Chapter 39 City of Ruin
They gathered in the house as the Arcanist strapped on his weapons. Anaya was still shaking, even with Evaine’s comforting arms around her. Rolan paced in front of the fireplace agitatedly.
“Where did it break in?” Luc asked Anaya.
“The south quarter, I think.”
“It didn’t trigger the warning system?”
The walls of Crisanth were lined with bells which would be set to clanging if anything larger than a dog climbed over or smashed through the stone. The bells were loud enough to reach the Arcanist’s ears even as far as his house. But Rolan had not heard them.
“It obliterated the warning system,” said Anaya. “I saw it. It was like… a great oak tree, its head and shoulders moving over the rooftops. It smashed houses with its steps.” She gave Evaine a nervous glance. “I tried to stay in the shop like you said. But people were injured, they needed help.”
“You did the right thing,” Evaine said.
Anaya looked down at the blood on her dress. “I pulled a man out from under his own house. He lost an arm. I—I bandaged him as best I could.”
Evaine drew her apprentice into an embrace. “You did well.” Over Anaya’s head she stared at Luc with worried eyes. “The Cryptic isn’t your only problem. Strider and his gang are still out there.”
Rolan tensed, imagining Luc caught between his father, Hoff, and the giant Cryptic.
His father, who could use Arcana.
“They’re no idle threat, Arcanist,” Evaine pressed.
“No,” Luc agreed grimly. “They are not. What I don’t understand is how they learned to summon Arcana.”
Rolan shook his head. “They didn’t. At least, they didn’t summon it the way we do. They… ate the relics. Crunched them up like carrots and swallowed them right down.”
Luc stared at Rolan, a shadow passing over his face. For a moment he looked so stricken that Rolan feared he was relapsing and that his wounds were opening again. Behind him Evaine too went pale, her eyes widening. Did she know something about all this?
“They ate them?” Luc repeated in a hard tone. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, why?” Rolan asked. “What did they do? What does it mean?”
After a moment the Arcanist shook his head.
His gaze was distant and troubled. “I cannot be certain yet, but… that is a problem for another time. I must deal with this Cryptic first.” Luc paused to frown at Rolan, who was now retrieving his old knives from the sheath by the door. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready. I am your apprentice, you know. And before you start in with your huffing and puffing and throwing your weight around, I intend to stick with Evaine and Anaya. Someone has to keep them safe while you go kill that thing.”
Luc held his gaze for a long, measuring moment, until Rolan began to sweat under the collar. What if Luc had changed his mind again? What if he was having second thoughts about keeping Rolan?
Without saying a word, Luc turned and went to the wall behind his bed. He hooked a finger into a knot in the wall, prying out one of the slatted boards. From a cavity behind it, he withdrew a sword.
It was small and sleek with a leather-wrapped hilt and a cross guard of silver carved like two raven’s wings. When Luc swept it slowly through the air, the blade shimmered with blue light. The aleth carved near the hilt glimmered with Arcana.
He held it in his hands for a moment, gazing at it as if he could see precious memories reflected in its honed steel.
Then he held it out, hilt first, to Rolan.
“This is the sword of an Arcanist,” he said. “Imbued with Arcana, its secret already drawn out. Wield it with honor. Find the center. Strike the core.”
Rolan had stopped breathing. He took the sword with a trembling hand.
But as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he felt a whisper in his ear, and a thread of strength coiled from the sword, up his hand, and shivered around his wrist. It was heavier than a dagger, of course, but not too heavy, its weight perfectly balanced in his hand as if it were an extension of his own arm.
He stopped trembling and stood tall, the blade vertical to his face. He gazed at himself in the steel.
“Strike the core,” he whispered. “Hey, what about my using Arcana being against ‘all laws, civil and Arcane’?”
“Consider this a special exception,” Luc replied. “Just… don’t abuse it.”
“Who, me?” Rolan grinned as Luc strode to the door, whistling for his horse. Apple came galloping up, still barebacked but full of fire, ready for another mad run.
“I will see you back in the city,” Luc said, swinging his bulk onto the horse’s back. His eyes lingered on Rolan for just a moment, then on Evaine. “Truth willing.”
He was gone in a spray of mud and a clatter of hooves, his cloak a swirl of ink against the gray sky.
With a deep breath, Rolan turned to Anaya and Evaine.
“Cool sword,” said Anaya, grinning weakly.
“Finally,” Rolan replied.
Evaine picked up her satchel and set her lips in a grim line. “Come, both of you. There will be much work to do before this day is done.”
They set off. For Rolan, it was the fourth time he’d traveled this path today, and he could feel it in his legs.
But he strode quickly, hoping they wouldn’t be too far behind the Arcanist. He’d said he would travel with Evaine and Anaya, but he hadn’t quite promised not to help Luc fight once they did reach Crisanth.
His first real glimpse of the city, viewed when the track crested a high hill, made his stomach turn over.
“Goddess save us all,” Evaine breathed.
Smoke billowed in a meandering path across Crisanth, marking the Cryptic’s trail of destruction. Luc would be there by now, probably leaping heroically around and stabbing it in the eyes.
Rolan allowed himself to hope that this might—might—change some people’s opinions about him. After all, if they saw the Arcanist in action, maybe they’d finally realize how much he sacrificed and risked in keeping them safe. Maybe they’d stop treating him like the monsters he fought.
“Let’s get down there,” he said, tracing the winged hilt of his sword.
His sword.
He really needed all this business with the Cryptic to be over so he could admire it properly. Preferably somewhere very public, like the city square on market day.
Not that there would be any more market days if everyone in Crisanth got eaten by a giant Cryptic.
Having caught their breaths, they started forward again, only to freeze as a roar ripped through the sky. Even the clouds above seemed to shiver in response.
“We can hear it all the way from here?” Rolan gulped.
“I told you,” Anaya said grimly. “It’s big.”
The sound went on for entirely too long, an ear-blistering cacophony like scraping metal, grinding rock, and rolling thunder. It carved through the air, a blade of awful sound, and Rolan half expected to see a gouge tear across the underbellies of the dark clouds above.
By the time they reached the city gates, the din was deafening. The Cryptic’s roars overwhelmed Rolan’s senses, along with the screams of the people inside the city and the booming of buildings being destroyed. Smoke, dust, and ash clotted the air, making every breath a punch to the lungs.
No one stood guard at the gates, which hung open like a gaping mouth, vomiting out a stream of people desperate to escape whatever was unfolding inside.
But once they were out, they looked uncertain about what to do next and huddled against the outer walls in miserable clumps.
Mothers and fathers, children and grandparents, masked Listeners and disheveled, embarrassed-looking guards. They all looked terrified and lost.
“Don’t go in!” someone shouted at them as they jogged past.
Ignoring the warnings directed their way, the trio pushed through the crowd of fleeing people like fish swimming upstream. Once Rolan drew his sword, however, the crowd parted easily, people hastening clear of his blade as if he might use it on them.
“That way,” Anaya panted, pointing toward Verity Square.
Rolan nodded. He could hear the roars of the monster coming from that direction.
“Anaya, with me,” Evaine said. “There will be people in need of our help. Rolan…”
She met his eyes, and he thought at first she would order him to come along too. But perhaps something in his gaze convinced her that any such attempt would be futile.
“Be careful,” she said simply.
He nodded, feeling queasy with fear. So many things could go wrong today. He had so much more to lose now than he did just months ago.
Then Anaya grabbed his arm and tilted to her toes, and for a moment he thought she would kiss his cheek. His stomach nearly turned inside out. But she only put her lips to his ear to whisper.
“Pretend,” she murmured. “Pretend you’re brave until you are.”
“Got it,” he said shakily. “You, uh, you too.”
Anaya shook her head at him, a sad smile pulling at her lips. “Idiot.”
Then she was gone, trailing after Evaine into the throng. They vanished in moments, leaving Rolan to make his way toward the epicenter of the chaos.