Page 126 of Requiem of Silence

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

The endless, infinite melody,

which makes concordant euphony

cannot be muted by a dampening blow.

Harmony must grow.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

The rumbling of stone awakens you from a dream-filled slumber. You groan, reaching for the vision of the throne—your throne—sitting atop the steps of the Elsiran palace, a sea of heads both dark and ginger bowing down before you. The future.

However, in the present, a frigid awareness claws at you. A foreboding warning of danger. The deep groan sounds again, and the walls begin to shake.

In the distance, a violentboomrings out; dust and rubble fall from the ceiling. Is that cannon fire?

You rise and dress quickly in your stinking furs. The fireplace is cold, the room is icy, and, if you are not mistaken, this castle is currently under attack.

Explosions echo and what sounds like an avalanche roars as the ground beneath you thunders like the head of a pounding drum. You hurry into the hall to find it empty. No guards at your door—if this is an attack, then there are no men to spare. This is the chance you have been waiting for.

Though you carry no lantern, the orange glow of a fire burning outside the walls slips through the cracks in the stone and the holes in the ceiling. You make it to the precarious staircase leading up to where the Wailers are kept. It is likely unguarded as well, but their Earthsong will not overcome Nikora’s blood spell carved into your arm. You cannot harm her until it is gone and unless she releases it willingly, only her death will end the blasted thing.

You take the staircase to the lower level as great blasts assault what’s left of this decrepit fortress. You make it to the bottom just as another wall drops away. Dodging falling stone, you pause in an archway and catch sight of the fight. A small group of mages surround a rusted, antiquated cannon, though it appears to be firing on its own and must be some kind of amalgam.

Nikora’s Physicks have banded together, less than two dozen men and women retaliating with magical attacks against the newcomers’ offensive. You spot Cayro in their midst, hands up, gathering magic to himself. Then he turns on his own men and begins taking them down. Chaos ensues and a group of the raiders backs him up. Soon all of Nikora’s Physicks are down.

The newcomers are covered in dark furs, and one removes her hood revealing a young woman with a dark complexion. “Are there more?” she shouts over the roar of the wind, racing into the rubble. Voices carry across the echoing stone.

“No, Nikora sent her whole force here,” Cayro answers. “She’s trying to flee through the catacombs with Dahlia’s flesh.”

“Should we go after her?”

Cayro peers in the direction of the central hall toward a staircase leading down. “It’s a maze down there. I don’t want anyone else harmed, and she has neither her medallion nor a compass, so she can’t go far. Let’s set the explosives and bring this castle down. It will either flush her out or destroy her.”

You smile. Cayro has been plotting to remove Nikora all this time? Your estimation of the man climbs a notch—if he kills her, that will solve a number of problems for you.

“And Asenath, thank you for coming,” Cayro says, grabbing the girl’s arm. “And for trusting me with this mission.”

The one called Asenath nods. “You did well. But how close has she gotten? Did the wraiths tell her anything?”

Cayro snorts. “I doubt there is anything to tell.”

“Hmm.” She puts a finger to her lips and scans the area. You crouch down farther in your hiding spot. “And where ishe? We cannot allow him to run free.”

“I’ve sent guards to retrieve him, as well as the prisoners. But he’s prohibited from causing harm by a blood spell.”

You wonder at Cayro’s offer of escape, would he truly have helped free you or was that just another deception? Regardless, his insurrection has been expedient.

You skirt the damage, careful and silent, keeping well away from the others, and head down to the catacombs to find Nikora. You need her dead, but you also need that jar if you are to retake Elsira with an army of wraiths. Finding her before Cayro’s people set their explosions is imperative.

The bowels of the castle are even colder than the upper levels. No torches are lit, but light from the cracks in the walls abovefilters down, muddy and dull. You can barely make out your own feet as they trip down the stone steps.

You stop on a landing and close your eyes, listening. All is quiet, whatever creatures call this place their home have likely burrowed away due to the noise of the attack. But just there—the padding of feet, shuffling quickly.

The passageways truly are maze-like, but the main halls are wide and laid out in a grid. So long as you recall how to get back to one, you feel certain you can get out of here again. Making it out before the blasts go off will be the challenge.

You hurry your steps, pausing every few paces to pick up the sound of scurrying feet. You’re getting closer.

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