Chapter 11

The ravaged gates gaped wide open, a doorway to the city of fallen kings. The full moon shone bright in the midnight sky, bathing the ruins with its pale radiance. Ayana saw no sentinels along the parapet. The high buildings, once rearing in their glory, lay broken, damned by their makers. An eerie silence enveloped the ancient remains, as if waiting in anticipation for their arrival.

“I don’t sense a living thing in this desolation,” Iezabel’s voice pierced through the gloom.

Zelroth chuckled. “Patience, Madame Iezabel.”

They continued along the cobbled path, the clacking hooves too loud against the flagstones. Ancient oaks and other strange trees reared over them, pulling and tearing into the foundations of the forsaken city in an attempt to reclaim their territory. A strange odor hung in the air—of mildew and dead soil.

Ayana almost jumped out of her skin when a soundless shadow passed behind one of the dark windows. “What was that?”