A grim pall of death hung over all of Shalandra.
At last count, three thousand, six hundred seventy-eight Indomitables had fallen in the battle against Warlord Daoud’s army. Scores more would follow them in the hours to come, succumbing to grave wounds and blood loss.
Of the Keeper’s Blades who’d joined the Hunter in the rear attack on the enemy camp, barely over fifty had lived to return. Another two dozen had fallen in defense of the city walls. Shalandra’s elite warriors, renowned around southern Einan for their ferocity, resilience, and Shalandran steel armaments, numbered fewer than four score.
Civilian casualties were blessedly low considering how outnumbered the city’s defenders were. Most of the nine hundred and fifty-three lives lost belonged to brave Shalandrans who had taken up arms—what tools they had at hand or weapons retrieved from the fallen Indomitables—to join in holding the walls. But the Zahirani arrows had taken a bloody toll on them, too, as had the Shahkukhti’s siege engines and the Dalmissar slingers.
But it was these two losses, the Hunter knew, the City of the Dead felt most deeply of all.
Pharus Amhoset Nephelcheres, Guardian of Dawnbreaker, Chosen of Hallar, Word of Justice and Death, and revered Servant of the Long Keeper, lay in state for all his people to mourn. The monarch’s ornate black-and-gold ornamental robes concealed the puncture wounds left by the crossbow bolts that had felled him. Upon his brow sat not the ornamental nemes headdress he’d worn in life, but a simple, warrior’s crown. The true Crown of the Pharus, a relic handed down through the centuries from his forefather and Shalandra’s founder, Hallar himself. The Pharus had been positioned with one hand resting on his chest, fingers closed around the Keeper’s Scepter. Set on the bier beside him lay the ebon-handled khopesh that had once belonged to his uncle. A gift from Warlord Daoud.
Though his flesh had slackened, Zadii embalmers and artisans had plied their trades to conceal the pallor of death. Looking down at him now—at the rich bronze tone of his skin and the calm, regal expression of his face—the Hunter caught a hint of the man’s Bucelarii ancestor on his features. In his death, Amhoset Nephelcheres appeared every bit the dignified ruler he’d been in life.
At his side lay the woman he’d loved, lost, and loved again. Callista Vinaus, Lady of Blades, Proxenos of Shalandra’s elite soldiers, would be sent to the Long Keeper in full plate armor. Not the oiled and polished mail of one who commanded from an armchair, but the same suit she’d worn into battle. The Shalandran steel still bore the dents, nicks, and scuffs of her clash with the warriors of Zahiran, Dalmisa, and Shahkukha.
A sword lay atop her chest. A masterpiece of forging, made with steel-smithing techniques lost to time. Older even than the Crown of the Pharus or the Keeper’s Scepter, perhaps even than the Hunter himself For the Blade of Hallar was an Im’tasi blade, forged by the Serenii and imbued with magic akin to Soulhunger’s and Deathbite’s. In life, it had been a symbol of her right to lead the Keeper’s Blades. In death, it was meant to remind all in Shalandra that she had given everything in their defense.
Like the Pharus, only one of Lady Callista’s gauntleted hands had been set atop her chest, gripping the Blade of Hallar. The other had been carefully manipulated to clasp the Pharus’ free hand. An unmistakable message for every Shalandran to see. Though duty had conspired to keep them apart, they had found their way back to each other. Indeed, their final moments had been spent together. Declaring their love for one another—and for their daughter.
