Omra watched the Aidenist army swarm through Ishalem like plague rats erupting from a sewer. For more than a day, thousands upon thousands of mounted cavalrymen and armed footsoldiers clashed with loyal Uraban fighters, who laid down their lives to stop the monsters from desecrating the holy city.
Years ago, Aidenists had started the fire that burned down Ishalem. Omra had reclaimed the barren land in the name of Urec, rebuilt the glorious city…and now these heretics fouled it with every footstep. Aidenists had massacred the innocent priestesses and pilgrims at Fashia’s Fountain, dumped a thousand severed heads at the Ishalem wall, invaded Gremurr, beheaded his brother Tukar, set fire to Olabar harbor. They had used firepowder to blast through the wall—firepowder, which his own father had brought back from the Nunghals. The Aidenists had stolen even that! The list of atrocities was endless. The most sophisticated Saedran instruments could not measure the level of hatred and contempt he held for them. Why didn’t Ondun just strike them down and rid the world of their stain? The Fishhook army cut down his brave defenders and trampled their bodies as they pushed into the city.
Astride a horse he had commandeered from a guard captain, Omra rode back and forth, shouting, “Defend Ishalem! Its fate is in your hands!” Recognizing their soldan-shah, many of his men regained their courage and stood together. “Where is Kel Unwar?” Bodies lay in a tangle at the base of God’s Barricade, shot down by Aidenist arrows or killed in the explosion. It looked like a massacre. “Unwar! Where is Unwar?”
Finally, one of the soldiers looked up at him; the right side of his face was marked by a smear of blood. “The kel is dead, Soldan-Shah. Buried in the collapse of the wall.”
The news came like a blow to his stomach. The kel had been so proud of his masterpieces, the barricade and canal, but those defenses hadn’t been enough. Ishalem was breached.
Hearing cannon fire out in the harbor, Omra saw tall ships pushing toward the docks. The Gremurr ironclads had also entered the canal from the Middlesea side, where they were no doubt wreaking havoc. And Tierran soldiers swarmed into the city, killing anyone they encountered, whether soldier or civilian.
The agonizing truth became clear: as matters stood, Omra could not save Ishalem. Again, he remembered the biting truth of the driftwood reader’s words, telling him that the fate of the world hung in the balance. Your actions have the gravest consequences. At first he had thought her a charlatan, but he could no longer deny that she had predicted what he saw all around him now. I promise you, great destruction will be upon us.
And so he made his dark decision, knowing he could not win, and knowing he couldn’t simply surrender either. He faced the high ground, the holiest land in Ishalem. “We need to make a stand, hold a defensible area. Fall back to Arkship Hill—we must save what we can.” He wheeled his horse around. One of his soldiers held a battle standard rescued from a watchtower on the wall, and Omra seized the staff from him. Holding the Fern banner high, he rode toward the hill. “To me! In the name of Urec!”
The barbarians raged through the streets, hacking at Uraban defenders. Omra led his men past the fortress-like church of Urec, whose thick walls and heavy doors would protect the people inside…for a time. If he didn’t succeed today, however, the ’Hooks would torture and slay the faithful, just as they had killed the priestesses at Fashia’s Fountain—of that he was certain.
From Arkship Hill, though, Omra hoped to organize a defense, regroup, and drive them back out of Ishalem.
As he rode up the Pilgrim’s Path, he reminded himself that this was the site where his father had signed a supposed peace treaty with old King Korastine, thinking a new era had dawned. Now, Omra thought, it was a fitting place for the war to end.
On the first day that her army surged into Ishalem, Queen Anjine watched all semblance of strict military order fall apart. Jenirod and Subcomdar Hist tried to form organized prongs, as planned, but in the tangled alleys and streets the soldiers encountered small knots of defenders.
Even after they crushed the Urecari resistance, Anjine knew the ransacking would continue for days—and deservedly so. Her soldiers had bottled up their thirst for revenge for too long, not just during the recent siege but for years before that. Some of these men had waited all their lives for a chance to strike back at the monsters who had inflicted so much pain on Tierra.
By the time she and Mateo followed the army into the city, the advancing ranks had spread out. Her armor gleamed in the sunlight, showing the bronze filigree of the Fishhook. Mateo rode close to her, sitting his horse with difficulty; she could tell how much he was hurting, though his countenance was a façade of grim strength. He should not be here, but she felt very glad he was. They rode into the city together.
Through her helm Anjine looked toward the hill in the center of the city. She and Mateo had climbed its path as children to stand before the ancient shipwreck while King Korastine and Soldan-Shah Imir pricked their fingers and imprinted their promises in blood…for all the good that had done.
Now Urecari horsemen and soldiers converged on the defensible ground to make a last stand. She saw crimson banners fluttering, as if the wind itself were stained with blood. The soldan-shah’s banners. “There, Mateo.”
He nodded. “I see it, Majesty. The soldan-shah is there—I expect he’ll surrender soon. He’s got no choice.”
Anjine wasn’t so sure. “Omra will not give up that easily.” She clenched her jaw and added quietly, “I hope he doesn’t.”
She whistled to Jenirod, who in turn attracted the attention of Subcomdar Hist. While some battle groups continued to spread out and secure neighborhood after neighborhood, the bulk of the Tierran army advanced toward Arkship Hill.