“So many . . . What’s wrong with them?”
“We don’t know. It started just two weeks ago, mainly striking the necromancers. Many are in that tent, but we’ve buried dozens along the way. I’m not sure if you understand our lore . . .”
“I know something about it,” Ella said.
“Well, as you know, our draugar need tending, and they need necromancers to control them. Our necromancers started to get sick, and Ada stepped in to help. As the Dain’s daughter she’s been trained in our arts. Now she is sick too.”
Ella’s brow furrowed. “Is it only necromancers?”
“Only those who’ve spent a lot of time with our draugar, yes.”
Ella thought about the things she’d learned from the alchemist’s book. “Corpses carry many diseases . . .”
The steward shrugged. “It is beyond me. I’ll find you somewhere to sleep tonight,” he said. “Enchantress . . . if you can help us get to the bottom of this sickness, we would be grateful.”
Ella nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”
She exchanged glances with Shani. The Hazarans needed the Akari’s help.
But it appeared the Dain had problems of his own.
43
The tension in Seranthia was palpable. The terrified citizens barricaded their homes, nailing planks across doors and windows so that the tap of hammers formed a pattering background noise to any walk through the city. The markets were all but devoid of food; stockpiling had led to a shortage of everything.
Once again Seranthia’s fate would decide that of the Empire.
Yet this time was different. When the allied force led by Altura had freed Seranthia from the grip of evil, leading to the defeat of High Lord Moragon and Primate Melovar Aspen, the city’s conquest had come to be seen as liberation as prosperity and pride eventually returned to the city, culminating with the coronation of a new emperor.
This time the enemy was feared by all. The Alturan high lord had warned them, and his words had been proven true.
Refugees from Aynar trickled into the city, each bearing terrible tales of death and wanton destruction. They said this enemy was unbeatable. Vats were being erected in Aynar, and the revenants would keep coming until they’d achieved total victory.
The enemy now had a foothold in the lands of the Empire. The Lord of the Night was coming for Seranthia.
Rogan Jarvish sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he sat in his study in the Imperial Palace and made notes on a map of the city and harbor. He had a meeting with the Tingaran marshals later in the day and would present his plan for the city’s defense.
Rogan had faced many enemies, and it took time to take their measure, but he now knew Sentar’s style. Rogan knew that the enemy force—which must even now be somewhere between Tingara and Aynar—would attack the city’s landward side. Meanwhile, their navy would attack the harbor. Sentar’s strategy was to distract them, to tie up their forces, while he went for his main objective: the Sentinel.
As Rogan marked dirigibles on his map, he heard heavy footsteps. The footsteps grew louder, and then with sudden force the door to his study crashed open. Rogan glanced up in astonishment. He saw a Tingaran officer he didn’t recognize.
“Ever heard of knocking?” Rogan growled.
The officer brandished a sealed scroll in expensive purple-edged paper and thrust it into Rogan’s face. “Rogan Jarvish, I bring new orders. I regret to inform you that you are hereby dismissed from the army.”
“What?” Rogan spluttered, rising from his seat.
He took the scroll and broke the seal. The decree was curt, summary. It was signed by the Tingaran Council of Lords.
“We’ll see about this,” Rogan muttered.
He pushed past the officer and felt seething rage build up, heat rising to his cheeks. Passing through the marble-floored palace corridors, he finally found the Tingaran marshals, meeting in the war rooms. It was a meeting he hadn’t been invited to.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Rogan demanded, holding out the scroll. “Marshal Trask?” he spoke to a Tingaran officer he usually got along with.
“Rogan,” Marshal Priam spoke instead, “your influence affected the emperor’s judgment, making him take most of the Legion from Tingara to go to Altura’s aid.”
“That’s not true!” Rogan spat. “I’ve always acted in your best interests. Taking the Legion was his decision, and I still maintain it was probably the right one. If they gained a foothold in Altura . . .”
“They instead gained a foothold in Aynar, right on our doorstep. You saved your homeland, Jarvish, but at our expense. The Council of Lords met this morning and they took our recommendation. You won’t be playing a part in the city’s defense.”
“I’m sorry, Rogan,” Trask said.