Zera suffered no ill-effects from the chase.

They set out at a brisker pace than before. The road carried them south over low hills, and brought them to a wall of overhanging cliffs. The roadway passed through a narrow gorge. In the night it had the aspect of a bottomless chasm opening onto
Geh’shinnom’atar
itself. Leitos peered into that darkness.
What waits down there?

“Maybe we can go around,” Leitos suggested.

Zera disagreed. “The cliffs are high and wide. We will make our stand here. Rather, I will make a stand. You continue on until I catch up. This is no fight for you.” Not a hint of doubt or fear lived in her voice.

“You cannot face these
things
alone. I can fight,” he added, unwilling to leave her behind. He was no warrior, but he was done bowing to the fear in his breast. If their fate was to face the enemy and perish, at least he would go to his grave with a clear conscience.

“Do not be a fool,” Zera chided gently. “If I must defend you and myself, at the same time, we will both die. Go, now, before it is too late. Run and do not halt ... no matter what you hear.” It was not an invitation, or a plea, but a command.

Leitos looked back along the road they had run, its length indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape after a few paces. He could now make out the braying calls of the
Alon’mahk’lar
.

His lips parted to protest, but Zera held up a hand. “Go, Leitos,” she ordered, a lithe silhouette, sword bared, framed by an aura of night and stars. “Go, and do not look back!”

Leitos ran just far enough to escape Zera’s exceptional sight and hearing. Lost in the gorge’s deep shadows, he slowed to a halt. Where the racket of the
Alon’mahk’lar
had grown louder the closer they came, now an abrupt silence held sway. Unnatural, oppressive, full of dire portent, it seemed to smother the land.

He drew his knife and headed into the litter of boulders beneath the gorge’s towering walls. He lost himself amid the fallen slabs, creeping and climbing his way back toward Zera.

A shriek, inhuman and swollen with fury, ripped apart the tense stillness, reverberated back through the gorge, crashing over Leitos. He froze.
Gods good and wise, what creature could have made such a cry?
Zera could not face such a terror alone.

He scrabbled over the boulders, flung himself from one to another, bruising and scraping his flesh in his haste. He had made it most of the way back when he drew up short, perched atop a massive stone block.

Distorted shapes leaped and careened in a maddened frenzy at the feet of a towering, winged creature of swirling mists. Even as he watched, the thing changed, grew larger, humped of back, thick of limb. It lashed out at its foes, and howls of pain followed. The winged creature swept a knotted arm at an attacking
Alon’mahk’lar
, colliding with the sound of snapping bones. It sprawled in motionless silence. Another
Alon’mahk’lar
fared worse, seemingly torn in half amid a shower of vile blood. Instead of giving pause, the sudden destruction riled the attackers to greater frenzy.

They have turned on each other,
Leitos thought, momentarily pleased, until he remembered that Zera was caught in that madness!

He slithered down the rock and dashed toward the enemy, knife held before him as though it were a weapon of mystic lethality. As he reached the edge of the fray a great, yielding mass buffeted him to one side with a leathery slap. He tumbled over sand and jutting rocks, and fetched up against a thorny bush.