Chapter Fourteen

Rise And Fall

Before...

Mene had felt Her power waning over the last few weeks, and she had urged her clerics to proceed with conjuring the Dark Moon.

By Her will, the world would not see sunlight until her enemies ceased their heresy or were dead. They would know only darkness and cold, but her faithful would be protected.

But when the time came, Her ambitions were thwarted by one of the last people She had expected to betray her: Her own High Priestess.

In order to bring about to bring about the Dark Moon, She had invested some of Her power, and the power of many of Her faithful, into the sacred lotuses. They had always been repositories of divine power, mostly used by the clergy rather than Mene Herself, but that had made them ideal. Not only would they act as an anchor in the physical world for the Dark Moon, they would also bolster Mene's power.

She was going to need that power. There were other forces who would not sit idle when she called forth the Dark Moon, the Omniscience first amongst them. She had blinded the Omniscience for now, but it would know her intent soon enough. The so-called Prince of the Sun and his fledgling empire would also have to be dealt with. Mene's spies claimed that he was supported by Ezalor himself, and possibly the Eldwurm of Light. The other Eldwurms would likely join the fight too, though She had to wonder if the Eldwurm of Chaos might side with Her.

When Selemene entered the inner sanctum with the lotuses orbiting her, Mene knew that She had been betrayed. The once white lotuses had turned violet, twisted to Selemene's purpose. Mene had entrusted her with preparing them. Never had She suspected that Selemene would find a way to turn them against Her.

'I cannot allow you to summon the Dark Moon,' Selemene declared, silvery light swirling about her in arcs as she called upon her power, and the power Mene had invested in the lotuses. 'I did not want to do this, but I will stop you.'

Mene slowly stood, leaving Her throne. She was not defenceless, and nor was She without faithful servants. 'Perhaps I should have expected such treason from you, Selemene. It will bring me no pleasure to kill you. But I brought you into this world. Perhaps it will be fitting for me to send you from it.'

Even as She spoke, two of Her Nightblades emerged from the shadows behind Selemene and silently drew their daggers.

Selemene did not seem to have noticed them, but she had known that they would be there.

Mene saw them too late to warn the Nightblades. They struck from behind, burying their daggers in the backs of the Nightblades. Selemene had been busy turning Mene's own clergy against Her. Blood was spilt in the sacred sanctum, and that was not the only sin to be committed this night.

For once in Her time, Mene felt fear as Selemene advanced on her, the lotuses trailing behind her. She knew what Selemene was going to do: she was going to drain Her of Her divine power.

'And what will you do when you have bested me?' Mene demanded. 'Where will be the moon when I am gone? Who will protect the weak from the terrors of the dark?'

Selemene held up her hand, and spoke the words Mene had never thought to hear from her, words which filled the goddess with dread.

'I will.'

The arcs of silvery light became long, grasping ribbons which whipped forth, cleaving through Mene's counter-spells even as she cast them. They lashed across her skin, searing cold, and violet light seeped through them, coursing back towards Selemene, filling her with the goddess' power.

Those still outside, standing amidst the bodies of Mene's last devoted servants, quailed in fear as they heard the screams, the screams of a deity being deposed.


'Father? Father, are you still there?'

Kael reached over and placed a hand on his daughter's forehead. Her skin was faintly tinged grey, the veins standing out blue under the skin. 'I'm here, Filomena. I won't leave you, I promise.' His voice was as level and calm as he could make it, and he still felt the tremor under his words.

He had prayed that this was just a fever or some mundane illness, something they could cure with magic. But whatever this was, it was no disease. Something was wrong with Filomena, her body was failing.

Even magic was not helping. Worse, it was making the affliction more harmful. Filomena had attempted to cure it herself when she had started to feel unwell, but that had accelerated the progression. Kael had brought one of Mene's priestesses into the tower to try to cure it, but she'd made it worse too.

And Selemene had not visited. Perhaps that had been the worst of it.

He had sent her a message, but she had yet to respond. Mene may have been facing a war, but Kael was sure that She could spare Selemene for this. The priestess had said as much.

For whatever reason, Selemene was not going to see her own daughter even as she suffered. Kael was growing angry with her. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason good enough.

Filomena stared at him from where she lay, her eyes glassy and full of pain. Every breath she took was long and laborious, accompanied by a rattling rasp deep in her lungs. 'Is Mother here? Is she coming?'

It hurt Kael to tell the lie. 'She'll be here soon, Filomena. I promise.'

She believed him. Her smile was full of hope, and it was all he could do not to collapse and weep on the spot. But she needed that hope to keep her going, and so did he.

How could any of them have known that her latent magic, the power she had used to conjure butterflies in the endless garden and heal injured animals, would be fatal. Why her? Of all people, why her?

She could have been the world's greatest mage, not infamous for destruction or chaos, but loved for her kindness and generosity, admired for her ability to heal and bring joy.

What justice was there in the world when she lay here, dying. Her own mother would not see her, and there was nothing Kael could do to save her.

He would go to Mene on the morrow. Perhaps She would be able to help. It was risky for a deity to give such aid, with the laws they had to obey, the edicts devised by the Primal Mind, but She would be subverting them by summoning the Dark Moon anyway. A measure of Her power would be enough, She could spare that.

Kael had always been a faithful servant, rendering aid to Mene in many forms. She had allowed him to court Selemene out of gratitude, and Filomena was devoted to Her too.

'Father?' Filomena coughed as she stared out of the window. 'That light... what is it?'

Kael had noticed it too, a crimson light streaming through the window. Kael looked up at it and gasped.

The moon was bleeding.

As he stood and moved to the window, he saw red light creep across the sky like a spreading bloodstain on linen. Soon the sky was blood red as far as the eye could see. All across the world, people shivered in terror as the ground below was bathed in the dim, blood-red light.

As Kael watched, a small, shadowy form slowly rose from the earth. He knew what it was: the last remnants of a deity. Immortal, but deprived of power and too weak to fight.

The essence of Mene.

It rose higher and higher, stopping when it reached the bloodied moon. The blood in the sky folded in to envelop it, drawing it into the moon. The red glow faded away, leaving the twinkling lights of the stars to wink in the night sky once again.

Upon the moon was now a long, wide scar, as if a child had been cut from it long ago. Its silver glow was now brighter, fuelled by a new faith and a new deity.

Kael swallowed. 'Selemene... my love... what have you done?'


Now…

'Do you really need all of those axes, Taug?' Aiushtha asked.

Taug grunted. 'Yes.'

'Taug, you have two arms, not six.'

'I can throw them.'

Aiushtha sighed. 'Suit yourself. But we need to get moving soon.' She left him to it, watching the other centaurs as they gathered their belongings. She had no objections to a nomadic lifestyle. In truth, she wasn't even part of this herd. They just accepted her as a friend.

She was going to miss this place though. She missed any place where she worked, helping nature to flourish and shielding it from outsiders.

Normally, she would have stayed to fight. But a Demon was beyond her skills, and she did not wish to endanger the others. Taug and few others were willing to fight, but the rest would be retreating to safety.

Aiushtha bent to examine the flowers springing from one of the huts. She inhaled their scents, savouring them before she had to move on.

'Aiushtha?'

She straightened as one of the sentries cantered into the clearing, followed by other warriors. Behind them was a humanoid, heavily armoured, leading a horse by the reins. 'Yes?'

'This human just arrived. He surrendered his weapon without putting up a fight.' The sentry held up an impressive warhammer with an elongated haft. 'He asked for you by name.'

Aiushtha watched as the man strode into view. He was completely unafraid and unsurprised. The face, partially obscured by a coppery beard, was lined and careworn. His armour clanked as he moved, long ribbons of parchment adorned with texts flowed from his spaulders. 'Normally, I would be more welcoming, human.' Aiushtha stated. 'But we are in a hurry.'

'I know, Aiushtha,' the man said. 'Your friends are right to be afraid of Terrorblade.'

Aiushtha peered at him intently. 'How do you know about that? And how do you know who I am?'

'The Omniscience knows all, Enchantress.'

'Oh. You're an Omniknight.' Aiushtha had not spent much time around human settlements. They tended to greet her with arrows and spears, and she had little love for urbanisation and industry, but she had heard of the Omniknights. 'And why has the Omniscience sent you to me?'

The man smiled grimly. 'I am Purist Thunderwrath, and the Omniscience has need of you, Aiushtha.'

'For what?'

Purist fixed her with an intense stare, his blue eyes clear and determined. 'To fight in the battle for creation.'


The dreams had changed.

The song was still there, but now he could see something more. It was a strange beyond description: a maelstrom of colour blending and shifting together, shades he could not name, hues which had no place in the mundane world.

Sometimes there would a be shape there, a monstrous form which radiated pure power. Even as he dreamt, he could tell that they were dragons. Eldwurms.

He could hear their names too, sometimes the words they spoke. They tugged at him, or rather at Slyrak. They were not summoning Slyrak, not intentionally.

Davion knew that he was thrashing around as the dream ended. There were flares of pain in various parts of his body. His heart was pounding faster than it should have been and he was panting heavily.

When he opened his eyes, he struggled to think clearly. His vision was tinged yellow for a moment, and the rampant thoughts in his head were not his own.

He tasted blood, and feared that he had hurt his friends or even killed them. But when his vision cleared, he felt relief flood through him.

Marci was leaning over him, her eyes wide. The others were keeping their distance.

Davion gagged. He felt sick and weak.

Marci helped him to sit up and he saw that his clothes were shredded again. The scales must have sliced through his skin again.

But this time, not all of the wounds had healed. There were even a few small scales poking out of his flesh in random places, the skin around them inflamed, tinged red and tough like dragon hide.

Marci lightly touched his shoulder, the worry easy to see in her expression and her eyes.

'I feel terrible.' Davion murmured. Blood had pooled around him, soaking into the flowerbed beside him.

Mirana crouched beside him and very carefully nudged one of the loose scales on his bleeding arm. Davion winced as the scale came loose.

'You were… changing.' Caewyn explained. 'Not fully, but erratically. You kept shouting too. Stuff about the Thunder and "the end", whatever that means.'

Mirana finished tying off a bandage. 'At least our host left us with Sagan's saddlebags. I can bind these with what we have.'

'I'm not sure it'll help.' Davion groaned. Marci held out a flask and he let her tip some of the liquid into his mouth. 'It's Slyrak. It's… it's like he's sick.'

Caewyn looked to Marci. 'Any insight which might help?'

Marci frowned and shook her head.

'It's not the same thing, Caewyn.' Eserren murmured. 'But dragons aren't known for sharing bodies with humans. Maybe this is the reason.'

Davion sighed and plucked another scale from his skin. Though it was still smooth in the middle, it felt like the scale from an old dragon around the edges, coarse and flaky. Nobody actually knew how long a dragon could live for, since no dragon had ever died of old age. There were dragons out there which had been centuries, maybe even millenia old before their deaths.

Who knew how old Slyrak had been before that fight with Terrorblade? Did age matter to an Eldwurm? Their souls migrated whenever their host died. They did not know death as a mortal did, there was no single death for them.

There was so much they did not know about dragons. Davion had to wonder if the Dragon Knights acted more on impulse, acting out of fear, more than anything else.

Marci was living proof of their ignorance. Even Kaden had believed that she was a Demon. If he had met Terrorblade, he might have given her the benefit of the doubt. But if he had learned that she was wurm-forged, would he have tried to kill her?

Probably. Marci was the last person Davion wanted to see hurt or killed. Maybe leaving the Order would be a good thing after all.

The skin where the scales had been was still inflamed, gradually softening. If Slyrak had any wisdom to offer, he was keeping it to himself. But Davion had the distinct feeling that he was troubled.

No. He was scared. He had said that they were running out of time. Davion had assumed that he was referring to Terrorblade's plan. What if he had been speaking of something else?

Davion rubbed his forehead. Marci held out the flask again, and he accepted another swig gratefully. 'Did our host leave us any decent food?'

'Bread and water.' Caewyn answered. 'He's not terribly imaginative is he? Or generous.'

'Even Marci's culinary skills have limits.' Mirana sighed.

Marci shuffled up next to Davion, giving him as reassuring a smile as she could manage. Mirana had quietly taken him aside and explained what their little dance meant. He still wanted it to mean something.

He returned her smile. If the Invoker wanted them dead, they would be. They still had time.

Not that it would mean anything if Terrorblade won.


Turlenas strode into the Watch Commander's office, drawing his sword as he pushed through the doors. Behind him were more men of the Watch, all with their weapons drawn.

'Commander Prien, I am relieving you of your command.'

He had expected Prien to shout and rage, maybe even draw his own sword. Instead, Prien continued to gaze out of the window, listening to the crowds outside. When he turned, Turlenas saw that his was holding a bottle of wine. Drinking on duty? A bad example to set.

Prien sighed, removed his sword and placed it upon the desk. 'Do as you will.'

Turlenas stared at him, still surprised beyond speaking.

'I've done some questionable things in the name of the Emperor, Turlenas.' Prien stated. 'I thought he would bring order and stability, but this,' he waved vaguely at the smoke rising in the distance. 'This, I cannot be a part of.' He took another swig from the bottle. 'You'd better get started, Commander.'

Turlenas sheathed his weapon and took the commander's. 'Lydus, stand guard outside. The rest of you, come with me.'

Turlenas knew what he had to do. He would send a small group of men to open the gates when Marsian's soldiers arrived. The rest would try to limit the damage caused by the rioting civilians.

Not that the latter would be difficult. Shabarra's insanity had directed them to one target: the palace.

What worried Turlenas was the presence of the other Legions. Marsian and his men could be trusted, but the others were still an unknown.

Hopefully they would have dealt with Shabarra by the time they arrived. Until a regent was chosen, Kashurra would be left in charge. He would tell the soldiers to stand down.

'Protect the citizens.' Turlenas instructed. 'And get the gates open as soon as Marsian and his troops arrive.'

One of his guards faltered. 'And if the other Legions arrive?'

Turlenas could only give one answer. 'Hold for as long as you can. If we're going to die today, we'll take Shabarra with us.'


'Keep shooting!' Lina thrust her hand forwards, a blazing orb of fire hurtling forth and striking one of Shabarra's guards. The man fell back, wailing and flailing as his gambeson caught alight under his armour. It was not the first time she had killed somebody with fire. It was not a good way to die, but neither was being impaled or disembowelled. Lina used the weapon she had and was best with: fire.

The Wraith waved another group of mercenaries forwards, these ones armed with bows, crossbows and javelins. Shabarra had a large number of loyal guards holding the palace and its grounds. These men were well trained. Given how paranoid Shabarra had become, they had been drilling constantly in preparation for an attack.

The civilians could have easily overrun the gates, but the casualties would have been awful. Shabarra had also tasked his three court mages with supporting the guards. Though Lina was powerful, she could not hope to counter them by herself.

There were would be war-mages with Marsian's troops. Once they arrived, the odds would tip back into their favour.

As much as Lina wanted Shabarra dead, preferably screaming as she roasted him alive, she did not want to send civilians in to die. Her orders were for the mercenaries, the men and women who were much better trained and equipped. Under the command of her and the Wraith, they were taking up positions and whittling down the guards with arrow, bolt and javelin.

Large swaths of the city were still aflame. Knowing how dangerous those fires would be if left unchecked, Lina and the Wraith had persuaded large groups of rioting civilians to go and douse them. This would all be for nothing if the city burnt to the ground.

It was funny, Lina realised as she ducked back down behind a statue of Shabarra—one she looked forwards to seeing torn down—how she had changed over the last few months. Before, she might have welcomed the sight of Rasolir burning to the ground. Her enemies would be dead, and she would be free, never mind how many people died along the way. Just like that time she had won a battle for her adoptive clan by decimating the entire battlefield.

Now she saw things differently. She saw the bigger picture, concerns beyond her own, dreams beyond her own.

The Wraith joined her at the base of the statue, holding a bow. 'I never was that good an archer. Marsian had better hurry up, or we're going to be stuck here for hours.'

Lina peeked around the statue, then loosed another fireball. Two more men went down, screaming.

The evening sky was thick with fire and smoke, alive with cries of anguish and hate. Lina could smell burning wood and flesh. She felt sorry for the Wraith, who looked sick. This had to be bringing back memories of what Shabarra had done to her people. Her scarred face was only a surface wound, permanent but no longer painful, unlike her memories.

'They have a good position.' The Wraith glowered at the gates. 'And probably enough food to last a few weeks. If we're still here when the other Legions arrive, we're dead.'

'If it comes to that, I'll set the palace on fire.'

'And I'd just thought of what position I'd ask the Princess for.' A bolt bounced off the statue. The Wraith rose and loosed an arrow, Lina threw another fireball after it. The arrow missed, the fireball didn't.

The Wraith swore in elvish. 'Told you I was a bad archer.'

'Are you better with a sword?'

'I get by.' The Wraith glanced at her. 'It's harder to miss in a melee.'

A bell was clanging in one of the towers, and a horn sounded from the Sunrise Gates. Two blasts, the signal they had agreed on.

'They're here!' Lina cried redundantly. The main street she looked down led straight from the gates to the palace district, rising as it went and passing through the Plaza of Pillars. Men on horseback were galloping down the street, the way kept clear by Turlenas' men. Sphinx riders were already airborne, circling the city in case Shabarra somehow bypassed the men on the streets.

Turlenas had more than delivered. He and his men were keeping the riot under control, making it clear that they wanted Shabarra gone, but that the best thing they could do was leave it to the soldiers. Those most eager to help had taken up weapons, improvised or otherwise, and were helping to watch over potential escape routes, hoping for the opportunity to kill Shabarra.

It was just as Kashurra had anticipated. Shabarra's madness had given them an entire army with which to control the city. Rich and poor, old and young, human and non-human, all were now united against Shabarra.

But there was a snag. The palace was loaded with well trained men loyal to Shabarra. Callardis was no fool, and he had not been idle in the six years he had served as Shabarra's Commander of the Sun Guard. He had recruited more Sun Guard than any other Emperor, all to satisfy Shabarra's paranoia. He had picked out many of them from the Legions, choosing the most ruthless and least likely to question.

These men were the ones guarding the palace, and Callardis had also hand-picked a large number of guards for the district and the compound. All of them had fallen back behind the palace walls and were determined to hold.

There had to be more than just gold involved for them to be so determined. Had they lost family in the explosions? Perhaps they were from other settlements. Maybe they were so terrified of Callardis they felt they had to fight. Or perhaps they were stupidly loyal to Shabarra.

If it was the latter, Lina would not lose any sleep when she killed them.

Marsian dismounted from his horse and drew his sword. 'Bring the ram! Archers, to the flanks. Tortoiseshell formation around the ram!'

Behind the horsemen came a cohort of fully armed and armoured legionnaires. The front line brought their shields together, and the men behind lifted theirs to cover their heads. The men following, also protected by the shields of their comrades, pulled a battering ram towards the gates.

There was snapping crack and a flash of light. The men drew back a little.

'They have mages!' Lina yelled.

Marsian called up two of his war-mages, who lifted their staves and began casting spells to shield the ram. Lina, the Wraith and the archers tried to deal with the enemy mages. Lina thought she saw one go down with an arrow in his chest.

'Finally!' the Wraith exclaimed triumphantly. 'At least I think that was me.'

Arrows thudded against the shields of the legionnaires as they advanced, covered by the archers and mages.

Marsian saluted as a man in battered armour, carrying a notched blade, ran into view, followed by various men and women arrayed in various forms of armour, armed with all sorts of weapons. Garrisan returned the salute, and Lina noticed that his sword was bloody. She guessed that the arena master would not be objecting to his absence.

'We need to move faster.' Marsian announced. 'The other Legions will be here soon.'

'You're certain of that?' Garrisan stared up at the palace.

'They'll have seen the smoke, assuming that the explosions didn't give the game away.' Marsian stated. 'They probably heard them in Icewrack.'

'How long will it take to breach the gates?'

'Longer with those mages attacking us.'

'Is there any other way inside?' the Wraith demanded. 'The Princess didn't leave through those gates.'

'If we could use it, Kashurra would have told us.' Lina said. 'Marsian, we'll cover your men. Break through those gates!'

Marsian waved his men forwards and they hauled the ram into position, arrows and bolts striking their shields as they moved. The gates were ornate, but hardly ordinary. They were reinforced, wrought of the finest and hardest metals money could buy, and woven with spells for good measure.

Knocking them down with a ram was a tall order. Kashurra must have known, which meant that they could be broken. If it was impossible, he would have suggested something else.

There was a flash of light overhead, and Lina saw a shape spiral and tumble through the air. It smashed into the ground, blood spraying. A small shape flopped limply, smoke rising from its scorched armour and burnt flesh. One of the sphinx riders, obviously hit by a spell.

'Pull the sphinxes back from the palace!' Marsian told one of his subordinates. 'We have enough men in the streets to catch Shabarra. The sphinx riders are to watch the walls.'

'Legate!' a rider came to a skidding halt, close to panic. 'The other Legions have arrived! They're at the gates.'

'Damn it! They're earlier than we expected. Send one of our Legions down to hold the gates.'

'They're preparing their siege engines.'

'Those gates are tougher than these ones, they'll hold.'

'No,' Lina stood and strode over, ignoring the missiles whizzing overhead. 'Tell the men to open the gates.'

'Are you mad?' Marsian demanded. 'There are six Legions out there. We have three. Even with Turlenas in charge of the City Watch and the civilians on our side, we have no chance against them.'

Lina waved a hand at the rising smoke. 'Do you think they'll want to fight us when they see what Shabarra has done?' She did not wait for an answer. 'We're opening those gates now. You! Either take me to the gates or give me your horse!'

'Do as she says,' the Wraith suggested. 'I have faith in the Slayer. So should you.'

'They'll try to climb the walls.' Garrisan added. 'The men can't hold the gate against that many enemies. If Lina can persuade them to help us, nothing will stop us.'

Marsian sighed and nodded to the rider. 'Take her. Lina? Don't get killed. I'm starting to get used to you.'

'I'll keep that in mind. Try not to die either.' Lina climbed into the horse with difficulty. She'd never been a keen rider. 'That goes for you too, Wraith.'

'Working on it,' the Wraith loosed another arrow and swore when it missed. 'Worry more about my aim, Slayer.'

The rider spurred his horse down the street, Lina clinging to his waist. If this went wrong, they would be overrun.

All around them, men and women moved through the streets. Though there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their actions, they were all moving with a purpose. Many were trying to deal with the devastation, stopping fires, dragging bodies out from the rubble, tending to the injured. Others marched on the palace, intent on seeing Shabarra pay.

Though Lina was trying to figure out what to say to the soldiers, she could not help but wonder at the spectacle. All of these people were working together. If they could keep them unified, who knew what they could do?

Lina knew that she could be inflammatory. But apparently the people would want to follow her. People here had faith in her, they trusted her to lead this rebellion.

She could hear wailing as they rode, the sound carrying over the horseshoes striking the stones and the hateful yelling of the angry mobs.

Shabarra was going to pay.


The view from the Sunrise Gates was spectacular during the day. Prior to Shabarra establishing the habit of putting severed heads up there, many guards had considered it to be one of the best places to patrol.

Turlenas had posted guards in the gatehouse above the gates, and now they were looking out over an army, six Legions who had marched straight from Isirios. Many of them were battle-hardened, men who had fought against the Ursa in Shabarra's most recent efforts to expand the Imperium. They were loyal to their people, but Lina knew that they had seen their comrades die. Now they were being asked to kill their fellow citizens.

Lina dismounted from the horse less elegantly than she would have liked. It did not matter.

They had erected a barricade across the street. It would bring the horses to a halt, but would do little except slow the soldiers on foot. It would do absolutely nothing to stop the sphinxes, and Lina was sure that at this point, Shabarra would be more than happy to order the Legions to unleash their siege engines, hurling flaming munitions over the wall without a care for who or what they struck.

They would have catapults, mangonels and ballistae outside, but it was the trebuchets which Lina was most wary of. Though she had seen little of them, she had heard just how dangerous they were, capable of flinging their flaming payloads deep into a city with deadly results. The Imperium had made effective use of them in Misrule during the short-lived battles for the province.

Seeing them in action had caused many of the clans to stand down almost at once.

'Lina?' Turlenas approached, still holding his sword. He had evidently decided to take charge of holding the gates himself. 'What are you doing here?'

'Open the gates, Commander.'

'We can't, Lina! We'll be slaughtered. We can hold them for a while. The gates can take a beating, but they will break through.'

'I know.' Lina stated grimly. 'And if those gates fall? What then? How long before Stonehall sends troops to attack? Rasolir needs to remain strong. Shabarra has already weakened us. Trust me, Commander. Open the gates.'

Turlenas' shoulder sagged. 'And if you're wrong?'

'You can find me in the hells and say that you told me so.'

'I'm not wasting the lives of my men on a hunch, Lina.'

'I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to trust me.'

Turlenas sighed, then nodded slowly. 'Open the gates! Back behind the barricades! Archers at the ready behind the polearms. Move it!'

Lina climbed atop the barricade and waited, tense but determined. The Sunrise Gates bore an engraving of, no surprise, the sun, wrought of gold inlaid in the thick steel. It was an odd thought to have now, but Lina wondered why Misrule had not gotten along better with the Imperium before Shabarra had taken the throne. Misrule's people were enamoured with the sun, they worshipped it. The reverence for the sun was everywhere here too.

There was a resonating clang and the gears ground together, opening the gates outwards.

Outside, she could see the lines of red and gold tower shields—scutum, as they called them here—of the legionnaires. Though the armour of the legionnaires looked old, it was as sophisticated as modern plate. Yet they still swore by the huge shields.

They certainly looked intimidating, especially now. The army outside looked unstoppable. The siege engines behind them only added to the feeling of being overwhelmed.

Lina stood her ground as the first cohort advanced, swords drawn and shields facing forwards. She could see a bright red crest poking up from behind one of the shields. Not a Centurion's crest. It was a Legate.

Good.

Lina held up her hand, flames blossoming around it. 'No further, Legate! We have no wish to fight you.'

'Then stand down and surrender.' The Legate lowered his shield ever so slightly. Lina could see little of his face behind the visor, but she was certain that it was Patrodis. He was young as Legates went, but he had plenty of experience, and he believed in leading from the front.

'What are your orders, Legate?'

'To quell this uprising.'

'How, Legate?'

Patrodis hesitated. 'By killing all who oppose the Emperor.'

The hesitation was a good sign, as was him not referring to Shabarra as "God Emperor". Patrodis was no fanatic, and he did not want to fight his own people.

'You would kill your own people?' Lina demanded. 'Look around you! Do you see the fires? Can you see what is left of Weaver's Street? All of this is Shabarra's doing. The people have had enough and are rising up against him. Look at these men. Even the City Watch has turned on him. Only his Sun Guard are fighting us.'

'We have our orders.' He did not sound certain.

Lina had to push her point home. 'Orders to kill your wives, your fathers, your mothers, your sons and daughters. Six years of oppressing your own people! Haven't you had enough? If you stand with us tonight, we can be rid of Shabarra for good. And we can bring back the true heir. Yes, Legate, the Princess is alive. And when Shabarra is gone, she can return and take the throne.

Now you have to choose, Legate. You can follow your orders and kill us all. We'll fight, but you'll win. And your swords will be stained with the blood of your kin. Shabarra will continue to be your God Emperor.

Or you can stand with us. You can join us and help us to restore the Imperium to its former glory. You can join us and take back the future he stole from you when he murdered the true Emperor—a good man killed for the sake of his ambition.

Stand with us! Take back your freedom. Stand up and take it back!'


'What are they doing?' Shabarra demanded, spitting with apoplexy. 'What the hell are they doing?'

Callardis tapped the butt of his axe against the floor. The guard with the spyglass gulped. 'They're… they're waving their weapons in the air. They seem to be… I think they're cheering, your majesty.'

Callardis heard the sound faintly on the smoke-filled air. Yes, they were cheering. That meant only one thing: they were betrayed utterly. Now even the Legions were turning on them.

Marsian he might have expected it from, and perhaps Patrodis too. Loronos was pragmatic, a skilled tactician, but he cared about his men. He was well known for securing victory with as few casualties as possible. And he was probably tired of enforcing Shabarra's will. His Legions had taken a beating fighting against the Ursa, a campaign many whispered was pointless. It wasn't as if the Ursa had been attacking them.

'What about the others?' Durinus, the Grand Legate, demanded. 'They have orders to purge the dissidents!'

'I think they're… gods! They're entering the city too, but they're not attacking the rebels. The woman from Misrule is leading them!'

'We should have executed that bitch as soon as she entered the city!' Shabarra hissed. 'And those traitors… I want them all dead!'

'Nothing would give me greater pleasure, divine majesty.' Callardis declared. 'But with nine Legions now marching against us and the people rioting, we cannot even hope to hold the palace.'

Even a man like Shabarra could see that he was right. They were badly outnumbered. They could not even hope to hold the palace until dawn, let alone another day.

Shabarra swallowed and stepped back. He hadn't dared to go onto the balcony, instead sending one of his guards to survey the ensuing riot. 'They dare… they dare to turn against me? Their God Emperor?'

Callardis turned quickly as the doors opened, his labrys ready to cleave the intruder asunder. But it was Kashurra, not a traitor. Though Callardis did not like Kashurra much, he knew that the man was loyal to Shabarra. Or so he thought.

'Your divine majesty,' Kashurra bowed. 'Forgive me. I have failed you.'

'Yes, you bloody well have!' Shabarra exploded, spraying spit across the throne room. 'How the hell did this happen?'

Kashurra did not even blink, and his face remained blank. 'I caught wind of the plot too late. Many of my agents died in those blasts, trying to prevent this. But there is still hope, divine majesty.'

'How? How can there be hope?' Shabarra wailed, tearing at his hair. 'They'll kill me!'

Kashurra exhaled slowly. 'They intend to replace you, Emperor. And I'm afraid that tonight, they will succeed.'

Callardis sensed something in those words, something which he disliked. He hefted his labrys.

Kashurra kept his gaze on the God Emperor, completely unafraid. 'There is something you must know, divine majesty.'


The palace gates tumbled to the ground, bent out of shape by the ram. Marsian's men did not cheer as they charged into the breach. Though the men opposing them were loyal to Shabarra, they were still Imperial citizens.

The Palace Guard were well trained, but outnumbered. The legionnaires worked together, grouping together to form advancing shield walls, forcing the guards into walls and corners before cutting them down. It was brutal, bloody work, but it had to be done. Marsian had told them to do this, caring about keeping his men alive as much as did about killing Shabarra.

Patrodis and Loronos were sending their legionnaires to secure every inch of the palace grounds, aiding Marsian's men in securing the area. They closed in, forming an ever-tightening circle. When the ground were clear, volunteers would head inside to find Shabarra and eliminate any guards who did not surrender.

Lina was going with them, and she would not be dissuaded. To her surprise, Marsian agreed with her. The Sun Guard were well equipped, but he doubted that even their armour could resist her powers.

'I'm ending this tonight.' Lina vowed. 'Who's with me?'

'Need you ask, Slayer?' The Wraith flicked blood off her khopesh. 'If you don't get Shabarra, I will.'

Garrisan did not say anything as he joined them, he merely nodded. He did not need to express his wish to atone for his failure during the Bloody Dance.

Several elite legionnaires put aside their tower shields and took up bucklers or daggers as replacements. Their distinctive, large shields would be a liability in the palace corridors.

'Legate, stay out here and make sure nobody slips past you.' Garrisan told Marsian.

'Barricade the doors.' Lina added. 'We'll let you know when we're done.'

'How?' Marsian inquired.

'Password?' the Wraith suggested.

'Yes.' Garrisan smiled. 'You will know when we are done when we speak the Princess' name.'

Marsian nodded and stepped back. 'Give our beloved God Emperor my warmest regards when you send him to the hells.'

Lina threw open the doors and marched inside. Flames burst into existence around her clenched fists and emanated from her red hair. The Wraith and Garrisan followed her in, blades at the ready.

When the first Sun Guard ran at them with an axe, Lina incinerated him on the spot. His armour was no defence against her flames. His screams quickly faded and he stopped flailing, scorched beyond recognition.

Lina was not going to let anything stop her, not tonight.

With the palace surrounded by legionnaires, watchmen and angry citizens, Shabarra was not going anywhere.


If anybody is wondering, the way the Dark Moon works is quite simple: no sunlight means that plants can't photosynthesise. Mene's enemies would eventually starve, being unable to grow crops or feed for livestock. Plus the cold would kill many of them too. I'd like to think that it would mess with the tides too. This is all head-canon. All I know of the Dark Moon within the world of DOTA is that it is apparently a cataclysmic event.

Well done to anybody who spotted the little reference to my favourite Miracle of Sound song by the way. The last I heard, he was recovering from COVID. Let's hope he gets well soon.