The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (42 page)

The assembled soldiers cheered, stomping their feet and hammering their weapons against whatever surface they could find. It felt like an earthquake surging up through the fountain, and, just for a moment, Urus liked it. He felt respected, and even if his life were to end that day, he would die satisfied, knowing that though he bore the scar of the culled on his chest, he was no outcast, no crowfeed to be cast out of the city and left to die.

Luse tugged at his shirt to get his attention, then signed, "Tell them about the sigil. Remind them to close their eyes."

Urus addressed the crowd. "As soon as we're ready, I will etch a sigil that will take us to the island in Niragan's harbor. Traveling like this can be blinding and disorienting, so when I press my palm to the sigil, close your eyes."

The assembled armies made their final preparations. Soon he got thumbs-up signals from the leaders of the various factions: the little goggle-toting briene commander; Jols, the captain of the Niragan guards; Corliss, the duke of Waldron; and Choein. As he surveyed the group one more time to make sure everyone was ready, he caught sight of Uncle Aegaz, Goodwyn, Therren, and the children. Aegaz returned his gaze with an unmistakable look of pride on his face.

Urus smiled wide.

"Ready?" Urus called, etching the glowing blue symbol into the air before him. As he etched, out of the corner of his eye he saw Colin. He felt the heat of his accusing stare, the guilt of what he had done to Cailix.

Trying to think of something other than Cailix, in response to the cheers of the crowd, he finished the sigil and then pressed his palm to it. He had no idea if his power would be up to the task, but his mind sought out and encompassed every person in the area, all the machines and equipment—everything and everyone in Waldron's central plaza.

The world bent, warped, and cycled through colors. Waldron disappeared, melting away as the rotting, snow-covered vista of Findanar dripped into his eyes and the smell of cold, salty air crept into his nose.

Every one of his instincts begged him to let go, to release the hold he had on the travel sigil and all those contained within. But he clung to it anyway.
 

Something was wrong. Still bending and translucent, he saw the crowded central square. Skeletons stood in neat phalanxes as black-hooded creatures rode bile wolves in formation, herding the undead into separate squadrons. Dark, winged shadows glided by overhead, and everywhere he looked he found creatures of hell or death, or both.
 

His shimmering army began coalescing around him.
 

If we arrive here, we'll be dead before we can swing a single sword,
he thought.

He looked in the direction of the main city, toward the massive storm walls that were visible through the translucent buildings of the island. Beyond those storm walls, his mind's eye passed through a church of some kind, then out into an open market framed by a sporting field.

There
, he thought. With no other way to describe what he was doing, his mind
pushed
all of his passengers in the direction of the open market. The island compressed, as did the water of the bay, folding like a piece of parchment beneath his feet.

The space between him and his target continued to squash and fold. After an agonizing few seconds, all of the people in his charge—he had no idea how he knew, but he knew where each and every one of them were, including the machines and equipment—came to rest in a wide open space and occupied all of the sports field. He had even managed to
push
the soldiers into the bleacher seats surrounding the field and line up all the briene machinery in rows.

Finally able to release the hold on his power and the travel sigil, Urus let it all go and fell down. The effort of redirecting the sigil and carrying so many people left him exhausted and weak.
 

Blood dripped from his nose and ears onto the cold, sandy ground. He slumped onto the dirt and rolled over on his back, gazing up at the gray fog and the light snowflakes before closing his eyes.

Sleep
, he thought.
I just need to sleep.

He was vaguely aware of people shuffling and moving around him, but he lacked the energy to open his eyes to see what was happening.

Hands gripped his shoulders and shook him.
 

Go away
, he thought, to weak to speak the demand aloud.

Something sticky and crumbly pressed into his mouth. Barely able to chew, he tasted honey and some kind of biscuit. He chewed a little more, and more of the sweet biscuit pressed into his mouth.

Two biscuits later Urus finally opened his eyes to a blurry, gray world of fuzzy shapes.

People—he didn't know who—lifted him off the ground, propping his back up with a sack of supplies. A green blur crossed his vision then back again.

Luse
, he thought. He reached out his hand and she took it, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He straightened, taking a sip of a hot, thick black brew offered to him by one of the briene. It burned his throat and stomach and tasted like nothing he had ever encountered, but the more he drank, the more it seemed to dispel the weakness and the blurred vision.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You did it—you saved everyone. Not all of us heeded your advice to close our eyes. I saw everything," Luse signed, then punched him in the shoulder. "Now maybe you'll stop with that birth defect nonsense."
 

With tremendous effort and help from Luse and Goodwyn, Urus stood, still putting his weight on his right leg. He wondered if his knee would ever feel better.

"I need to get to the storm wall," Urus said. "I need a closer look at something."

Luse shook her head. "You're too weak to walk. You just did something no sigilord in any of the history books has ever done. You need to rest."

"We don't have time to rest."

After a few more of the honey biscuits—apparently the specialty of one of the briene soldiers in the company—and even more of the terrible black liquid, Urus was able to walk, or at least shamble, in the direction of the storm wall.

Urus, Goodwyn, Therren, Luse, Aegaz, Jols, and Choein walked together in silence as the briene rapidly set about building a camp.

"What is it you need to see?" Luse asked.

"Captain, is there a way to get to the top of the storm wall?" Urus asked Jols. "I want to see the bay from a high vantage point."

The captain took a few quick steps to catch up to Urus and turned to face him before speaking. "Yes, each wall is hinged to a huge column. A ladder runs up the inside of each one."

They turned a corner and emerged on a road near a massive church, the church through which his mind's eye had flown when seeking an alternate place for the army to land. A small group of men wearing dark robes over shining purple armor stood in the street, blocking their way to the canal that led to the storm wall.

"Who are they?" Urus asked, but no one answered. Instead, Goodwyn, Aegaz, and Therren all drew their weapons and pushed past him. Jols followed right behind them, drawing his weapons as well.

Urus and Luse moved to the side of the road and continued ahead so that Urus could see everyone's mouth as they drew close enough to speak. Goodwyn didn't look to be much in the mood for talking, however. He looked angry, so angry that his fists shook from the effort of holding back the rage.

What happened here?
Urus wondered.

"Step aside, Abbot Argent, we have official business here," Jols shouted.

"Official business?" replied the man. "You consort with the devils, and you even bring another into this city." He gestured at Urus. "You shall be tried and hung for this heresy."

"I'd like to see you try," Goodwyn snarled, then muttered something. From the reaction of the robed men, the words hadn't been pleasant.

"Please, sirs, there is a great danger on the island, and we need to get to the storm wall," said Luse.

"Stay out of this, girl," Goodwyn snapped. "These scarabs tried to burn us alive, and if they want a fight, we will be more than happy to oblige."

What the hell is a scarab?
Urus wondered.
What did I miss?

"There is indeed a great evil here, my lady," replied the abbot. "But it is not on the island. No, it stands before me, and one next to you. Devils wearing the guise of men."

Luse gasped. "Devils? Have you seen what's crawling up from underneath that island?"

"Surely the work of these devils and their black magic."

Urus frowned. The abbot seemed to have an answer, however foolish and ignorant, for everything.

"I repeat," Jols began, taking a position between the so-called scarabs and the Kestians. "Step aside or I'll let these devils have their revenge on you. I saved your hide once, but I'm tired and I've had a really long day."

"Enough!" Urus shouted. "We don't have time for this. I need to get to the storm wall. Abbot, do you care about this city?"

"Yes, of course I do, but—"

"Unless you want to see this entire city burned to ash and an army of skeletons and hellspawn let loose on the countryside, you'll let us through. If you want to save your city, then you and your men go back the way we came and join our camp."

"Well, I, but—" the abbot stammered. A few of the other robed men came to whisper counsel into his ears. They gestured in the direction of the sports field and at the very irritated and heavily armed men surrounding them. After an excruciatingly long wait, the abbot finally gave in and withdrew into his church.

"Wise decision,
scarab
," Goodwyn snarled and continued down the road, keeping his suzur out and at the ready. Therren and Aegaz followed with equally searing glares of contempt toward the friars.

"That looks like a long story they're going to have to explain to me some day," Urus signed to Luse.

"No doubt," she replied.

Jols met up with a group of his men at the storm wall, and after a quick status report, left them behind and led Urus and the others to a pier that stretched out to one of the massive black columns between the walls.

"Normally we shut these when the seas churn during the worst winter storms," Jols said. "I never thought we'd have to use them to keep enemies out."

Jols pulled open a thick iron door and entered the column. In Urus's weakened condition, the climb up the interior ladder strained his arms and legs far more than the time he had climbed up to the highest perch above Waldron, his knee cracking and throbbing as he ascended each rung.

Once at the top, they stepped out onto the storm wall into a maelstrom of icy winds blasting at the walls. What had been a calm breeze on the street below felt like a hurricane atop the wall. They clung to the frost-crusted rope railings, bracing against the gusts.

Urus studied the water.

"When we arrived I felt something, something wrong with the space over that bay," he said.

"What do you mean, wrong?" Goodwyn asked, finally calmed back down to his usual demeanor.

"The space right above the water has been changed. It's thicker than it should be."

"I don't know what that means," Goodwyn said. "What is thick space?"

"Thick space means you don't fall through it," Luse said.

Urus nodded. "Autar has thickened the space over the bay into a bridge. His army is going to march on the city."

Chapter Thirty-One

"The wyverns are slaughtering the briene," Urus said, watching the battle play out in the air above Findanar and the waters of the bay.

"Abominations," Murin said.
 

At the mention of the wyverns, Timoc added, "Disgusting, dishonorable creatures."

"We're losing the air battle," Luse commented. "The briene forces will be destroyed soon if we don't do something."

Goodwyn and Therren appeared on top of the wall, followed by Choein and the radixes. They carried heavy ropes slung over their shoulders, as well as packs with climbing gear and a full complement of weapons.

"What are you doing?" Urus asked.

"We're sick of lobbing stones and arrows at the enemy from up here," Goodwyn said. "We belong down on the bridge, on the front line, bringing the fight to them."

"Do you feel the same, Choein?" Luse asked.

"We do, my lady. We are radixes, and my lord's friend here fights as well as ten of us. We have been behind the wall for hours, waiting and watching. It is time for us to act."

"If you get too far from the wall, we won't be able to provide cover," Urus said. "We can't divert any of the briene from the air or the wyverns will get through and lay waste to our camp behind the wall."

"We know the risks, Ury," said Goodwyn. "If they overtake us, cut our ropes. You can't let anything make it up this wall. If anything happens to us, make sure the kids are taken care of. We owe them our lives."

Urus wanted to argue, to prevent Goodwyn from taking the risk, but he knew better, and part of him actually agreed with his friend. He was nearly unstoppable on the battlefield, and, as Murin had said, his place was in the thick of battle. So Urus merely nodded and watched as Goodwyn and Therren led the group of radixes over the wall, descending into the fog below.