Royce and Hadrian paused near the headless statue, where the algae in the water cast an eerie green radiance to the underside of all things. Royce motioned with two spread fingers that a pair were coming up one side of the street and two on the other. While the two pairs were mere shadows to Hadrian, the fifth was quite visible as he loped up the center of the boulevard like an ape hunched over and traveling on three limbs. His massive claws clicked intentionally on the stone as signals to the others. Every few feet he would pause, raise his head, and sniff the air with his hooked, ring-pierced nose. He wore a headdress made from the blackened fin of a tiger shark, a mark of his station—a token he would have obtained alone in the sea with no more than his claws. He was the chief warrior of the hunting party—the largest and meanest—and the others looked to him for direction. They all carried the traditional sachel blades—curved scimitars, narrow at the hilt and wider at the tip, where a half-moon scoop formed a double-edged point. Like all Ghazel, he also carried a small trilon bow with a quiver slung over one shoulder.
Royce drew out Alverstone and nodded to Hadrian as he slipped into the darkness. Hadrian gave him a minute; then, taking a breath, he also moved forward. He closed the distance, keeping the statue between him and the Ghazel. To his surprise, he was able to reach the platform before the warrior noticed him and let out the expected howl. Immediately arrows whistled and glinted off the stone.
The warrior rushed him, his sachel slicing the air. Fighting a Ghazel was always different from fighting men, but the moment the two swords connected, Hadrian no longer needed to think. His body moved on its own, a step, a lunge. The fin-endowed warrior responded exactly as Hadrian wanted. Hadrian caught the warrior’s next stroke with his short sword and saw the momentary shock in the Ghazel’s eyes when his bastard sword came around, removing his arm at the elbow. A short spin and Hadrian took the warrior’s head, fin and all.
A high-pitched shriek announced the charge of two more Ghazel. Hadrian always appreciated how they announced their attacks. He was able to step out from his shelter now—the rain of arrows having ended.
The two bared their pointed teeth and black gums, cackling.
Hadrian shoved the length of his short sword into the stomach of the closest. Dark blood bubbled up from the wound. Without looking to see the reaction of the remaining Ghazel, he swung his other blade behind him and felt it sink into flesh.
Hadrian heard fast-moving footsteps and looked up. Across the open square Royce ran at him, carrying a Ghazel bow and quiver of arrows. The thief was making no attempt at stealth, his cloak flying behind him.
“What’s up? Did you get the others?”
“Yep,” he said. As he ran by, he tossed the bow and quiver to Hadrian and added, “You might need these.”
Hadrian chased after him as he ran back up the Grand Mar. “What’s the hurry?”
“They weren’t alone.”
Hadrian glanced back over his shoulder but saw nothing. “How many?”
“A lot.”
“How many are a lot?”
“Too many to stand around and count.”
The party reached the end of the boulevard, which looked nothing like what Arista remembered from her dream. The Ulurium Fountain—with its four horses bursting out of the frothing waters—was gone, crushed by giant stones. To the right, the rotunda of the Cenzarium still stood, but it was a faded, broken version of its former self, the dome gone, the walls blackened. To the left, the columned facade of the Hall of Teshlor remained intact. While it had weathered the years better, the building was just as grime-covered as the rest. Most importantly, the great golden dome of the magnificent palace—in fact, the whole palace—was missing. Before her, only a hopeless mountain of rubble remained. All around the parameter, every inch of space was carpeted with bones of the dead.
Reaching the end of the road, Alric spun around and held the lantern high. “Arista! Which way?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “The palace—it should be just ahead of us. I think—I think it’s destroyed.”
“That’s just great!” Gaunt bellowed. “Now what do we do?”
“Shut up!” Mauvin barked at him.
“Is this as far as Hall got?” Alric asked Myron.
“No,” the monk replied. “He wrote that he entered the palace.”
“How?”
“He found a crevice.”
“Crevice? Where?”
“He wrote ‘Fearful of the drums in the darkness, and afraid to sleep in the open, I sought refuge in a pile of rocks. I found a crevice just large enough for me to slip through. Expecting nothing more than a mere pocket to sleep in, I was elated to discover a buried corridor. On my way out I was careful to mark it so that I might find it should I return this way again.’ ”
They began searching, crawling among the boulders and broken stones. The collapse of the building covered the entire breadth of the broad boulevard with a mass of fallen stones containing hundreds of crevices, each of which might hide an entrance. They had only begun looking when Royce and Hadrian returned, their weapons still drawn and slick with dark blood.
“That’s not good,” she heard Hadrian say the moment he saw the pile.
“There’s a crevice somewhere that leads inside,” Arista said.
“There’s a horde of Ghazel right behind us,” Royce told her.
“Everyone inside that building on the left,” Hadrian shouted.
They ran across the square, struggling over the piles of bones and rocks that blanketed the walk and steps to the Hall of Teshlor. Yelps and cries erupted behind them. Looking back, Arista spotted goblins skidding across the stone, scratching their claws like dogs on a hunt. Their eyes flashed in the darkness with a light from within, a sickly yellow glow rising behind an oval pupil. Muscles rippled along hunched backs and down arms as thick as a man’s thigh. Mouths filled with rows and rows of needle-like teeth spilled out the sides as if there was not enough room in their mouths to contain them.
“Don’t watch, run!” Hadrian shouted, grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her across the loose mounds of bones.
Alric and Mauvin sped up the steps, heaving themselves simultaneously against the great doors.
Hadrian threw Arista to the ground, where she fell, scraping her knee and bruising her cheek.
“Wha—” Her protest was silenced as a hail of arrows peppered around them, sparking off the stones. He hauled her to her feet once more and shoved her forward.
“Go!” Hadrian ordered.
She ran as fast as she could, charging up the steps. Myron and Magnus, who had just slipped inside the big double doors, waved at her to hurry. She glanced behind her. Gaunt was just reaching the base of the steps.
Arrows flew again.