by David Green
As if summoned, Bertrand rushed into the room. Kade breathed a sigh of relief to see him alone. The Master of Ceremonies gave a casual wave when he laid eyes on him.
“Kade,” he said, his ringing voice jovial. “Early? Has Solitude run out of wine?”
Bertrand laughed at his own joke. Kade could count on one hand the number of meetings to which he’d arrived on time, let alone early. Bertrand heaved his massive frame into a chair, chins wobbling as his backside struck the velvet seat. Producing a silk handkerchief, he wiped sweat from his lined brow and patted down the silver curls on his head.
“I have urgent news,” Kade said, eyeing more conclave members entering the chambers. “I must speak first.”
Bertrand laughed again, but the mirth dissipated as Kade’s eyes drilled into his.
“You’re serious?” he asked, ignoring the greetings from the other arrivals. “Opening a Conclave meeting with matters regarding Solitude? Look, trade with Avastia and Octaria’s been banned; their ships aren’t allowed to dock at our ports. Then there’s the never-ending war with the elves, the riots in Protector’s Watch. Maybe I can get you a space to address the Conclave towards the end, if there’s time.”
“No!” Kade growled, slamming his hand on the table. He swallowed, took a deep breath and muzzled his temper. That was the spice talking. “No. I must speak first.”
Bertrand’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “It’d better be worth it, Kade. Though I suppose your stock couldn’t fall much lower.”
Arlo’s smiling face flashed in Kade’s mind, bringing memories of the boy’s mother. Oh, my friend, he thought, you don’t know the half of it.
“Bertrand!” a deep voice called. “Well met. And Master Kade Besem, how fares Solitude? Any sheep bothering those mighty Sparkers up there?”
Kade looked up. Uriel, Master of Coin, a wizened rake of a man, sauntered toward them, an easy grin on his face. Kade returned it, despite the good-natured barb. He’d known the fellow since childhood. Their family estates bordered one another.
“Uriel, you old dog,” Bertrand laughed as they shook hands. “Thought the Emperor’s lackeys had asked you to retire?”
“Aye,” Uriel said with a shrug. “Problem is, my records are a mess and I’m the only one who can understand them. It’d take years to get them in order.”
Kade laughed, despite the sick feeling in his stomach, and watched the Master of Coin take his place close to the Emperor’s seat.
“A decent man,” he said to Bertrand, who nodded in agreement.
“Too few of those,” the Master of Ceremonies muttered. “Speaking of which…”
Two tall, handsome men swept into the chamber. Dressed in black and silver, each wore their golden hair in the same style, beards trimmed, oiled neat. Nexes, the taller, more muscular of the two, held the rank of Master of War and, if rumour proved correct, enjoyed more than just political favour with the Emperor.
The other, Balz, had ascended the ranks of Sparkers with astonishing speed, becoming the youngest High Sparker in the Council’s history. His rise had sent ripples through the whole of Haltveldt; the Emperor had replaced key people in the Conclave, transgressing long-standing alliances and timeworn tradition to place his people in the positions that mattered. With Balz in place, the Emperor controlled the Sparkers and everyone knew it. Kade didn’t even need to sniff to smell the change in the air.
Nexes, Balz and Emperor Locke were lifelong friends, and a wise man bore that in mind.
Kade looked around for Zal—apprentice Sparker to the old warhorse, Ganton, and close friend of the Emperor’s coterie—but he was absent. These days, it wasn’t unusual to see him sitting in on Conclave meetings, despite his junior station. The Emperor did as he pleased. Why not today?
Nexes nodded at Bertrand and held up a single finger. The Master of Ceremonies shook his head and held up two in reply. The Master of War’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then he glanced at Kade and sneered.
“The elven blight will soon be over,” he called, cocking his head to one side. “Does this upset you, Kade?”
“Me?” he replied, fighting to keep his expression bland. “Why should I care?”
Nexes smiled back, an icy grin that didn’t reach his emerald eyes.
The sound of metal clanging on marble rang out, echoing between the stone statues and marble floors. The Conclave members got to their feet as the Emperor’s herald cleared his throat. Kade lent Bertrand a helping hand.
“Locke, first of his name, Emperor of Haltveldt and the Eight Duchies. Favoured by Raas, Lord of Gods, who once walked the Emperor’s lands. He who bows to no man.”
The Emperor sauntered in, nodding to Masters of the Conclave at random. Short, slight, and with facial features too large for his face, Locke moved with an air of privileged confidence—the walk no other citizen of Haltveldt could dream of pulling off. Arrogant, petulant and pampered, the Emperor possessed a cunning intelligence and physical prowess at odds with his appearance. Ruthlessness ran through the young sovereign’s blood. Few believed his father had died of old age.
As the Emperor took his seat, clasping hands with Nexes and Balz who sat either side of him, the Conclave took their seats. Bertrand remained standing.
“Gentlemen,” he began, sweeping his gaze across the chamber. Despite his queasiness, Kade felt a smile reach his lips. He enjoyed the Master of Ceremonies’ penchant for the theatrical. “Welcome. Emperor Locke, may I extend the Conclave’s eternal gratitude. Our first speaker is Master Kade Besem, Liaison to Solitude, who wishes to speak regarding…urgent news from the north, and those brave men and women who guard our beloved continent from the hordes beyond the wall.”
This brought sniggers from some and open laughter from Nexes and—Kade noted with a heavy heart—Balz, whose support he depended on as High Sparker. He thrust his shaking hands into his pockets as he stood. The Octarian spice had lost its fire at the wrong time. Swallowing, he gazed at Emperor Locke, who met his stare without expression.
“Emperor Locke, my fellow Masters of the Conclave,” he began, voice cracking and shrill in his own ears. He cleared his throat and focused on his task, on the lives up in Solitude. On Arlo. “What do our histories tell us? Of the sacrifices, bloodshed and horror our ancestors suffered as they drove the Banished northwards. Of the toil in building Solitude, brick-by-brick, as they held the horde at bay? A magnificent feat of warcraft, enshrined in the annals of legend as one of our people’s greatest moments.”
Watching the Emperor, Kade noticed a tick around his eye at those words. At least it showed that the man paid attention.
“They fought a centuries-long battle against that magical horde of enslavers. The sacrifices they made so we might enjoy our freedom are their gift to us. But they are also an obligation. Now, two hundred Sparkers man a stronghold that guards the pass through the Peaks of Eternity into Banished lands. A mere two hundred.”
“I didn’t realise you taught history, Master Besem,” Balz jeered, spreading his hands. “I suppose you’ve nothing better to do.”
The members of the Conclave laughed. The Emperor smiled—it didn’t reach his shrewd, cold eyes—and nodded at Kade to continue.
“This morning, I received word. The plains of Solitude are brimming with Banished, and more follow. This can mean only one thing. Invasion.”
Cries erupted from the Conclave. The Emperor and his friends sat still, staring at Kade, ignoring the shouts from the rest of the table. Bertrand rose to his feet, arms wide.
“Silence!” he yelled, his powerful voice piercing the cacophony. The Masters obeyed. “Continue, Master Kade.”
“Emperor Locke, Master of War Nexes, High Sparker Balz. I beseech you; send an army with Sparkers to Solitude’s aid. We cannot let it fall. For our ancestors’ sake. For the sake of all Haltveldt.”
And for my son.
Silence filled the room. Bertrand tugged at Kade’s sleeve, reminding him to sit. As he did, Nexes rose.
“The Banished. A terrible threat.” He swept his gaze across the Conclave. Hope bloomed in Kade’s chest. Nexes appeared focused, serious. “High Sparker Balz, have you received word from Solitude confirming this?”
Balz, considering his fingernails, flicked his eyes to Kade then back.
“No.”
“Odd. One might have thought they’d send word to you, of all people. What say you, Master Tellem? As Master of Trade, you have connections far and wide. You of all people must have heard whispers?”
Kade stared at Tellem. A weasel in more than just looks, the greasy little man flashed his rodent teeth before bowing his head to Nexes. “No, Master of War. Of Solitude, I’ve heard not a peep. Not for months, in fact. Adhraas is only ten mile south, right on the fortress’s doorstep, but still… Not a peep. Sea’s Keep, now, they’re reporting growing numbers of Avastian ships on their horizon.”
“Avastian, you say? A credible threat, which is why trade with those pirates is closed. Anyone else?” Nexes folded his arms across his chest and waited. Silence answered. Nodding, his gaze returned to Balz. “What do you make of our good liaison’s news, High Sparker? It appears only he’s aware of this…horde of Banished.”
“I believe someone is looking to embarrass the fellow,” Balz said, stifling a yawn, “or Master Besem’s imagination has gotten the better of him. The Banished are simple folk now, rustic and few. Bogeymen to scare children and old men. As Master Tellem warns, there are real threats out there. Elves, Avastians, Octarians—they watch our mighty empire for any sign of weakness. Sending our armies north on a wild goose chase, giving the elves respite, is what our enemies are waiting for.”
Nexes smiled, before settling a withering stare on Kade.
“There you have it. Of course, I have my own theories on why Master Kade would wish to split our armies from war with the elves… Old attachments die hard, don’t they, my friend? You shame yourself with your transparent ploy to increase your worth, Kade. Just when I believed your stock couldn’t sink any further.”
Arguments died on Kade’s lips. The stares of the conclave lingered on him as his blood turned to ice; speculating minds and unheard whispers pressed down on him. The spice had well and truly left him.
“There’s an elven army on our doorstep to the south. Nations overseas wait for us to falter. You want Haltveldt to fail? Now? When we have so much more to achieve? So much within our reach? We must project strength to our many enemies, not jump at shadows. Do you have anything more to add, Kade? Or shall we put this sorry matter to rest, and you can crawl back into your snuffbox?”
Kade lowered his eyes to the table, ignoring the barb. Everyone knew about his spice addiction. Instead, the other threat hooked him. Attachments die hard… He can’t know about Arlo’s mother. How could he? How could anyone?
“No, Master Nexes.”
“Excellent,” the Master of War replied. “To important matters then. High Sparker Balz tells me more Sparkers and Haltveldt soldiers are slaughtered by the day because our elven foes embrace magic we have erroneously forbidden. The Laws of Engagement are out-dated. Some old Master, centuries ago in a time of peace, claimed he happened upon words from Raas himself, and designed to shackle our Sparkers. Because of these unverified divine instructions, we struggle to wage a war on an uneven footing. We’ve tried, believe me. We’ve sought to push past these tired, dogmatic laws but they hinder our true potential. Without the Laws, we’d have dealt with the elven threat decades ago. Our Emperor, I have seen the light; I’ve prayed and sought counsel from High Sparker Balz and he has assured me of the truth. Our gods wouldn’t see us slaughtered, wouldn’t see us struggle impotently while innocents die by the thousands.”
“No…” Kade whispered, returning his gaze to Nexes. The man’s eyes fixed on him.
“As my wartime powers decree, I request an immediate vote to remove the Laws of Engagement from our Sparkers. Let them fight to the fullest of their abilities with the power of Evisceration. Let us defeat the elven scourge, once and for all, then prepare to move with full strength against our next foes. “
“Raas and Janna themselves set the Laws of Engagement,” Uriel grated. “How dare you even suggest abandoning them?”
Others agreed, slamming fists on the Conclave table, shouting to the vaulted ceilings so their voices would be heard. Kade shook his head; he knew which way this vote would go.
“The gods’ Laws!” someone cried. “Blasphemy!”
“The Laws set the Sparkers apart from tyrants!” another yelled. “We’d lose the trust of the people in an instant!”
“Allow Sparkers to run unchecked? Madness!”
Those protesting Nexes’ words didn’t shock Kade. They were the older council members, those too unimportant to replace or the ones Emperor Locke hadn’t yet uprooted. His people, the Conclave members belonging to him, remained silent. Except Tellem.
“The people will believe what we tell them, as it’s ever been,” the Master of Trade snarled. “You want more of our soldiers to die at the hands of the elven filth? More of our Sparkers turned to mush? Fools!”
The Emperor held up a hand. Nexes took his seat and gazed across at Kade, as the voices dwindled to a murmur, then fell silent.
“Who made the Laws of Engagement?” the Emperor asked. “The gods? Or meddling old men with nothing better to do, high on their own sense of importance? Give me definitive proof of the former, please. Anyone?” He waited. “No, I thought not. A vote then. Hands will do. Bertrand, my loyal Master of Ceremonies? Count them. All for.”
The Emperor kept his hand raised. One-by-one, the other Conclave members followed him. Kade, fists bunched by his sides, studied the faces of those agreeing, some with shame etched into their features but many more smiling in victory. A defiant handful, himself and Uriel included, kept their hands down. And marked their cards in the process.
Emperor Locke swept his gaze around the table, winking at Nexes, then settled on High Sparker Balz. “I hereby repeal the Laws of Engagement, and allow use of all Spark magic in battle, up to and including Evisceration. A momentous occasion, I think we can all agree. No more business for today.”
The Emperor moved to his feet as shouts rang out around the chamber once more. Uriel’s face turned purple as spittle flew from his lips. Balz and Nexes followed. Kade leaned back in his chair, stunned. The Laws kept Sparkers on the side of good and made the citizens of Haltveldt believe the Order would protect them. Without them…
A tap on his shoulder made Kade glance around. Nexes crouched behind him, mouth to his ear.
“The sub-human scum will get what they deserve, elf-lover, and so will anyone who sympathises with them. Mark my words. You made a fatal mistake today.”
He knows, Kade thought. Drok! He knows. How?
He remained seated as the Conclave chamber emptied. Bertrand stayed at his side, shaking his head as he stared at the Emperor’s now-vacant chair.
“My Empire is dead,” he murmured, as the last Masters filed from the room. “The killing won’t end with the elves. Haltveldt is too fond of war. Who’s next for the slaughter?”
“Solitude,” Kade replied, thinking of his son. “They’re defenceless, and the threat is real. I know it! We can’t let that happen, Bertrand. We must move with haste.”
CHAPTER FOUR
LESSONS FROM THE PAST
‘They say Solitude has stood for 2,000 years, or thereabouts. Utter drok. Its bones are more ancient than that, and if the men of Spring Haven built it, I’m from Velen.’ - From the Journals of Matrim the Mad.
Zanna stood on Solitude’s highest rampart, her dark purple hood pulled up to keep off the hammering rain, and watched the Banished horde below.
Two days had passed since the vanguard arrived, and th
e flow of bodies descending from the shale-filled foothills had slowed to a trickle. By the amount of campfires dotting the plains each night, the Sparkers estimated the number of Banished exceeded four hundred thousand. Garet had sent birds to Spring Haven, warning of imminent invasion.
Yet the Banished hadn’t attacked.
“Afraid of our magic,” some of the other Sparkers insisted. Zanna wasn’t so sure.
Caravans filled with women and children moved behind the vanguard. Armies didn’t bring their families to war. Then came her Link with Calene, and news of her discovery. The Banished male she’d stumbled upon, so far from home—a mystery Zanna felt certain they had to solve, and with haste.
She probed her Link to Calene, basking for a moment in the comfort of sharing a piece of herself with her daughter again. It felt like a passage had reopened, bringing warmth and light where before there had been only cold and darkness for so long. Like a flower, she basked in that glow. So far, their communication remained curt and professional but it didn’t curdle her joy. Zanna sensed Calene’s resentment, her lingering judgement, but hoped their forced reconnection could become the catalyst for reconciliation.
A fool’s hope, perhaps, but a mother’s hope.
A wave of agitation ran through the Banished. This isn’t an invasion, Zanna thought, tapping her lips. It’s a migration.
“I wish they’d attack,” Garet grumbled. Zanna gave a start; she’d forgotten the Protector stood there, at her side, projecting a shield of air to keep the rain off him.
One hundred and seventy years old, the man stood tall and swarthy; neither fat nor thin, but thick. A bitter twist marred noble features, framed by curled, raven hair. Dyed, Zanna reckoned. Standing beside him, she felt his power and considered his reputation. Garet’s Spark outstripped most living magicians, though rumours of illicit experiments had caused his banishment a century before. Only his family connections had saved him from execution.
