They fled, the street a blur, yet high above, Stasia could still see the distant bell tower. The Vagrant and the Imperator faced off, dueling shadows, and she prayed at least one victory might be had amid this horrid, awful nightmare of a day.

CHAPTER 44

RAYAN

Rayan knelt in prayer, his head bowed and his eyes closed, as he listened for the signal to start the attack. That sharp whistle opened his eyes. Three of them were hiding in a small home, Keles watching from the window, Arn leaning beside the door while steadily clacking his gauntlets together. Rebel soldiers and archers would sow chaos, and then when the Vagrant made his entrance, the three of them would come crashing in from the south to overwhelm the distracted soldiers. This was it, the time come at last. Rayan stood, taking strange pleasure in the groan of his joints and slight pain in his back. He was far from a young man, but with his goddess’s blessing, he would still be a terror upon the battlefield.

“Guide us now and forever,” he whispered. “Be it moth or butterfly, may your wings fly watchful above.”

“Ready to lead?” Keles asked. Her face was covered below the eyes with a long black cloth sewn by Mari in preparation. It resembled Stasia’s, only instead of a panther skull, its front bore the white outline of a butterfly. She wore her shining plate for the first time since the forsaking ceremony, and the sight lifted Rayan’s heart. Her sword bore a similar winged hilt as Rayan’s, though her shield was smaller than his, and perfectly circular. It once bore a rainbow of color, but was now painted a pure sheet of black.

“Almost,” he said. “You still haven’t told me your secret name.”

She may have worn a mask, but the curl about her eyes gave away her mischievous grin.

“Who else would battle alongside a Paladin and a Heretic but a woman named Doubt?”

“Then may we prove your name untrue this day,” he said, and stepped out to the street.

Screams of the crowd greeted him. The platform was distant, but he could see it above the panicked mass. Cyrus should have been standing upon it, his swords slicing free the ropes. Archers should be firing from the homes overlooking the stage. Assassins amid the crowd should have been burying knives into the scattered soldiers. Instead, the bodies hung, the platform beneath them opened up to drop them to their deaths. The rescue. It was over before it had begun.

“We’ve been betrayed,” Rayan said. “Lycaena have mercy.”

“There’s no mercy here, from gods or otherwise,” Arn said. “Run, old man! We are needed!”