The Ember Blade

by Chris Wooding

  ‘Peace, Harod,’ said Orica. ‘We must all bear our share of the risk.’

  ‘She will be under the troupe’s protection until the wedding is done,’ said Aren. ‘There will be honoured guests from across the near world in Hammerholt, so a Sard won’t excite much notice, and they are not officially outlaws yet. The Krodans haven’t even admitted they’re rounding them up. They won’t start trouble at a royal wedding.’

  Cade found it hard to tell if Harod was mollified or not; his face was rigid. But he said no more, so Aren moved on.

  ‘Once inside, Orica’s job is to get away from the troupe and go to the lower levels, which should be relatively empty. She will make her way to the sewer door and let us in.’

  ‘And what if it is sealed shut? Or needs a key? Or she is seen and turned back?’ Wilham asked.

  Mara met his gaze calmly. ‘Then Orica will have to use her initiative. Additionally, if Harod or I have completed our tasks then we will also make our way to the door. It is vital enough to merit a certain level of redundancy.’

  ‘Let us be clear about the risks,’ said Aren. ‘The margins here are very narrow. The lake is tidal and we will only be able to access the caves at the lowest tide. By the time we reach the door, the lake will be rising again and our way out will be cut off. The cave will fill up. If Orica cannot get that door open in time, we will drown.’

  Cade felt the enthusiasm drain out of him. Suddenly the plan didn’t sound so good.

  ‘I warned you,’ said Aren, seeing his face fall. ‘If one part fails, we all do. Those of you who don’t want to be on that boat, speak now. No one will judge you.’

  ‘Is there no other way?’ Fen asked.

  ‘Not if we want to smuggle in weapons and enough people to do what has to be done.’

  There was a grim silence around the table.

  ‘How long would I have?’ said Orica.

  Mara replied. ‘The tides are complicated. Thea has two moons that follow irregular orbits and only repeat their cycle every two-and-a-quarter years. On top of that, it is necessary to calculate the volume of the water, correcting for any choke points which will slow the flow and the time it takes for …’

  Her words became a jumble to Cade. Why did she need to explain so much? He wished Aren would talk again; at least he was direct.

  ‘Given all that,’ Mara finished at last, ‘I have calculated that we will have about an hour before we drown. Orica, you will need to open the door by first bell o’ dark, or last light, which fall together this time of year.’

  ‘By fair means or foul, I will do it,’ said Orica.

  Cade swallowed, thinking of the freezing water rising around them as they gasped for the last pockets of air, but his fright quickly faded. He found it hard to be afraid of something that hadn’t happened yet, and the future didn’t bother him overmuch, as a rule. It all felt beyond his control, so it wasn’t worth worrying about. Let tonight be tonight, and tomorrow be tomorrow.

  ‘Harod and I will enter through the front gate,’ said Mara. ‘Harod is a scion of High House Anselm of Harrow and, despite his disagreements with his family, his rank entitles him to an invitation to the wedding of a Harrish princess. It was not easy to secure one at such short notice, but I do have certain … connections.’

  It was hard not to notice the bitterness that crept into her voice, but Cade didn’t understand it and she didn’t elaborate. Harod was looking as uncomfortable as Cade had ever seen him. He clearly disliked trading off his family name, after the disgrace he’d brought upon them. Cade wondered how many more unspoken sacrifices, how many quiet agonies, he’d endured for Orica’s sake. Putting up with Grub’s abuse was an act of heroism in itself.

  ‘I will pose as Harod’s wife,’ said Mara. A half-smile twitched at the edge of her mouth. ‘I’m a little old for the role, but there have been stranger matches.’

  ‘Ha! Bowlhead got married!’ spluttered Grub, spraying ale.

  Mara ignored him. ‘We will join the other guests for the enter­tainments.’

  Grub’s face fell. ‘That about right,’ he grumbled. ‘Bossychops and Bowlhead get to watch jugglers and stuff their faces while we all drown.’

  ‘No one is going to drown,’ said Aren. ‘Harod and Mara will take care of Jarrit Bann, the Master of Keys. He alone can access the vault, where the Ember Blade will be kept.’ He pointed again at the floorplans to show them. ‘His name is not on the list for any feast, so we assume he will head to his chambers after the pre-dinner entertainments are over. This presents a problem, because that’s likely to be where the key to the vault will be kept, and we need him not to be there.’

  ‘Would he not keep such a key with him at all times?’ Orica asked.

  ‘Yarin’s spies think otherwise,’ said Mara. ‘He locks his most important keys in his study. It would be too easy for a thief to pilfer them if he carried them on his person.’

  ‘Grub could just kill him?’ Grub suggested.

  ‘We’re trying to do this without leaving bodies,’ Aren said.

  Grub harrumphed and drank his ale.

  ‘Once we are in, some of us will head to the cells to free Garric, but Grub will go to Master of Keys’ office while Harod and Mara delay him elsewhere. He will need time to search the place because, for all Yarin’s comprehensive information, we know almost nothing about the vault door or how it is opened. Mara and Harod will learn whatever they can from the Master of Keys.’

  ‘Grub will get you in, Mudslug. Don’t worry.’

  ‘And no one will notice a Skarl running around the corridors of Hammerholt?’ Wilham asked sceptically. ‘Or, for that matter, a druidess with a dog?’

  Cade flashed him a look of annoyance. His purpose here appeared to be to poke holes in Aren’s plan, and there were holes enough in it already.

  Aren didn’t seem to mind. ‘We thought of that,’ he said. ‘Hammerholt is so big that whole areas are disused or have fallen into disrepair. Yarin has provided us with keys to those areas, so we can make our way around the celebrations rather than through them. As to Grub, he will go in through the window.’

  ‘Grub climb up outside wall. Grub better than anyone at climbing. One time, Grub climb into a maiden’s tower, and he—’

  ‘What of Garric?’ said Vika. ‘How will we free him?’

  Aren traced a route through the plans with his finger and tapped on the dungeons. ‘Those of us not working to secure the key to the vault will make our way to the cells, subdue the guard and leave them in Garric’s place. There’s usually only one man on duty, but we will have the numbers and the weapons to deal with more if we need to. The shift doesn’t change over till sixth bell, by which time we will be long gone.’

  ‘Maybe Orica can get away from the troupe. Maybe she can open the door,’ said Wilham. ‘Maybe the Skarl can steal the key to the vault. Maybe Mara and Harod can keep the Master of Keys distracted. Maybe there’ll only be one guard. Maybe you won’t be seen.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s a lot that could go wrong with your plan.’

  ‘Or it may be easier than we think,’ Aren replied. ‘There’s no way to know until we’re inside.’

  Wilham shook his head with a despairing smile and sat back, arms crossed.

  ‘Once we have Garric,’ Aren went on, ‘we head to the vault, where Grub will meet us with the key. We will take the Ember Blade and return to the door in the sewers while the Krodans are busy feasting. By this time, according to Mara’s calculations, the water will be falling again. We may have to hide awhile before we can enter the cave again and take the boat back to the lake, but if all has gone to plan, the Krodans will have no idea anything is amiss until much later.’

  ‘What if all does not go to plan?’ asked Fen. ‘What if the alarm is raised and we can’t wait an hour or two to escape?’

  ‘There is another way out,’ said Mara. ‘But we do not want to go that way, if we can help it.’

  ‘An urd underkeep lies beneath Hammerholt,’ said Aren. ‘
It was built over when the original fortress was destroyed, but it’s still down there, and we think the Krodans have broken through the foundations and begun exploring. We don’t know why, and we have no maps of it. But it’s reasonable to assume there are other exits down there, even if we don’t know where they are.’

  ‘There will be no light, and no telling what we might find,’ said Mara. ‘I have studied urd architecture and culture extensively, and read reports from Delvers who have explored their ruins. The urds were masters at constructing traps, some of which might still be operational after all this time. It would be far better to leave through the caves.’

  ‘And after that?’ said Fen. ‘If we do manage to get away with the Ember Blade?’

  ‘If luck is with us, the Krodans will never even know who stole it. If not, it may be necessary to disappear for a while. We will leave ourselves maps and supplies in case.’

  There was a moment of silence, and then Wilham clapped his hands, making Cade jump. ‘Excellent!’ he said brightly. ‘I think you are mad, and you will all die; but it’s audacious, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘A little audacity is what we need if we hope to free our country,’ said Aren. ‘Look where playing safe has got us.’

  Wilham shrugged to concede the point, then finished his drink and stood up. ‘Regardless, I wish you the Mummer’s luck. If you can pull it off, they’ll sing of you for ever. Any who decide not to go, you’ll be welcome to join my people instead. We need brave folk, and if you’re even considering going along with this … Well, then you really are brave.’

  The moment he was gone, Aren turned to them, his eyes flashing with determination. ‘Did you hear?’ he said. ‘They will sing of us for ever! That is what the Ember Blade means to our people. Yes, there is risk – great risk; but it is worth the prize. I fear death, as do we all, but I would do this alone if I had to.’

  ‘You will not go alone,’ said Vika. ‘Ruck and I are with you. If there is still hope for the champion to seize the blade, we must not falter.’

  ‘Grub going, too! No one singing any songs that don’t have Grub in them!’

  Cade couldn’t keep down a grin. The Skarl was obnoxious and annoying, but his reckless bravery was strangely inspiring. ‘Well, I certainly ain’t staying behind with Smiler and his miserable lot!’

  Mara agreed, too, and Harod, and when it came to Orica, she smiled at them all, her face lighting up. ‘I know how my song ends now,’ she said. ‘I hear it at last – I must find my lute, and some paper to mark it down!’

  ‘Hold, hold,’ said Mara. ‘We are not finished.’ She nodded at Fen, who hadn’t yet spoken. All eyes turned to her, and she looked fearful and hunted in the lanternlight.

  ‘How easily you put your lives in one another’s hands,’ she said quietly. Then she lowered her head. ‘But we must stand together, or we will fall alone. I will come.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Cade told her. ‘We’ve done plenty of stupid stuff in the past, but Aren’s never got me killed yet.’

  ‘Then we are agreed,’ said Aren. ‘We go to make history. We go to take back our destiny!’ He lifted his jack high, sloshing ale over the rim. ‘For Garric, and the Ember Blade!’ he cried.

  In their answering cheer, Cade heard the sound of victory, and his chest swelled with pride as he roared his approval.

  Look at me now, Da. Look at me now.

  84

  Oars creaked and water lapped against the rowing-boat as it slid across the lake towards a broken wall of grey cliffs. The sun was golden on the mountains and the air was crisp with the bite of coming winter. Grub leaned forward and pulled again, and the boat drew on, the small sounds of its passage swallowed by the enormous, lonely quiet of the lake.

  Ruck sat at the prow like a figurehead, shaggy and straight-backed, tongue lolling in the wind. Vika hunkered beside her, patched furs and painted face, one hand on her hound. Aren and Cade were jammed in close, their eyes on the rearing cliffs and what lay beyond. Grub took up the middle bench and Fen was at the back, her green hood thrown up over her head. Her expression was dour and her eyes faraway, the better to conceal her fear, but Aren sensed it anyway. He knew her well enough by now.

  ‘Why Grub always end up rowing?’ the Skarl grumbled.

  ‘You volunteered, you idiot,’ Cade told him. ‘After boasting how much stronger you are than all of us.’

  Grub considered that. ‘Still not seem fair,’ he muttered.

  Aren barely heard their bickering. His eyes were on Hammer­holt, a league distant or less, its upper reaches visible through a break in the cliffs. Even the mellow afternoon light and the hazy streamers of mist couldn’t soften it. It was a sloped pile of walls and angles, dizzying in scale, crouched formidably among the peaks. Battlements piled upon battlements with parapets like teeth and square towers guarding every corner. There was hardly a curve on it, and nothing of glamour or glory. It was as solid as the mountains, a blunt statement of power. This was the keystone of Ossia, the point upon which all the country’s might rested. Had Queen Alissandra Even-Tongue made her stand here, had she not been caught by surprise in a lesser fortress, the invasion might have gone very differently.

  Aren felt a chill of nervous excitement at seeing their destination. Like Fen, he was afraid, but he had a ferocious certainty that she lacked. So much could go wrong, there were so many bad ends to this adventure, yet he believed in his heart they’d win out. He believed it with the kind of brash confidence he’d felt when he faced down Rapha, Klyssen and Wilham. He may have cast aside the Krodan god, and the Aspects had yet to convince him, but he was a man of faith nonetheless.

  A man, not a boy. Not any more.

  Sometime in the last few days there had been a change. He was centred, calm, self-possessed. No more was he his father’s son, no longer a burden to others. His choices were his own now, and if they went to their deaths tonight, at least he’d die free.

  Grub brought the boat into the shadow of the cliffs that edged the lake. They’d purchased it with Mara’s money from a village on the far shore, hardly visible now in the mist. Fishing craft bobbed in the centre of the lake, but they didn’t see a soul as they made their way along the barnacled feet of the cliffs, searching among the folds of rock. Somewhere here was an entrance to the caves, promised by the old map that Yarin had left them. By now the water should have lowered enough to reveal it.

  If the map was right. If Mara’s calculations were correct. If.

  Aren tilted his head back. Lyssa was above them, ghostly in a rich blue sky. His mother’s moon. Tantera would be along with the dark, pulling the water with her, battling Lyssa for her father’s affection; for Joha was the Aspect of Sea and Sky, and the water remembered.

  Had his mother known who his father was? he wondered. Was she complicit in his crimes, or was she deceived? And in the end, did it matter? Perhaps, he thought, it only affected him if he let it. His parents’ choices were not his responsibility, and he didn’t need to atone for decisions he had no hand in making. His mother, like his father, was as distant and remote as the moon for which she’d been named. On some level he’d always be drawn to them, but they had no real power to change his course.

  He’d get the Ember Blade back. Not to make up for his father’s treachery, or to impress Garric, but because it was the right thing to do.

  ‘Is that it?’ said Cade. He was pointing off to port, where a narrow opening was half-visible in the darkness between two projecting rocks.

  ‘It may be,’ said Vika. ‘Grub, bring us closer.’

  Grub muttered something in Skarl as he hauled on the oars and steered them towards the opening. They had to duck as they entered, for the ceiling was low enough to hit their heads, but once inside they saw that the passageway headed on into darkness. It was chilly and dank beneath the rock, and cold water dripped on them.

  Cade lit a lantern and held it up. Grub took the oars from the rowlocks, handed one to Aren, and they used them as poles, pushing against
the sides of the passageway to propel the boat along. It was an awkward job in the crowded space, but the cave was too narrow to row.

  They left the light of the afternoon behind. Glistening stone closed in, pressing down on them, and noises echoed eerily. Ruck whined and flattened her ears against her head.

  Aren was pleased when the passageway branched: it matched the map of the caves, which Cade was holding. Cade directed them left. The ceiling got higher, or the water got lower, and soon they could sit up straight again, and everyone felt better. Aren took them down another turn, reassured that they were making progress. There’d be another junction ahead, according to the map.

  Except there wasn’t. There was only a wall of stone, blank and impassable. Aren and Grub poled them to a halt.

  ‘Did I miss a turn?’ Cade wondered.

  ‘There shouldn’t be a blockage here,’ said Aren, puzzled. He’d been following the map with Cade, and there had been no mistake.

  ‘The map is very old,’ said Fen.

  ‘Not as old as that rock is,’ Cade said testily.

  ‘Dumbface navigate like a drunk cow,’ Grub opined.

  ‘He’s reading it aright,’ said Aren. ‘As am I.’

  He peered more closely at the map, trying to see if there was some mark, some clue he’d missed, but this was the only way through. If they couldn’t pass, then they’d fall at the first hurdle and the whole plan would lie in ruins. They’d placed their trust in him and his ideas. Failure here would crush him.

  Then Vika chuckled. ‘Peace,’ she said. ‘We are early, that is all. The water is still too high.’

  Aren groaned in relief. Yes, she was surely right. The ceiling ahead was below the level of the water. They’d simply have to wait.

  Wait they did, in the chill tomb of the waterway, as the black water lapped at the stone, each wave visibly lower than the last. It was dropping fast. Aren dreaded the moment when that downward creep would be reversed, when each little wave would be higher than the one before it, rising up to claim the caves once more.