by AC Cobble
He swallowed and did not respond.
“If Vaisius Morden has been stealing the bodies of his children, keeping his soul alive eternally, and he is the one who founded the cult of the Cursed Father, isn’t it possible that this woman could be a critical addition to our group? I don’t know how you plan to stop the king, but surely an ally brave enough to knowingly walk this path is a boon, and she may be just what we need.”
Rew covered Anne’s hand with his own and replied, “One does not easily leave King Vaisius Morden’s service, Anne. I don’t know if her father truly found a way to sever the king’s connection to her, it is possible, but there’s a reason I haven’t done it with my own connection to the man. The king has more ties to her than just his magic. What would that woman do to free her father? Who wouldn’t she betray?”
“Oh,” said Anne quietly.
“I believe her story, that her father is in the king’s clutches and that she’s spent four years searching for a way to free him, but it’s not so simple,” continued Rew. “Fighting the king is hard, but agreeing to serve the king is easy. We cannot trust her with what we do. We cannot count on her when the moment comes to stand beside us instead of stabbing us in the back. While he lives, King Vaisius Morden alone has the power to release her father. Will she seek the king’s death or his favor?”
“Blessed Mother grant us your grace.”
Rew tilted up his glass and drained it, the empty crystal sparkling in the candlelight—like stars in the sky.
“Should we…”
“You’ve already told her she can join us, Anne. If we change our minds, the first thing she’ll do now is go to Valchon. What does she have to lose? She’d tell him everything she knows and suspects about us. I think we’ll regret her joining us, but I’m tired, and I can’t think of a way to get rid of her without giving us away.”
“Wine?” asked Anne, her voice warbling and plaintive.
He nodded.
“One more then rest,” she said. “Whatever happens, I don’t believe we’ll have long to wait before Prince Valchon makes his move.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we saw the Dark Kind surrounding Stanton. Stanton does not have long, so Valchon won’t take long either, one way or the other.”
22
Anne was right.
They slept fitfully in a wing of Valchon’s palace, taking turns at guard as if they were out in the wilderness. They did not discuss their plans or their strategy, though. There was nothing to discuss. Either Valchon would help his people in Stanton and elsewhere, or he would not. If he did not… They knew what Rew intended, but he still did not know how he would do it, so he was glad no one asked him.
Rew thought about that as he lay awake much of the night. Valchon implied he wanted to recruit Rew to face his brothers. Was that an opening? Would that get Rew close enough to the other man to slide a blade home? Valchon was still alive because he was no fool. He would be ready for Rew if the ranger struck at him. The dinner, the drinks the night before, it was all an act. It was meant to put Rew and the others at ease, but Valchon would not be at ease. He would be ready for an attack at all times, from any direction. If he wasn’t, he would have already been dead.
That meant Rew had to bide his time. He had to wait until the man’s back was turned, his guard down, and then Rew would stick the knife in. But he had to do it after giving Valchon the opportunity to eradicate the Dark Kind that were plaguing his land. If there was any chance the man would act to save thousands, Rew had to let him do it.
That part was decided quickly.
There was a knock on the door the next morning as they finished breaking their fast. The food had arrived at dawn, and Cinda, who was on watch, had let the servants in to lay the table in their sitting room. They’d eaten quietly, after Rew assured them that poison was not Valchon’s way, and he reminded them they’d partaken of the man’s table the night before. They didn’t discuss it, but it was understood they weren’t going to be allowed to roam the hallways freely. Valchon’s generosity would only carry so far.
When the knock came, Rew wiped his mouth on a crisp linen napkin, stood, and with a hand on his knife, answered the door. The plain-looking man who had been across the game board from Valchon the night before was waiting calmly in the hallway. He gave Rew a wan smile, his eyes flicking down to where the ranger clasped his hunting knife. “Prince Valchon wonders if you’d like to accompany him to Stanton?”
“He’s decided to act, then? He will protect Stanton?”
The man shook his head, his smile unchanging. “The Dark Kind moved first. They attacked the city last night. The fighting has been going on for hours.”
“Blessed Mother,” hissed someone behind him, but Rew wasn’t paying enough attention to determine who it was. Stanton, attacked by thousands of Dark Kind. Thousands, tens of thousands of people would suffer for it.
“When is he leaving?”
“In a quarter hour from the throne room. If you’d like to accompany him, I can wait for you here.”
Rew nodded and looked over his shoulder at the others. “Raif, get your armor. Zaine, your bow. Cinda and Anne… be ready.”
He didn’t know the nameless woman’s name, so he didn’t say anything to her, but she’d already darted over and was slipping her bronze chainmail shirt over her head.
Rew turned back to the plain-looking man and saw the man was still smiling at him. “Ranger, you will be with the prince. You do not need your weapons.”
Rew grunted and did not respond.
Prince Valchon was standing in the center of his throne room surrounded by a dozen spellcasters of various flavors and two score swordsmen who had the look of trained killers. His elite guard, no doubt. The men and woman stood poised, ready to sweep their blades out at any threat. Rew worried that in a moment, they would do just that.
Beside the armsmen, there was an arcanist and a woman wearing plain clothing. At a glance, Rew decided she might be the most dangerous one there. She must be an assassin or trained to defend against them.
As the party entered, the spellcasters ignored Rew and his companions. The swordsmen eyed them for a moment then let their gaze rove ceaselessly around the rest of the room, and the plainly clothed woman studied Rew and the others openly. Rew grimaced. The prince was formidable on his own, and attacking him was not short of suicide at any time. Attacking him with this many people around him, all looking for threats, was unthinkable.
The woman caught Rew’s expression and granted him a wink and a shallow curtsy. The curl of her lips was an uncomfortable echo of the man who’d fetched them. Both looked as if they knew something that Rew did not. An act? It could be. They were swimming deep waters, and he’d learned long ago that amongst the sharks, one had best have something to hide, and if not, you should pretend that you did. Rew scowled back at the woman, not trying to mask his displeasure at the events unfolding. If the woman was what he suspected, then she already knew he’d pressed the prince to intervene for Stanton, and being upset that the prince had not was a natural reaction. Rew would hide his actual intent by letting the truth of his emotions show on his face. The woman finally turned away.
Rew glanced around and saw their escort had disappeared. Was the plain man another assassin, a strategist, or the prince’s companion at the game board who just happened to be available when someone had been needed to collect Rew and the others? Muttering to himself, Rew stared at Valchon, waiting.
The prince did not meet Rew’s gaze, but he must have felt it because he declared, “It seems we’re all here. Shall we go?”
Without waiting for a response, he raised a hand, and beyond him, a swirling vortex of gold-streaked purple spun into existence. It was three times the size of the portals they’d witnessed Alsayer open, and in heartbeats, a trio of spellcasters darted through, all wearing the black robes of invokers. A gaggle of swordsmen followed and then a pair of green-robed conjurers. The woman—her hair bound back and her dress that
of a well-to-do homemaker in the city—strode through the portal with confidence that no homemaker had amongst so many deadly people.
“Watch her,” Rew instructed Zaine quietly. He didn’t know if the woman was a spellcaster or hid some other skill beneath her mundane presentation, but the fact that she was hiding meant she was the one to keep an eye on.
The prince walked through next, and shortly after, a swordsman waved to Rew and his group. They strode through the portal and found themselves on a hill outside of Stanton. The prince’s entourage had fanned out, encircling the hill, while several of the contingent stayed close. Rew couldn’t help but notice the woman stood by the prince’s side. Her eyes were on Rew, not on the city below or on anyone else.
The ranger returned the wink she’d given him on the other side of the portal when he’d first seen her and then looked down at Stanton. Beside him, Anne gasped and covered her mouth with a hand.
Narjags poured through the streets of Stanton like black floodwaters. People were visible in pockets throughout the city, defending as best they could. Rew pulled his spyglass from his belt pouch and put it to his eye. He saw the defenders of Stanton had erected the temporary barriers they’d seen positioned along the roadways when the party had been there, though many of those fortifications had already been overrun. Some buildings were locked tight, and he could see people firing arrows or stabbing down with polearms from the higher floors. It gave the ranger no satisfaction, but evidently, Baron Appleby had taken Rew’s advice and spread his defenses across the entire city.
It meant they couldn’t be overrun all at once, but it also made providing support nearly impossible. Street by street, it would be a war of attrition. Lit by the fires of burning buildings, narjags were chasing the people who hadn’t found a secure place to hide. In other locations, defenders were ambushing the foul creatures, filling blocked alleyways with dead Dark Kind. In a few spots, Rew saw organized forces of narjags making coordinated assaults against the barricaded buildings. That was where the valaan would be, he knew, but he did not see any of them yet. It was utter chaos, and he guessed thousands of people had already died. He hissed, watching a squadron of one hundred narjags breach a large structure and rush inside. Stanton’s defenders were even less effective than Rew had believed they would be. Already, the course of the battle was clear. The Dark Kind were going to take the city.
“Looks like most of them are within the walls,” murmured Prince Valchon, pushing his hair back from his face. “Confirm?”
A spellcaster, garbed in the green robes of a conjurer, closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow. They waited a moment silently, the distant sounds of the fighting drifting on the wind and reaching them on the hill. The spellcaster opened her eyes and turned to the prince. “One out of twenty remains outside. I believe this is as good as we can hope for. My advice, m’lord, is to proceed.”
Valchon nodded.
“I sense… approximately six thousand, m’lord. The largest gathering in at least fifty years. Is that the extent of Calb’s ability?”
Valchon shrugged and adopted a wide-legged stance. He flexed his fingers, and his eyes grew serious. “I doubt that’s all he can command, but it’s enough for me to act.”
“Valchon,” cried Rew, lowering the spyglass. The prince glanced at him, his face a blank mask. Rew snapped at him, “You’re planning to destroy the city, aren’t you? There has to be another way!”
“If I had the wraiths Fedgley harvested, it could be different, but I do not. There are no choices, here, Rew. Observe what my brothers force me to do. Observe what happens when good men—men like you—do not stand against them.”
With no ceremony, Valchon raised his hands, and the wind began to blow. It was subtle at first, and Rew only noticed it because he was waiting for it, but soon, the rest of the people on the hill shifted, moving uncomfortably as gusts of warm air stirred their clothing. Others began looking back behind them, and they cringed. Rew didn’t look. The moment he felt the first hot breeze across the stubble on his head, he knew what Valchon was calling. It was a spell that hadn’t been cast in generations, and the prince must have been preparing it for weeks. It was a statement to his brothers, his father, to all of Vaeldon, a demonstration of what Prince Valchon was capable of. It was the end of Stanton. Rew thought he was going to be sick.
“Blessed Mother,” said Cinda.
“What… w-what is that?” stammered Raif.
“He’s calling a rain of fire, a maelstrom,” said Rew, finally turning to look back behind them.
The sky was like the brightest, fiery sunset swirled with the dark of the worst winter storm roaring in from the sea. Red and orange, split by bands of black clouds, swirled and churned in a massive front that spread past the horizon, but seemed to rise into a soaring point just a league east of them. It was as if all of the clouds and all of the smoke in the Eastern Province was being gathered in a fist and pulled higher, creating a towering formation that, as they watched, raged into an inferno. From where they were standing, they could feel the heat of the clouds and the rumble of thunder. The wind was like a fire elemental’s breath pouring over them.
The spellcasters and the swordsmen on the hill were silent. The spellcasters would be awed by the power Valchon was drawing upon, Rew knew. The rain of fire was a story such men told each other when in their cups. It wasn’t something they could call upon themselves. It wasn’t something they imagined anyone living could call upon except maybe the king himself. But the child was always stronger than the parent, and Valchon wanted to remind all of Vaeldon of that fact.
The swordsmen likely knew nothing of the magic that Valchon was channeling. They didn’t know the spell, didn’t know what horror Vaisius Morden the Fifth had caused when the maelstrom had first been summoned. But they knew that a burning cloud, towering several leagues above their heads, was going to result in an impressive amount of devastation when it released.
Rew crossed his arms over his chest and gripped himself tightly. The people of Stanton stood a better chance with the narjags raging through their streets. He found his gaze was locked on Valchon’s back. He couldn’t look up at the clouds like most of the others on the hill. He couldn’t look down at Stanton, where the prince’s horrific magic was going to rain down. He could only look at Valchon’s back. Rew’s arms were trembling, his hands twitching.
The plainly dressed woman stepped into his view, between him and Valchon. Her face was calm, her hands clasped behind her back. She faced him and ignored everything else. She was there to watch him, Rew realized. She was there just for him. She was the prince’s protection against Rew while Valchon’s attention was focused on casting his spell. His spellcasters, his swordsmen, they could look out for outside threats, but this woman’s eyes were only on the ranger. Valchon knew, or at least suspected, why Rew had come to Carff. Rew and the woman stared at each other, breathing steadily, calm on the exterior.
Valchon knew why Rew was there, but why was he allowing the ranger to accompany him? What had their discussion been about the night before if Valchon suspected Rew’s intentions?
Valchon was distracted, his back turned. Now was the time to end it, but it could not be the time. If Rew struck and killed Valchon, he might save Stanton from the rain of fire, but they would still face the narjags. And with the woman watching him, with a dozen spellcasters surrounding them, Rew couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t succeed. It was just like ten years ago, when he recognized what was necessary, but understood he didn’t have the ability to do it. Rew knew what to do, but he wasn’t capable.
The first fireball that came hurtling down from the sky brought with it the terrific rumble of thunder, but the crash of its impact with Stanton was like nothing Rew had ever heard. A bright streak across the sky, and then a block-sized section of the city erupted in flame. The wave of sound was something that even Alsayer would envy, and the ground shook beneath their feet like a wave-battered boat. Cinda fell to her knees, but her brother quickly
pulled her back up. She was surprised, not injured.
Moments later, more of the meteors came flashing down, and the individual wail of their flight was lost in the concussive blasts as they landed. Like old brick beneath a mason’s hammer, Stanton crumbled. Debris flew with each crashing meteor, carried from the force of the impacts and the hot air that billowed up from the city.
The people below, perhaps the narjags as well, would have been screaming in terror, but nothing was audible above the roar of the falling fire. Beside him, Rew felt Cinda weeping against her brother’s shoulder. Zaine stood stunned, too shocked to feel or understand what was occurring. Anne’s face was taut, and Rew put his arm around her. They’d been in Stanton, and while she hadn’t practiced her healing there, she’d meet Appleby and others. She’d made connections in that city. Though faint, it would be enough that she would feel an echo of what was occurring below.
The horror of the destruction was like thick mud sucking at them, but even more than Anne, Cinda would be feeling the welling departure of Stanton’s souls. The potential power would be like a lake she could dive into, if she thought to take the plunge, or perhaps a hurricane, raging in from the sea. Unavoidable, its overwhelming strength and destruction inevitable. The rush of that power would be like razors, dragging along her skin, but pleasure as well, the nails of a lover on her back.
Rew understood, suddenly, why Valchon’s coterie contained no necromancers. He understood why Ambrose had been imprisoned for the sole crime of entering the city. Valchon knew what kind of power the day’s events would provide to one who could tap into it. This was the surest confirmation that Rew could ask for, that the prince had no idea it was Cinda who held her family’s powers. Even untrained, one with her potential could have unleashed terrific magic on the prince, and with his back turned, he wouldn’t have a chance to respond. Death’s flame could scorch the prince, his guards, and his spellcasters with a fury that none of them could stop. If Cinda understood, if she seized that power…
