Глава 14

Waiting for the embodiment of death and decay, the master of war, their king.

A withered figure emerges from the death-filled fog.

On the hills, he stands.

Through the swamps, he passes.

Out of the fog, he glides, through wind and sand, rising from the withered grass.

And upon the Arts ritual circle he descends.

Tattered stripes of cloth fall to the blood-filled columns, like a bony hand caressing a tombstone.

Only the most seasoned warriors recognize that the Nachzehrer's tattered ribbons, like the banners on Kazdel's walls, belong to generations of ancient Sarkaz tribes.

Their form ragged, their symbols recognizable, but their scent of war unmistakable.

Duq'arael, Regent's Crimson, Prince of Blood.

We were never close.

But the contribution that you and your blood made to the war is undeniable.

I bear witness to your glory and shame.

Slayer of the Feranmut in the Mist, Jailer of Time.

Usurper of the Royal Court, Executioner of Kings.

You denied the path that we now walk, as you've denied the meaning of the Black Crown—

But you gave your first and final drop of blood to the Sarkaz.

Your power shall not fade away, nor shall your anger, your hatred, your ambition.

He spreads his arms wide.

A black fog of decay rises, swallowing every boulder.

Red fades into sand and dirt, vanishing into the mist.

The warriors do not speak, but the earth begins to rumble as ancient witchcraft spreads across the battlefield.

'War, we nourish you with our best.'

'Their blood and bones at your behest'

'We are the living and the dead.'

'Together, we march as one.'

The black fog dissipates.

A drop of blood forms at the tip of Nezzsalem's staff.

It is the purest blood, the only blood that death and decay cannot touch.

...This is the Blood of Teekaz.

It evoked the call of Amnannam, but was lost in the battle's Arts Circles. The Confessarii searched seventy of them without finding it.

But Nezzsalem, Your Highness, you have found it for the Regent.

The drop of red liquid drifts toward Salus and enters her wrist.

Keep it safe, Confessarius.

Of course. I vow to protect it with all the strength of my bloodline... my life.

The Vampiric Arts Circles are still active...

What of the Sanguinarch of Vampires? The purest bloodline, the cruelest of the sovereigns, the pride of the Sarkaz.

Did he really die so easily? At the hands of the young Banshee and the rabbit?

He has not joined the myriad souls, but away has he drifted.

What a shame to waste so much blood.

Meddler of bloodlines. Do not desecrate war and death with your flippant insolence.

Um...

Apologies, your Highness, I was merely lamenting the loss of the Sanguinarch.

Then keep his legacy safe.

His blood will continue the fight with us.

Of that, I have no doubt, Sovereign of the Withered Court.

The Blood of Teekaz will fulfill its duty. If a mere tremble of Amnannam is enough to burn the heaven red and bring upheaval to the earth...

Then its final descent shall free our fate from the manipulation of Originium, as the myriad souls have so longed for.

Fate?

War will crush all obstacles beneath its heel, even fate.

The Deadwood Throne rises, attended by innumerable war altars, casting a massive shadow on the battlefield.

Silent columns of warriors step into the strange Catastrophe, continuing their advance.

We will advance before the storm.

Both the living and the dead—

This war belongs to all Sarkaz.

A new beginning.

Another quote from one of the sovereigns, general?

...No.

I was simply reminded of the furnace at the center of Kazdel.

Oh, the big one. I witnessed many feedings before I came to Londinium.

It is an honor for a fallen warrior to be fed into it, becoming the fire that propels our progress.

But it never seems to be sated. Small wonder. The flames of a revenant's rage only burn stronger.

Nadine... would you call the nomadic city by the name of Kazdel your <i>home</i>?

What is the meaning behind the question, sir, when the final battle has already begun?

I was raised on the battlefields outside Kazdel. The black rocks and the bones of my fellow Nachzehrer are the only things buried beneath the city's walls and wheels.

Where is home, if not Kazdel?

Yes... What other answer could there be?

The future is lined with uncertainties, but this much we know: this war ends where a new beginning emerges.

Have you made contact with Ulšulah?

No. They were very thorough in mopping up Brentwood.

Just as you predicted, our casters have picked up the trail of the Feranmut skeleton's movement. They considered attacking Londinium... attacking The Shard directly.

I gave them a chance... far too many chances.

There is no question that Major Ulšulah has been negligent in her duty. She had better have a good explanation... if she lives to explain.

Have you located the skeleton?

We have a rough idea of its location, but it will take time to find it on this vast battlefield. Should I take a squad there personally?

No. I will.

We will retake the Feranmut's spine, or destroy it. It must not fall into the wrong hands again.

You're going yourself?

Those mercenaries have interfered too much. They must be eliminated.

Before that, though... we will finish the ritual.

Our Nachzehrer ritual? I didn't think you cared much for tradition.

Cyclops, Lich, Wendigo, Banshee... more and more have left.

You've never seen these Royal Courts in Kazdel, have you, young Nachzehrer?

I suppose not. Other than the Nachzehrer, it's mostly been Vampires. Not the best neighbors, but you start to miss their smell when you spend enough time in Londinium.

The blood of the fallen has returned to the earth.

There will be no new Prince of the Crimson Court.

How many sovereigns do the Sarkaz have left?

'Bzzzz—'

'Logistics to Command. We've encountered a Catastrophe near Sufrior Chasm.'

'At least, I think it's a Catastrophe... we're being drowned in a tide of Originium.'

'The ship has lost power. Weapon systems severely damaged... all systems inoperative!'

'Defense systems offline... no response from Arts unit... I repeat, all systems inoperative...'

'Enemy spotted! Taking heavy fire, mobile Arts device... *Bzzt*...'

'Data... automatic record...'

None of these messages made it out.

The entire communications system is scrap. To think that so many have died to protect this little metal box...

...I salute you.

Phew... that bow hurt. I shouldn't take my hat off...

Our foe is unpredictable, aren't they? There's enough intel about The Shard to fill an entire building.

But you and I must take the blame for our present circumstances.