Rise of the Seventh Moon (Heirs of Ash) by Rich Wulf

Author:Rich Wulf [Wulf, Rich]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786964925
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2013-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

All that Zed could see was flame.

All around him, fire consumed the once proud temples of Vathirond. The bodies of the dead and dying lay strewn about the square. Most of the knights had moved on, pushing toward the next objective. Zed had arrived late, returning from delivering a message to the rear guard. He arrived only in time to see the last of the temples put to the torch. Now he stood in the center of the square. His massive sword hung limp in one hand, blade dragging across the paving stones.

At first he thought it was the Cyrans, and he cursed them for their cruelty. Then he saw a band of his fellow knights emerge from the temple of Kol Korran, still holding flaming brands and swords drenched in blood. He stared at them in silent horror, but they paid him no mind, marching out of the square. He stood, numb and confused, unable to comprehend what he had seen.

If he had been here earlier, could he have prevented this? Or would he have been swept up in the bloodlust of his comrades and done the same? He knew the charisma with which Kalaven commanded her soldiers; he had felt it personally. He just never imagined that she could be so brutal.

It was the scream that snapped him back to reality. A woman’s scream from the shadowed alley between two ruined temples. He ran toward the sound, only to find two of his comrades, Airik and Daiven, dragging a girl through the ash-strewn alley. Her scorched robes bore the octogram of the Sovereign Host, now stained with blood.

“What are you doing?” Zed shouted to them. “Where are you taking her?”

“Just following orders, Arthen,” Daiven said with a wicked grin. “Go find your own.”

Arthen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The flames that coursed through the temple district now seemed to seethe through him as well. He charged, lifting the heavy steel blade high and screaming in inarticulate rage. Airik and Daiven barely had time to defend themselves, not that it would have mattered, for they had always been poor examples of knights. Two strokes of his blade and the men lay dead. The priestess offered no thanks. Seeing the Silver Flame on Zed’s breastplate, she shrieked in terror and crawled away through the debris.

Zed slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Around him, he could hear stone walls crack and crumble under their own weight. The flames consumed this once holy place. He felt weak, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. It was the only thing that still seemed real. He would have prayed for the fire to topple the buildings upon him, but he could not bring himself to pray.

He closed his eyes.

A sharp pain in his calf made him wince. He reached for his leg with one hand but felt nothing. He felt another pain in his lower back, and it grew difficult to breathe. Zed peered about in confusion.

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