The important thing was that she squash the tendril of doubt that made her worry whether she’d make it back to Cerre. Of course she’d be fine. Eklor wasn’t still alive, or again alive, or whatever. The unnatural soldiers were remnants whose power simply hadn’t expired yet. Right? Of course, right.
Of course...
Closer to the tower, Zera could see scorch marks on the stones, as well as black stains that she didn’t want to consider. She saw the heavy iron door was bent, as if bashed by a battering ram—but she knew it had been hit with Stran’s fist.
“Just like we left it. Except with a landscaping problem.” Zera couldn’t hide the relief she felt. She didn’t know how she’d been sucked in by Kreya’s ridiculous suspicions. Of course Eklor wasn’t resurrected. How could he be? He didn’t have anyone like Kreya, willing to bring him back. That was one of the flaws with being reviled. Even his apprentice had fled the battlefield, to be caught a mile away by the guild’s unforgiving soldiers.
“No weeds by the door.”
Yes, that was true. While weeds choked the cracks in the rocks, all the ground around the tower was matted down. Probably by the undead soldiers. It made sense they’d take shelter in the only semi-standing structure on the plains. That didn’t mean anyone was living here—anyone living, that is.
“If I prove no one’s home, can we leave?” Zera whispered.
“Don’t do anything—”
But Zera was already moving.
“—stupid.”
Clutching the stealth talisman, Zera darted to the tower and knocked on the door. “Hello? Eklor? You home?” Before anything could answer, she darted back into the grasses.
“You’re an idiot,” Kreya told her.
“I’m bait. That’s always been my job.”
“Which would be fine if we had Stran and Jentt to fight, but we don’t.”
Her heart was racing, and Zera had the inappropriate urge to giggle, but she kept control and watched the door. It was absurd to think a few leftover contraptions meant anything. After all, she’d seen the rag dolls and neglected constructs in Kreya’s tower. Eklor had been an extraordinary bone maker, his skill unparalleled both before him and after. He could easily have created a few hardy constructs that had lasted and were simply continuing the tasks he’d given them before his demise.
And no one opened the door.
Nothing in the tower moved at all.
“See?” Zera began to say, turning to Kreya. She stopped as the grasses beyond her old friend bent in the opposite direction from the wind, and she felt her skin go cold.
“You’re right,” Kreya said. “My fears got the better of—”
Zera gripped her wrist. Made a slow circle motion with her finger.Surrounded.
The patrol, or another patrol, of unnatural soldiers had crept up on them through the grasses. So far, Zera had spotted ten of them.
No—eleven.
Shit.
Her heart began to thump faster, and sweat prickled her skin.
She hoped Kreya had a plan.Of course she does. Kreya always has a plan.It was one of the things that Zera loved mostabout her. And hated. But mostly loved. “Tell me what to do, Commander.”
“Run.”
Zera started to sprint away, but Kreya hauled her back and they rantowardthe tower.Why alwaystowardthe tower?Behind them, the unnatural soldiers burst out of the grasses.
“Strength,” Kreya ordered.
Zera passed her the talisman, and Kreya didn’t slow—she bashed shoulder-first into the bent door. It held for an instant and then popped open. They raced in, with the soldiers close behind.
Pivoting, Zera and Kreya slammed the door shut.
