Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [137]
She was reminded of the destroyed city Vyrmai-hon in the realm of shadow, and hastily shoved that comparison away.
“Don’t ride too close to any walls,” the officer in charge said. “Sometimes they fall.”
There had been fire everywhere, decimating every house, every temple, every shop. There had been earthquakes, leveling what remained. Nothing looked recognizable. She searched for landmarks and could not find them. Even the hills stretching up from the bay looked different, and she saw there had been a landslide that scarred the slope and altered the curve of the bay itself. Crude tents and makeshift shelters housed what few citizens remained. Scavengers poked through the rubble, clutching shawls over their heads against the cinders and ash that still blew in the air.
The air reeked of death. She saw picked bones here and there in the rubble, although an effort had clearly been made to clear the streets of corpses. Vultures perched on walls, fat and unafraid even of the living. In the distance she thought she saw something inhuman and swift leap a pile of rubble and disappear around a corner, but she was not sure.
It was as though Beloth had already risen, destroying Imperia with one flaming breath. Elandra looked at the devastation numbly, too exhausted to weep for the grandeur of this once-proud city. It had been beautiful and corrupt. It had been magnificent. Now there was nothing.
If Tirhin expected to remain here, he must be insane. She could not imagine living in this place, beneath the cloud, breathing the evil miasma of death and decay.
A gang of men darted out to block their path, bringing even the soldiers to a halt. The ambush spot was well chosen. Half-fallen walls hemmed them in on both sides. Little torchlight reached here.
Brandishing clubs and crudely made spears, the men seemed unafraid of the soldiers, who were already drawing their weapons.
“Give us your horses!” the spokesman shouted. “Give us—”
“Shut up!” the officer replied. “Get out of our way.”
“Just one horse. We have to eat. Please, we need to eat!”
Elandra could not bear their pleading. She glanced at the servants. “Throw them one of the food bags—”
“No, Majesty!” the officer said, turning in his saddle. “They’ll be on us like demons, hordes of them. Give them nothing.”
It was narrow here, and dark. Elandra could feel eyes watching her from all sides.
The brigands spoke to each other with quick whispers. “Who is she?” the spokesman called.
“Damn,” the officer said.
“Who is she?”
“Tell them,” Elandra commanded.
Albain reached over from his horse to grab her wrist in warning, but she pulled free.
“Tell them,” she said again.
This had been her city. These had been her people. She had escaped, but they had not. She could not bear to witness this now, yet she forced herself not to flinch. She felt responsible for all of them. She must find a way to help.
The officer rose slightly in his stirrups. “You are blocking the path of her Majesty, the Empress Elandra,” he said sternly. “Let her Majesty pass!”
The men fell back. “The empress,” they said to each other, elbowing and pointing. “It’s the empress.”
Someone appeared at the top of the wall, holding a torch. It shone full on Elandra as they kicked their horses forward, and more people appeared as if by magic.
“The empress!”
“It’s the empress!”
“Thank the gods, she has returned to us safely.”
Their feeble cheers broke her heart. She waved to them, trotting past as the soldiers took advantage of the chance to get free. Again she glanced back at the servants.
“Give them the food,” she commanded. “All of it.”
“Majesty!” the officer protested in horror. “No—”
But the servants were already tossing out the food pouches. Five of them landed among the townspeople, who leaped on them in sudden kicking, screaming, flailing savagery, fighting like starving animals for scant reward.
“Move!” the officer bellowed.
They galloped away, bunched so tightly together that Elandra’s leg was crushed against her father’s stirrup.