The next hour, silent and still, was the longest of his life. As the minutes ticked by, he almost wished they could go back to prayers.
Night fell, but attack did not come right away. Arlen knew it was a risk, but after an hour he could not stand it, and opened himself up to the magic of Anoch Sun, reaching out his senses for sign of the enemy.
They were out there. Night, there were thousands of them.
The mind demons had been in his head. They knew the layout of the city, and exactly where the tomb of Kaji lay.
But they were in no hurry. They had three days to desecrate and destroy the city, and obviously meant to savor the task. The ground shook as the demons began to tear down the city.
All night Arlen and the others waited, silent and still, the deep, booming vibrations of the corelings’ assault their only company. But in the end, the demons never came anywhere near them.
They were saving Kaji for last.
Dawn came to find everyone tense and exhausted, massaging sore muscles as they looked questioningly at Arlen.
“You promised they would come, Par’chin,” Jardir growled. “Here! To this very spot! You swore on your honor. Instead I insult Kaji by hiding in—”
“They will!” Arlen insisted. “Didn’t you feel it? Tonight was just the opening act.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Jardir growled.
“City told me,” Arlen said.
Jardir’s glower became uncertain. “The … city? Are you mad, Par’chin?”
Arlen shrugged. “Reckon more’n a little, but not about this. There’s old magic here, Ahmann. Magic that’s been at the heart of this city since it was alive with your ancestors. Open yourself to it, and it will speak to you.”
Jardir spread his feet and closed his eyes. Arlen could see the magic flowing to him, but a few moments later he shook his head, opening his eyes to look at Arlen. “There is power as you say, Par’chin, but Anoch Sun is silent to me.”
Arlen looked to Renna, who had already closed her eyes and Drawn as Jardir had. After a minute she opened her eyes and shrugged.
“It’s there,” he asserted, shoving aside the very real possibility he might indeed be mad. “Just need to practice listening.”
“So what happened?” Renna asked.
“They’ve made a ring around the city,” Arlen said, “with the tomb at the center. Burning their way inward. Reach us soon enough. Won’t leave a stone intact by the end of Waning.”
“Think I might lose my mind spending another night on edge like that, much less two,” Renna said, moving for the doorway. “Goin’ up for some air.”
Arlen moved to block her way. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. Can’t have the demons pickin’ up our scent.”
“So what, we’re supposed to spend three days buried in a tomb?” Renna demanded.
“If that is what’s required,” Jardir said. “We will die in here, if need be.”
Arlen began to nod, but Jardir went on. “But I am not convinced that is what is required. I would see the devastation with my own eyes, to ensure the voice speaking to you is not your own madness. If the alagai are attacking with such abandon as to raze the entire city in a single Waning, then they are not snuffing about for scents.”
He strode to the exit, slow enough to give Arlen a chance to try and stop him, but his aura made clear it would be foolish to do so. Arlen nodded.
Carefully they removed the heavy warded stone fitted in the entryway and went up to the surface, where a grim sight awaited them.
Jardir looked over the devastation of Anoch Sun with a heavy heart. The Par’chin had accused his people of destroying the place—not without cause—but the Krasians had barely scratched the surface compared to the wrath of the alagai princes.
The minds had let their drones play, digging up buried sandstone only to grind and burn it back down to sand and glass. As the Par’chin had said, a ring of destruction miles wide circled the area like a moat. A deep crater was filled with the pulverized remains of what had once been a sprawling and vibrant city. There was no piece of rubble larger than Shanvah’s small fist.
Save for the bodies.
At the edge of the ring, the demons had laid the sarcophagi of Anoch Sun’s great leaders as each was stripped from its tomb. Jardir lifted the lid from one, then turned away in horror, dropping the lid to gag.
Inside, the sarcophagus was filled to the rim with an oily back filth, the stench of which was overpowering. Jardir had to forcibly swallow back the remains of his last meal, putting his silk night veil up over his mouth and nose.
It did little to help. His eyes stung and teared from the noxious fumes, but he forced himself to step close again, seeing bits of the cloth used to wrap his ancestor’s body floating in the muck. Khanjin, Kaji’s second cousin and one of the sacred twelve, lay within, desecrated.
Renna stepped closer, then she, too, recoiled. “Night, what is that?”
“Mind demon shit.” Even the Par’chin looked green. “They eat only brains, to make it extra disgusting. Gives it that slick, oily quality. Sticks to everything it touches.”
“Will it burn?” Jardir asked.
“Ay,” the Par’chin began, “but …”
“I will not leave my ancestors like this, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
“You will,” the Par’chin snapped. “Maybe you’re right and the corelings won’t scent us, but sure as the sun rises they’ll notice if we burn their little display. We go back. Now. Wait for them to come right to us, and then pay them back in person.”
Jardir wanted to argue. Every fiber of his being screamed to alleviate the dishonor to his holy ancestors. But the Par’chin was right. The only way he could hope to balance the scales was to make the alagai pay dearly for the insult.
Arlen kept feeling his chest constrict, and had to remind himself to breathe. He dared not touch the power of Anoch Sun to learn anything of the foe. It was the third night of Waning, and the sounds of destruction had grown ever closer, until it felt as if the whole chamber would collapse in on itself. Then abruptly the cacophony stopped, the only sound the dust still falling all about them.
Even without reaching out his magic, Arlen could sense the minds’ approach. Not just one, but many. Too many, if they did not claim every surprise and every advantage. Even then, perhaps.
Creator, he thought, feeling the fool even as he did, if you’re up there, now’s the time to throw in.
There was no response, of course. Arlen had not expected one, but this was one time he would have been glad to have been wrong.
Renna wiped the sweat from her palms on her tight-laced vest, flexing her fingers. Her hand kept drifting down to stroke the handle of her knife.
Across the room, Shanjat shifted his feet, adjusting his grip on his spear. Only Shanvah showed no sign of unease. She had not moved in hours, her aura so flat and even Arlen might have thought her sleeping, if nor for her open eyes.