They raced upward like rivers beneath stone.
The crowd became silent.
Then the Guardian’s right hand moved.
Only one finger.
CRACK.
Dust exploded from the joints.
Screaming began.
Guards drew swords.
People ran.
Musicians abandoned instruments.
Merchants climbed over tables.
On the royal balcony, King Aldric stepped forward.
“What is happening?”
Master Oren dropped his cane.
The old scholar’s face went white.
“No.”
The Guardian’s head lowered.
Stone grinding against stone produced a sound like mountains breaking.
Its eyes opened.
Golden light flooded the square.
Elias stepped backward.
The giant looked directly at him.
A guard thrust a spear forward.
“Get away from the boy!”
The Guardian’s hand moved with impossible speed.
The huge stone palm struck the spear sideways without touching the guard.
The weapon ripped from his hands and flew across the square, crashing through an empty fabric stall.
Everyone froze.
Archers appeared on rooftops.
King Aldric shouted.
“Aim!”
Dozens of bows rose.
“Do not fire!”
Master Oren’s voice cracked across the balcony.
Aldric turned.
“Why?”
Oren pointed.
The Guardian was lowering itself.
One knee struck the square.
BOOM.
Dust rolled outward.
People covered their faces.
Then the giant placed one fist on the ground and bowed its enormous head before Elias.
The gesture was unmistakable.
It knelt.
Before him.
The orphan.
The child without a family name.
The boy who slept beneath an abandoned bakery.
Elias stared.
The voice entered his mind.
At last.
I found you.
Elias swallowed.
“Why?”
The Guardian’s golden eyes brightened.
Before an answer came, bells began ringing from the northern wall.
Not festival bells.
Alarm bells.
A soldier burst into the square on horseback.
Blood covered one sleeve.
“Your Majesty!”
Aldric gripped the balcony rail.
“What?”
“The northern gate has fallen!”
People stopped running.
The king shouted, “To whom?”
The soldier’s horse nearly collapsed.
“No army.”
“What do you mean, no army?”
The soldier looked toward the northern streets.
His face was gray with terror.
“The dead.”
Then the city shook again.
This time the explosion came from beyond the square.
Black smoke rose behind rooftops.
Screams followed.
The Guardian stood.
Its symbols burned brighter.
Elias heard the voice.
They have returned.
“Who?”
The answer came as figures emerged from the northern avenue.
Soldiers.
Or what had once been soldiers.
Blackened armor hung from skeletons wrapped in moving shadow.
Some carried broken swords.
Others long spears.
Empty eye sockets burned violet.
The Forgotten Army.
Royal Guards formed ranks.
“Shields!”
The dead crashed into them.
Steel rang.
Men screamed.
A skeleton struck a guard down and continued moving with a sword buried through its ribs.
People scattered.
The Guardian stepped over Elias.
One massive foot landed between the boy and the advancing dead.
An undead knight raised an ax.