Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “When have I ever done that?” Keltin replied with a dark laugh as he lifted his veil into place. He nodded towards the strand of cofa in Wyand’s hand. “Let’s hope you’re a better fighter than you are a Fieldsman. We may find out soon.” Then Keltin was gone, a grey blur that merged seamlessly with the swirling fog. Tears burned hot in Wyand’s eyes as he returned to the cofa, determined to make his exertion a match to Keltin’s bravery.

  All was silent between each ringing of the chimes until a series of new sounds suddenly gripped Wyand’s attention. Loud horns and shouts grew louder as a force of Penitent Faithful drew closer, then he heard the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal. The Smokedwellers had found Keltin. Fury blinded Wyand with each passing second until he could no longer bear its energy coursing through his veins. With a growl of rage, Wyand drew his isen and charged through the fog.

  He heard Hirst and Carnan call from behind him, but their voices were faint compared to the sound of the fight ahead. Wyand fixated on the way forward, desperate to spot Keltin in one of the clear patches within the rolling fog but finding nothing. He moved with reckless speed, sending sprays of mud and water into the air every few steps. It didn’t matter now; he knew the time for stealth had passed.

  Suddenly, a veiled female Legionnaire appeared on Wyand’s right. Her eyes flared with anger when she spotted him. “What have you done!” she shrieked, charging at him with her isen prepared to swing. In a blink, one of the cords from Hirst’s pouch bound her right wrist and she fell motionless into the mud at Wyand’s feet. He looked up, grateful to find Keltin standing in the smoke less than three strides away, but then another Legionnaire leapt behind Keltin’s back without a sound. Wyand threw himself forward and felt his isen catch the other man’s just before it could make contact with Keltin’s back. The Legionnaire melted into the smoke with a laugh, followed quickly by more horns and shouts from other fighters nearby.

  “Run, Wyand!” Keltin hissed as another layer of fog swept in. Wyand stood alone in the grey gloom, terrified and readying himself for the next attack. He lifted his isen when a sharp grunt and a splash behind him revealed another member of the Shroud Legion immobilized thanks to Keltin and one of Hirst’s barbed cords. When an opening in the fog blew past, Wyand turned towards the Holy Spire again to search for Keltin, and in that instant he heard a bowstring hum in the distance.

  Cold water surged over Wyand’s head as he stared up at the grey sky above. Stunned, he tried to remember what had happened. A sharp pain in his right forearm caused him to look to where it lay against his chest, but when he thought to lift it, something kept his arm in place. A pair of hands appeared on top of his chest plate a moment later, and he felt himself being lifted up and out of the marsh. Wyand blinked away the water that coursed over his face and heard the muffled sounds of fighting rush back into his ears with jarring clarity.

  “Keltin,” Wyand called feebly, but the sound was barely a whisper. The fog parted again and there was Keltin, now ten strides away with his isen a blur of metal as he fought two members of the Shroud Legion. Wyand willed himself to stand, to lift his arms and fight, but every muscle felt heavy and slow. He glanced at his right arm again and suddenly understood his pain.

  The dark shaft of an arrow protruded from his Sreathan plate, its tip having passed through his arm completely before coming to rest within his chest plate. Wyand didn’t feel any pain in his chest, so perhaps the arrow hadn’t penetrated too deeply; then again, all feeling was beginning to fade across his entire body, so his judgement of injuries was unreliable. Blood poured from his arm down onto his waist as he was dragged farther away from Dism Slyde. “Keltin,” he muttered again.

  “Stand,” Carnan commanded as he pulled Wyand up to his feet. Wyand hobbled forward unsteadily with his left arm draped over the Stonebrother’s shoulder. “Faster!” Carnan urged him. “We’re nearly there.” Images of the ground and sky shifted from side to side as Wyand’s dazed mind struggled to steady his balance. At last, the boat came into view with Hirst standing inside.

  “It’s done,” Hirst declared. “Now get him aboard and get us back to Crolun Raigh.”

  Wyand collapsed onto the floor of the boat, then Hirst and Carnan pushed away from shore and began rowing frantically. Though his arm throbbed with pain, Wyand’s thoughts were not of himself. “Keltin and Aemetta are still back there,” Wyand said after catching his breath.

  “And their sacrifice allowed us to finish the task,” Hirst grunted as he pulled the oar to his chest.

  “Sacrifice?” Wyand gasped, as much from surprise as from the sensation of the arrow shifting within his arm. “They’re not dead! We need to go help them!”

  Hirst shook his head sadly. “That wasn’t part of the Vision.”

  Wyand’s mind ached until the truth finally became clear. “You knew?” Wyand breathed.

  “It’s what they were meant to do,” Hirst said softly.

  “You knew?” Wyand growled as he struggled to sit up before falling back onto the boards again. He still held onto the isen with his right hand, but when he gripped it angrily, a spike of searing pain coursed up his right arm.

  Hirst removed the cloth over his head as well as the Watch helmet and cast them both onto the floor of the boat. He breathed in deeply now that the stifling helmet was gone. “Yes, I knew,” he admitted, his shimmering eyes fixed onto Wyand’s. “And Keltin knew that the Shroud Legion would be upon us before Aemetta returned. He chose to face them, but it wasn’t just so we could destroy the last of the cofa—it was so we would have an opportunity to escape. Based on your willingness to charge after him, it seems you’ve forgotten your role in all of this and the importance of the stone you possess.”

  Wyand was speechless, but for the first time in several days he remembered the Stormheart and reached into his waist pocket for it. To his relief it was still there, but when he pulled it free it dripped with his blood. Hirst saw this and nodded to himself. “The Visions reveal their truth once again,” he said somberly, and Wyand stared at the stone with a hollow mixture of fear and wonder. His thoughts were instantly taken back to Fadian’s bizarre Vision that focused on the Stormheart, and how Wyand would nourish it with his own blood. Wyand gripped the stone and pressed his eyes shut, unable to make sense of anything that was happening. His only certainty was that Hirst was wrong on one point: Keltin and Aemetta were alive, and they would be waiting for Wyand to come back for them.

  ---

  Keltin nodded to Carnan in thanks as the Stonebrother pulled Wyand towards safety, but a sudden shift in the air a moment later forced Keltin to drop to the ground. He rolled to his back as an isen sliced through the fog where his torso had been. A confused Legionnaire stepped forward, and Keltin stabbed the man’s leg with one of the barbed cords. With another threat immobilized, Keltin rose to his feet and paused to listen for any other nearby attackers.

  Through the horns and shouts, it took all of his concentration to focus on any sounds that were out of place. Then Keltin found it: an area of stillness that hadn’t been there seconds earlier. In the next instant, two dark forms emerged from the rolling fog, and both spun towards him in a whirl of deadly blades. Thankfully his muscles remembered how to block their initial attacks, but he knew he couldn’t face two Legionnaires at once. With no other option, Keltin fled towards the women’s quarters and prayed the latest pair of attackers would follow his noisy retreat.

  With his heart racing, Keltin forced himself to stop and listen for the Legionnaires. After hearing a single misplaced step into a wet patch, Keltin drew out two of the barbed cords and flung them blindly into the fog. Two surprised gasps were the response to his counterattack, followed by a pair of splashes as both men fell into the mud. “Not bad,” Aemetta said from directly behind him.

  Keltin’s heart leapt from surprise as he spun to face her. “You’re back!” he breathed. “Thank the Kingdom. We have to keep the Shroud Legion occupied to give Wyand and the others time to finish wit
h the cofa. We’ll work our way north after each group we encounter is stopped.” Aemetta had removed her helmet as well, and as Keltin spoke he watched her frown deepen before she began to shake her head. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I didn’t find Cailla, and I have no idea where the food is kept. I need more time,” she admitted softly. Then her brown eyes grew bright with a sudden revelation. “Come with me! Help me and then we can find our own way out of Dism Slyde.”

  The idea was tempting—the entrance to the women’s quarters was only a few strides away, and Keltin knew he could remain safely hidden there for quite some time. To choose that path, though, was to abandon Wyand, Hirst, and Carnan, and if they were stopped before the last of the cofa drifted out to the ocean, then burning the tainted food was pointless. Keltin knew what he needed to do, but it was certain to be unpleasant. “Go. Take the time you need to either find Cailla or find the food and burn it yourself. I’ll make sure Wyand and the others are safe, then I’ll come to help you.”

  Aemetta stammered in quiet protest, then her shoulders drooped. “Do as you must,” she sighed. “Just don’t force me to save you the way you tend to save everyone else.” She stared at him a moment longer, her eyes pleading for him to change his decision, then she retreated into the women’s quarters.

  Through a gap in the fog, Keltin saw a force of Protectors and Legionnaires at least twenty strong speeding towards the marsh. Defeating that many was unrealistic, but he had to intercept them and at least slow them down. Before they could reach the cover of the fog, Keltin flung the last five of his barbed cords in rapid succession. The first missed completely, whizzing through the group and landing somewhere with a splash. One struck a Protector, and the other three wrapped around three of the Legionnaires, much to Keltin’s delight. The remaining fighters had spotted him now, though, and all raced towards him with murder in their eyes.

  Focusing all of his energy, Keltin used the isen and the knife to deflect the first few attacks that surged at him, but there were too many factors to simultaneously monitor for long. He sucked air between his teeth as an isen grazed his right arm, then again when another sliced into his left side. The Legionnaires were laughing at him now, mocking each new injury they saw as they pressed onto him with relentless attacks. One of them paused briefly when Keltin used the scrid knife to block what would have been a lethal blow to his neck. “I know that blade,” the female Legionnaire whispered as she stared at the shimmering black knife in disbelief.

  Weak from his wounds and exhausted from fighting, Keltin failed to hear another Legionnaire creep up behind him until the man had seized him and ripped the veil off of his face. The woman, who Keltin now recognized as Deorna, lowered her own veil and sneered at Keltin with disgust. “You came back. The High Conduit was right,” she said, then she nodded sharply.

  Keltin felt someone else approaching rapidly, but before he could even attempt to struggle, a fist struck the side of his head with enough force to darken his vision. As the ground rushed towards him, a final thought brought a weary smile to Keltin’s face. They’ll all know the truth soon.

  ---

  The sound of someone humming nearby caused Keltin’s eyelids to flutter open, but the unexpected brightness caused them to snap shut once again. Keltin grumbled softly as he peered through his eyelashes at the surroundings. The constant layer of cloud hung overhead, so he knew he was outside, yet he saw no fog nearby. Then Keltin noticed the marsh—it was many strides in the distance, but also many strides below him. He stared over the railing of a familiar balcony as panic began to set in, but he quickly learned that trying to flee was pointless. His arms and legs were lashed tightly to a thick beam that pressed against his back.

  The humming grew louder behind him until at last the sound of footsteps took its place. As Keltin had feared, the High Conduit appeared on the balcony beside him, and the old man smiled when he saw that Keltin was awake. Without a word, the High Conduit walked away and resumed his humming. Keltin’s heart raced when he smelled smoke from a fire nearby and heard metal clattering for a moment, then it sped even faster when the footsteps returned.

  The Conduit’s ancient grey-blue eyes regarded him with a look of fleeting sadness before a searing pain ripped into Keltin’s left arm. He stifled a scream, instead grunting through his nose as the burning continued. When Keltin looked down, he saw the scrid knife wrapped in wisps of smoke that emanated from his shirt and, alarmingly, from his own skin. The High Conduit lifted the scorching blade and walked away again, humming pleasantly to himself. Then the process repeated itself, except this time Keltin couldn’t hold back the scream.

  After removing the knife again, the High Conduit walked to the railing and looked out at Dism Slyde. “Two thousand, three hundred and thirteen,” he declared, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you know the significance of that number, Keltin?’

  “No,” Keltin replied between shaky breaths.

  The High Conduit turned to face him. “As of Last Calling yesterday, that is the exact number of people who look to me for protection. You were among that number, but not anymore.” He shook the knife at Keltin with a disappointed frown as he made his way back to the fire to heat the blade again. When he returned, Keltin knew what to expect, but the pain was still too terrible to endure without crying out.

  “You believe you just ‘freed’ everyone, don’t you? That you’re some sort of hero,” the Conduit went on, almost laughing as he spoke and paying no attention to Keltin’s panting. “I didn’t manipulate these people strictly for my own reasons—that was just an added benefit of my unique position. It’s been the same for every High Conduit since the founding of Dism Slyde: we keep the people compliant so the Venerates will allow us all to live, even if that life is spent entirely in service to them. But now you’ve ended all that.” Another trip to the fire, another burn on Keltin’s arm. The smell of his own flesh was beginning to make Keltin feel sick.

  “So, the cofa is gone. What an achievement,” the High Conduit said sarcastically. “I must admit, though infuriating, I’m impressed by the tactics your group used. Attacking from the north, from beyond the unknown—now that was truly devious. I’m still searching for whoever burned most of our food, too, but I’ve heard reports that it was a woman. If so, I will find her, and she will suffer in ways that you can’t possibly imagine.” In the midst of enduring the Conduit’s horrifying words, Keltin felt a surge of excitement when he heard that the tainted food had been destroyed as well. He spotted the column of smoke from a section of the cliff near the women’s quarters, then he prayed that Aemetta would be able to escape without incident.

  The High Conduit’s face suddenly darkened, a look of insane fear shining deep within his troubled eyes. “Do you really think the Venerates are foolish enough not to have a plan in place to handle a disaster like this? The instant they realize there’s no more cofa, they will wipe this world clean, just as they have before.” He disappeared from Keltin’s view again, then returned with the knife ready. “The only thing you accomplished is to ensure the death of everyone you have ever known at the hands of the Venerates. I know you view me as evil, but it is you who will forever be known as the murderer of this world. Although even that would require someone to be left alive to remember you, and it’s highly unlikely that the Venerates would be so careless.” He pressed the blade deep into Keltin’s right forearm and held it there until the skin was as grey as ash.

  The High Conduit lifted Keltin’s trembling chin. “Two thousand, three hundred and twelve. Look! They’re already beginning to gather below—the few who are not away fighting, that is. They heard my summons and they obeyed. Can you hear them? If not yet, you will soon. They will shout for your death. They will think I put you out here so they can watch you die slowly over the next few days, but in reality, I want you to have a clear view as you watch all of them die. They will fight each other, they will starve, many of them will eventually curse my name, and after that the Venerates will c
ome. And then, when you and I are the last living people in Dism Slyde, then I will kill you.

  “Before that, though, there are two thousand, three hundred and eight more reasons for you to suffer. Scream if you like, cry, lose consciousness—that would truly be the coward’s way. Or face what you have done and watch as this world unravels because of you.” The High Conduit’s mouth twisted into a snarl before he forced himself to lower the knife and step up to the railing beside Keltin. From there, he surveyed Dism Slyde with a mixture of pride and remorse as he waited for the Penitent Faithful to assemble.

  Keltin shuddered against his bonds and hung his head during the brief respite. His arms throbbed with pain, but his thoughts were far more troubling than even the worst of his injuries. If what the High Conduit said was true, then the destruction of the cofa hadn’t been a victory at all—it was the beginning of a conflict even worse than the current fight between the Cynmeren and the Penitent Faithful. From the little that Keltin had seen while linked with the Thoughtcaster, he knew that the haugaeldr had been the Cultivators’ response the last time humanity rebelled, and that was for a minor uprising. With their primary means of control now gone, Keltin feared that the Cultivators would lash out with terrible force in the midst of their desperation. He had to warn everyone—the Cynmeren, the Penitent Faithful, even the workers in Aldhagen and Locboran—of the impending attack; first, though, he needed to survive.

  45

  Ryna sprinted from the sick tent to join the gathering crowd of Cynmeren as they all stared west in disbelief. It was just as the Sentinels had said: to the north and south for as far as she could see, the persistent cloud of smoke had finally lifted, leaving in its place the eerie emptiness of the Plateau Desert. Where are they? she wondered, picturing the Smokedwellers hiding in the shadows of the approaching dusk as they schemed some new and twisted attack to try to overrun the Cynmeren. Wherever she looked, though, she only saw sand and rolling hills.