The morning mist that shrouded Aethelburg was anything but natural. It was greasy, yellowish, laden with corrupted mana and foundry ash. Lyall Osyth recognized it immediately it was the Empire's sick breath, a lung wheezing before falling silent.
He crouched on a brass ledge, three hundred meters from the East Gate. His smith's clothes had been replaced by a grey tunic of an itinerant merchant, worn at the elbows, stained with oil. His Teral beat against his chest, hidden beneath an inner pocket, barely perceptible but Lyall felt it, that reassuring warmth of a hammer on an anvil.
To his right, Elara Finch observed the gate through a copper spyglass. She no longer wore her stone. Her neck was bare, and in her eyes shone a new gleam not that of the gift, but that of a cold will, tempered by loss.
"The checks have been tightened," she murmured. "They're verifying identities, goods, and they have mana detectors. If you pass with the Teral active, they'll spot you."
"I can turn it off," Lyall replied. "Let it sleep."
"If you turn it off, you lose your anchor. And without the anchor…"
"I know. I'm just a man."
Behind them, Elias checked the fastenings of his light armor, hidden under a pilgrim's cloak. Lyra stood apart, her shadows retracted as much as possible, her pale face hidden beneath a hood. Her features were drawn the Void within her demanded its share, and the proximity of the capital, saturated with mana, made it more ravenous.
"Let's go," Lyall decided.
They descended from the ledge and joined the line of merchants waiting to enter. The air was cold, heavy with soot. The guards Vane's men, recognizable by their black armbands stamped with a closed fist searched the carts with mechanical brutality.
A guard accosted Lyall.
"You. Where are you from?"
"Thalassa," Lyall replied, adopting the drawling accent of the Maritime Kingdoms. "I'm carrying hides for the tanners' guild."
"Papers."
Lyall handed over the forged documents Elara had prepared. The guard examined them at length, then raised a mana detector a glass cylinder set in copper, which began to crackle near Lyall's chest.
The Teral. Even dormant, it left a trace.
"What's that?" the guard asked.
"An old family stone," Lyall said. "Just a pebble."
The detector crackled louder. The guard squinted.
"Open your tunic."
Lyall obeyed. The Teral appeared, dull, inert. The guard touched it with his finger, then shrugged.
"Not worth a stator. Move on."
They passed through the gate. Aethelburg swallowed them.
The city had changed. The illuminated guild signs had been torn down, replaced by black banners bearing Vane's symbols. Armed patrols moved in squads. The inhabitants walked with heads bowed, eyes empty, like sleepwalkers.
"He's imposed martial law," Elara murmured. "And look at their eyes… some are under the influence of a Nexion stone. Vane has lobotomized them."
"How many?" Lyall asked.
"Too many. At least part of the population."
They headed toward the Weavers' Quarter, where the Waltzer had hidden his daughter, Mira. It was a labyrinth of narrow alleys, rope bridges, and abandoned workshops. The smell of cheap dye hung in the air, mixed with must.
Lyall stopped before a worm-eaten door. He knocked three times two short, one long. Silence. He knocked again.
A child's voice, strangled by fear, answered from inside.
"Who… who are you?"
"My name is Lyall. Your father sent me."
A long silence. Then the sound of bolts. The door cracked open, revealing a blue eye, ringed with dark circles, surrounded by disheveled brown hair.
"Is… is he alive?"
Lyall felt the weight of the answer. He knelt to be at her level.
"No, Mira. I'm sorry. He died a hero. He saved our lives."
The eye blinked, a tear rolling down a pale cheek. The door opened fully. A girl of about eight stood on the threshold, dressed in a gown too large for her, barefoot.
"That's what he told me. That he would die one day. But that he would do it for someone good."
Elara stepped forward gently.
"We promised your father to protect you. Do you want to come with us?"
Mira wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Are you going to kill the bad man? The archduke?"
"We're going to try," Lyall replied.
"Then I'll come."
She took his hand. Her small hand was warm, clammy, but it did not tremble.
They left the Weavers' Quarter and plunged into the underground. Elias knew an old Sentinel hideout – a vaulted chamber beneath the Great Clock, where copper pipes formed a subterranean cathedral.
On the way, Lyra stopped abruptly.
"Someone's following us," she said. "Not a guard. A different shadow."
Elias closed his eyes, activating his precognition.
"One person. A woman. She doesn't want to kill us… she wants to talk."
A figure emerged from a side duct. A Veiled One of the Breath, her emerald robe stained with mud, her veil in tatters.
She lowered her hood.
It was Sister Veridia.
"Don't strike me just yet," she said in a hoarse voice. "I'm no longer the enemy you fled from."
Elara drew her dagger, her reflex faster than her reason.
"You tried to hand us over to Vane."
"I made mistakes. Many. But Vane betrayed me. He turned my Power faction into puppets. He stole my stone. And now he wants to kill the Archon."
"Why should we believe you?" Lyall asked.
Veridia opened her robe. On her chest, a blackish burn, deep, still oozing.
"Because he tried to assassinate me when I refused to serve him. I'm a dead woman on borrowed time. I want to help bring him down."
Elias examined the wound.
"She's telling the truth. The mana necrosis is genuine. She has only a few weeks left to live."
Veridia looked at them, her once-hard eyes now veiled with infinite weariness.
"I know a secret passage under the Glass Mountain. A path even Vane doesn't know. I can guide you there. In exchange… let me plant my dagger in his heart."
Lyall turned to Elara. She thought for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"I hate to say this, Veridia. But you are our only chance. We accept."
Veridia bowed her head, an almost submissive gesture.
"Then follow me. There's no time to lose. The Archon is dying, and when he dies, Vane will only have to take his place."
They descended into the darkness, Mira holding Lyall's hand, Elara walking at his side, Elias and Lyra guarding the rear. They were five now, soon six with Veridia. Against an empire. Against a god in the making.
Lyall clutched the sleeping Teral against his chest.
Soon, he thought. Soon I will wake you.