by David Green
“Raising rebel Sparkers to your cause. That’s treason, Master Besem.”
Kade spun. Master of War Nexes threw the bedroom door shut and leaned against it. Blood splattered his tanned face and coated his gloves up to his forearms. Unlike Kade’s rough spun travel clothes, he’d dressed in black silk to do his butcher’s work. A frenzied fire lit his eyes. He looked at Bertrand and smiled, like an artist admiring a masterpiece he’d just finished. It made the bile rise in Kade’s throat again.
“Bastard,” Kade growled, levelling his sword.
“Kade,” Nexes said, flicking his cloak aside. He wore a short sword on each hip. “Bertrand confessed. Treason of the highest order. It took a little while but we got there in the end. He bucked against the Imperial decree to focus all our strength on the elves. He died a traitor’s death, as all who defy our Emperor must. All.”
“You’ve gone too far, Nexes!” Kade cried, jabbing a finger at Bertrand’s corpse. “Why do this? You’re already pushing the elves back. They wouldn’t have lasted long, even before the Emperor abolished the Laws. You’ll get what you want, so why kill Bertrand? Why stop us from reinforcing Solitude? You’re condemning them all to death!”
“Yes,” Nexes agreed, drawing his weapons. He dropped into a duellist’s stance, holding the short swords at different levels in front of his body. “The Banished are on the move. One’s appeared in the south, if you can imagine. Well beyond Solitude’s gates.”
Kade blinked, jaw dropping loose before he snapped it shut. “Banished in the south? If the threat is real, why let them attack? Solitude can’t stand against a massed army with so little to defend it!”
He surveyed the room, looking for an advantage. He found nothing. Nexes’ reputation for swordsmanship suggested he may as well piss in the wind.
“These words won’t mean much to you, but it’s for the greater good. We know more about the Banished than you realise. Much more. Try to take some solace in that before you meet the gods.”
“I’ll spit in their teeth before I find comfort in anything you say,” Kade snarled.
Wind ruffled his cloak. He remembered the open window at his back and the harbour below. It’s a three-storey drop. But it’s offering better odds than this fight.
Nexes took a step into the centre of the room, giving himself room to swing and parry.
“War drives the nation. It allows our citizens to forgive our more… aggressive inclinations.” He smirked at Kade and his tongue lashed the blood from his lips. “The elves are our enemy for now, our focus, but their time is almost at an end. Next, we turn to the Banished. After news circulates of the horrors they’ve inflicted on Solitude, Haltveldt will cry for bloody vengeance. Then, with the continent united, north and south, we’ll look beyond our shores. Make the foreign nations quail at our name. Our strength! It’s a shame about your son up there in Solitude…though he is part-elf. Trust me, it’s all for Haltveldt. To ensure our survival.”
Kade snarled and drew his sword arm back, flinging the weapon at Nexes. He suppressed a flicker of satisfaction as the Master of War dived aside to avoid it. The sword slammed blade-first into the door, jamming it shut, and Kade jumped out of the window.
He fell two storeys and landed on a taut canopy below. He bounced off and hit the cobbles. His leg twisted with a sickening crunch. Pain exploded as his ankle crumpled beneath his weight. People turned to stare as he screamed through gritted teeth.
He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. His foot pointed in a different direction to his shin. Blood pooled under it. Fighting against the pain, he fumbled for his Octarian spice and shoved the box under his nose. The drug would help with the pain.
Through the tears, Kade glanced up at the window he’d leapt from. Nexes stared down at him. The sword jammed through the door would keep him trapped long enough for Kade to run, unless he jumped too. He suspected Nexes had more sense than that but, as Master of War, he had soldiers who could pick Kade up from the street.
He had to move.
“The docks,” he muttered, his head swimming as the spice did its work and the pain in his ankle lessened. “I can make it.”
Struggling to his feet, he limped into the crowd, stumbling and hopping. He staggered into a dockworker, who shoved him back. The spice box slipped from his hand and vanished into the press of milling bodies.
“No!” Kade cried, dropping to his knees, snarling against the throb of anguish at the sudden change of direction.
He saw the box on the floor, close enough to reach. He stretched for it, fingers aching just to hold it, then a foot connected with it and sent it spinning out of sight.
Kade bit his lip, hands curling into fists, sweat beading on his forehead. He needed that spice. For the pain. For courage.
How could he do any of this without it? How could he save Arlo? How could he remember Rune without weeping?
Find the box! Without the box, you’re nothing!
No. He had to move. He had to reach the docks, board the boat to Solitude. The Empire would let the fortress fail, and kill every soul within its walls, his son included.
With a snarl, Kade struggled to his feet, and limped towards the docks with as much speed as he could muster.
He had hoped to bring a company of fighters to save Solitude. A lone drug addict would have to do. His son needed him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CRADLE
‘Never forget what we fought for, and who battled by our side. Ignore the Cradle’s knowledge at your peril.’ - A warning from the Sparker Trell, one of the Cradle’s founders, taken from the Book of Memories. Her message went unheeded.
“Wait here,” Nexes Almor commanded his retinue.
Haltveldt’s Master of War dismounted his horse and removed his riding gloves, glancing at the eucalyptus trees surrounding him. The sun’s heat added a sheen of sweat to his skin, but he paid it no mind. The faint sounds of the sea helped to push the morning’s vexations from his mind.
Kade Besem escaping hadn’t been part of the plan.
Still, Nexes thought, adjusting the sword strapped to his waist, what can one man do? He’s a drug-addled, elf-loving traitor. It would surprise me if the fool realises where he is when he surfaces from his spice haze.
The fact that he’d escaped didn’t rankle so much—people got lucky—but that sword throw had caught Nexes by surprise. He’d underestimated the man and the Master of War prided himself on knowing every detail, every weakness, of anyone holding a position of power in Haltveldt. He’d thought Kade would crumple at the sight of Bertrand’s butchered body. That he’d roll onto his back and show his belly like a cur.
Won’t make the same mistake twice. A smile broke out across Nexes’ face. After his men lost Kade in the crowd, he’d acted with speed, and taken steps. The Emperor’s strategy in the north remains unaltered.
Nexes strode with cat-like grace through the ‘Emperor’s Gardens’—a place forbidden to all save the Emperor and his closest advisors. He nodded to black-robed Sparkers who waited in the shade. Trained in secret and loyal to the Emperor, they ensured the garden remained private. The Conclave might have repealed the Laws of Engagement mere days ago but they had been years in the making. These brave souls had been among the first volunteers. True patriots. They shared the Emperor’s priorities, his vision for a stronger nation.
Shadow Sparkers, they called them. Nexes appreciated the theatrical name; the mere mention of them would soon strike fear into the heart of anyone who opposed Haltveldt.
Their robes matched their souls; Nexes had watched their appearances twist as they perfected their dark arts on enslaved elves, political prisoners and other Sparkers who didn’t appreciate the march of progress—they lost their hair, eyes turning black as pitch, their skin blistered and cracked. They were the Emperor’s little secret, and the shape of things to come.
<
br /> Nexes met the eyes of one but looked away as he caught his reflection in those black pits. He always thought they saw too much. More even than the other Sparkers with their Second Sight.
They’re useful, Nexes thought, hand falling onto the hilt of his sword. The feel of cold steel comforted him. But there’s something inhuman lurking behind those stares. Perhaps the dissenters are correct; twisting the Spark changes you. A necessary evil.
The shade from the trees granted welcome relief from the sun, beating down on Spring Haven without mercy, but Nexes knew he’d have to leave its comfort soon. His destination approached, and the crash of waves grew louder. Through the foliage, he saw a figure standing at the cliff edge. High Sparker Balz duRegar, his face tilted towards the sun as if basking in its presence.
Nexes drew alongside him and glanced to his side. A stone stairwell led down the cliff’s face and into the cave that housed the Cradle. Few even knew this place existed, its location passed down from Spring Haven’s first ruler, all the way to Emperor Locke himself. Balz, being close to the Emperor, had been brought to the ancient library long before he ascended to his current position of High Sparker.
“Nexes, well met,” Balz murmured. Nexes turned to see his friend smiling at him. Scars had etched into the man’s face over the last months. The cost of power. “The Emperor’s below, delving through those ancient tomes. I’m not sure what else he expects to find.”
Nexes gripped Balz’s shoulder. “We come to the crux of it, my friend. The moment Spring Haven has worked towards since old Emperor Caslo rediscovered this place. It’s natural our Emperor would linger here.”
Accounts of Caslo had it that he’d executed anyone who learned of the Cradle’s existence, judging the information it held too valuable, too incendiary, for anyone else to know. Only an Emperor could hope to wield that knowledge responsibly, he’d said.
“Aye,” Balz replied, turning to the waves crashing below.
Nexes could see Spring Haven in the distance—fifteen miles away, all told—towering over the shoreline. Its beauty, a jewel standing out from the drok of Haltveldt, never failed to take his breath away.
“Word reached me about the trouble at the docks earlier. Should I send…assistance?”
“All is well, my friend.” Nexes forced a smile. Bad enough Kade got away. Word spreading of it made matters worse. The Master of War didn’t appreciate slights against his reputation. “Are you joining us in the Cradle?”
Balz shook his head. “No, I’ll stay a while out here. I feel the eyes of the dead watching me when I’m in that place. Their voices echo in my mind.”
“You’re getting superstitious in your old age,” Nexes laughed, clapping him on the back.
“Swine,” Balz replied, with a wink. “You’re a month older than I. I’ll leave it to you and our Emperor to delve the Cradle’s secrets.”
“They won’t stay secret for long.”
Nexes smiled and took a step towards the staircase, then paused as he glanced over his shoulder towards his friend.
“You’re not worried about Solitude, are you?” he asked, studying Balz’s face. A shadow crept across it as he continued to stare out to sea. “We exiled your father there, after all. He faces death without the aid of our armies.”
The silence stretched as Balz gazed at nothing.
“I hadn’t thought of him,” he said, with a shrug. Not entirely truthful. “Solitude’s destruction is unavoidable. Today, tomorrow, or fifty years from now, its fate is written. We must allow it to play out then rise to meet the threat, united under Haltveldt’s banner.”
A gentle breeze nipped at Nexes’ cheeks as he descended the stairs carved into the cliff side. He peered at the rocks below, and thoughts of slipping and plummeting to his death forced their way into his mind. He slowed his steps and wondered if anyone had ever suffered such a fate. Maybe during Caslo’s days.
Relief bloomed in his chest as he ducked into the cave. The Cradle lay before him. A faded mosaic floor greeted him, whatever it depicted lost to time and the salt in the air. It led to a balcony that overlooked rows of shelves stacked with books, parchments and drawings stretching back to the time of Raas, Janna and the so-called nameless gods. The Cradle revealed those names, and so much more.
Nexes cast his mind back to when he’d first laid eyes on the place, the wonder that filled him, the privilege of knowing what so many didn’t. Those emotions had long dulled, replaced with the weight of understanding and responsibility. Still, he wouldn’t leave this task to anyone else.
They aren’t strong enough to shoulder this burden. We are.
Crimson drapes hanging from the ceiling displayed an emblem of a shield with a green stone embossed in its centre—not Haltveldt’s coat of arms but something entirely different—a curious detail the Cradle didn’t explain. Above the stacks, a golden globe floated, the world’s continents etched into it. Nexes glanced at Haltveldt and let his eyes follow the contours as unseen energies allowed the sphere to spin in a slow, endless dance.
He watched as the vast lands of Octaria, Velen and beyond revealed themselves, still turning to the secret continent lurking behind the Avastian islands before it returned to Haltveldt. His country, alone and surrounded by enemies.
Nexes imagined what armies the Octarian and Velen nations could call upon to invade Haltveldt and ground his teeth. His grand nation appeared tiny in comparison. He knew the Avastians lived alongside elves, and shuddered at the thought of those races living as one, and the fury they could inflict on Haltveldt at a moment’s notice. He mulled over the secrets of the unnamed lands beyond, so enormous they could swallow Haltveldt a hundred times over.
“So many threats,” Nexes muttered, gripping one of his short swords. His eyes narrowed as the globe continued to spin. Above it, a banner proclaimed the mantra he repeated to himself each morning, as he peered into his mirror, to remind himself of the stakes. “One Haltveldt, One Nation.”
He heard a rustle and peered between the stacks below. Emperor Locke leaned against the end of a row as he unrolled a parchment, lost in its secrets. With one last, narrow-eyed glare at the globe and its promises of annihilation, Nexes descended to the lower level, oil lamps guiding his way in the Cradle’s gloom.
The Emperor had first brought Nexes to the Cradle some thirteen years before, when they’d made their decision to supplant Emperor Locke’s father. The old Emperor had shared the Cradle’s secrets with his son not long before. It had been his call to arms. A deadlocked war with the elves, a military in disrepair and Sparkers who lived their lives as preachers and healers rather than warriors. If the Cradle’s revelations turned out to be true, what chance would they have?
Young Locke’s bitter arguments with his father had strained their relationship. It had become clear that the old Emperor didn’t have the strength to do what had to be done. Haltveldt needed a new leader. Nexes had always respected Locke for his ambition, his iron will, his clarity and focus. He’d respected him all the more when he smothered the old man with a pillow in the middle of the night and took the throne with his own hands.
It had been Nexes who’d suggested bringing Balz into the fold. They’d needed a Sparker, and who better than their old friend? They’d spent the first week after Locke’s coronation delving through the histories, and futures housed in the ancient library.
It had revealed so much. The Haltveldtians of Spring Haven who’d forced the Banished north had created the Cradle, a library built by both mundane and magical means, founding the place so that their history didn’t vanish into the mists.
Well-intentioned, they might have been, but they hadn’t counted on what happened next. The alliance crumbled and descended into warfare. Petty arguments and mistrust were rife in the years after they’d ended the Banished threat. The Cradle lay forgotten, until Spring Haven’s first Emperor, Caslo, rediscovered it.
Nexes suspected it had spurred him into expanding Spring Haven from a single city-state into a continental power. He and his descendants brought the other duchies under their rule, one after another. Under Caslo’s leadership, the Sparkers founded the University and manned Solitude once more. The seeds of an Empire.
He’d learned much about the Banished too. Called the First People, they ruled Haltveldt and subjected the humans and their elven helpers to cruel domination. They used the Spark as they saw fit, and had even exiled their gods, Raas and Janna, from their lands, though Nexes had found some accounts that claimed the First People had slain them. He shook his head at that, and wondered what the worshippers of Raas and Janna would think if they knew.
Somehow, the First People suffered defeat, a crucial detail missing. Nexes had scoured the records for some inkling of how, but came up short. But the Cradle revealed more still.
Sparkers with the Future Sight, a talent that had died out over the ages, had revealed prophecies, creating moving dioramas housed in alcoves built into the Cradle’s walls. They predicted crucial events—war, famine, drought and sickness—some of which had even come to pass within living memory. Only one prophecy remained now, one Nexes felt certain they were witnessing in their own lifetimes. After, they would be left to flounder in the dark. Nexes would have put the founders to the sword for that indignity if he could.
The ancient place still held secrets. A twenty-foot-high, circular stone door stood at the Cradle’s deepest point. Curious glyphs of a language forgotten by man were carved upon it. The doorway glowed with a faint green light that never changed. No other illumination appeared to alter it. And it wouldn’t open.
Previous emperors had tried and failed to uncover the Cradle’s final mystery. They’d detailed their attempts in the Book of Memories, a tome that lay in the Cradle’s hub and documented Haltveldt’s history as its rulers saw it.
The Emperor and his friends had tried brute strength, invention and Balz’s Spark to pry it open with no success. Now, the Emperor ignored it. Nexes couldn’t. It always drew his eye when he visited. As a man who considered every angle, the things that lay beyond the door gnawed at him.
