Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘So you have said.’ Envoy de Vries started off down the street, following the column of soldiers.

  ‘This is all your fault.’ Father Orlov hefted his pack on his shoulders and set off after the Envoy. Soon they reached the outskirts of Cinderfell and the road was no more than a leaf-strewn muddy track. The trees on either side reached out to one another, their boughs meeting overhead. The sky would have been obscured had there been leaves on the branches, but spring was still two months off. Instead it felt as if they trudged through the ribcage of an unending serpent with chaotic black bones.

  Was it really necessary to come this way? Silverdust sent the question to both Orlov and de Vries.

  ‘It’s the fastest route between Cinderfell and Steinwick,’ said the Envoy. ‘Don’t you like the view, Exarch?’ She gestured grandly to the stark trunks and leafless trees. The ferns had withered and turned brown during the winter and only the thorny gorse had kept its colour.

  ‘I like the forest,’ said Father Orlov. ‘It is good to be among living things after so long on Vladibogdan.’

  This forest is half-dead, along with everything in it. This is a poor time of year to travel.

  Envoy de Vries slowed her pace until she walked beside Silverdust. Father Orlov walked on ahead and the Envoy stared around the forest with a growing frown.

  ‘Have you experienced anything else since that night in Cinderfell?’ she said quietly. ‘Do you think this is a new school of the arcane?’ After a pause, the woman added in awed tones, ‘Could it be taught?’

  I am experiencing something at this very moment.

  The Envoy’s pace slowed and she cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. One hand drifted to the hilt of her knife, for all the good it would do her against the dead.

  ‘What do you see?’

  Dead bandits come to the edge of the track to watch our passing.

  ‘Bandits?’ De Vries smiled and shook her head. ‘I hope they were killed by Imperial soldiers.’

  Silverdust looked at the phantoms in the forest. Some came right up to the track itself, close enough to touch the soldiers who walked past unaware they were being watched. To Silverdust’s senses the ghosts resembled white and blue flames, springing up from the earth. The pale blue lights resembled men and women, no older than forty if Silverdust had to guess, all whip-thin and ragged. A few opened their mouths to cry pitifully, but no sound emerged from the mouths of the dead.

  They starved to death. Silverdust could feel his patience for the Envoy waning. Nordvlast is not an Imperial province. There are no soldiers here to kill the lawless.

  ‘It won’t be long until we claim this cheerless corner of Vinterkveld for the Empire,’ said de Vries, sounding bored. ‘Surely you know this, Exarch?’

  Nordvlast can barely afford to build decent roads much less afford to keep and feed barracks full of soldiers. The Envoy waved off his words and rolled her eyes.

  ‘This could change everything in the Empire,’ said de Vries, with a breathless intensity that put Silverdust on edge. ‘This gift of yours could give us the edge in the war with the south.’

  This will change nothing. The Emperor has long known secrets denied to the Synod. Do you think the man who dominates an entire continent would be content with mastering air, water, earth and fire?

  ‘No one has ever developed skill in all four areas of the arcane,’ said de Vries with curl of her lip. ‘Not even the Emperor.’

  He was some forty summers old when the war against the dragons reached its climax. By now his years number more than a century. Imagine what one could learn given two lifetimes.

  The Envoy said nothing. For once she was less sure of herself and her expression was troubled.

  ‘You seem to know a great deal about the Emperor for someone who has spent decades on Vladibogdan.’

  It was not always so.

  They travelled in silence for some time, the wind gusted in the trees and the Envoy shivered as much from fear as cold if Silverdust guessed the truth of it. The phantoms continued their vigil from the side of the track, appearing in groups of twos and threes every few miles. Some appeared to be weeping, other stared with a dreadful intensity.

  ‘When did you first notice this power?’ asked de Vries.

  The first time was in Cinderfell.

  ‘How?’ De Vries shook her head, and her usual assured guise slipped to show something of the frustration and confusion she felt. ‘How did this come to pass?’

  I was close at hand when the Vartiainen boy destroyed the Ashen Torment. The artefact contained vast power, particularly power over the dead.

  ‘And you think it has something to do with your new sight?’

  It would make a certain sense, but the arcane does not always follow a straight path.

  ‘Nothing like this has ever happened to a Vigilant before,’ said de Vries in a thoughtful tone.

  I am not as most Vigilants.

  The soldiers settled into a routine each day and the deep darkness of the long Nordvlast nights required they stop to make camp. Silverdust remained apart from the main group, never straying far from the Envoy. He stared into the woodlands with the aura of heat and light playing around his feet, a sombre beacon in the gloom.

  ‘Keeping to yourself again.’ It was the young soldier, Streig. Silverdust was not surprised; he had felt the boy’s curiosity, noticed him approach with senses other than eyes. ‘The other soldiers say you can see the dead.’

  Is that so?

  ‘Alexandr overheard the Envoy speaking with Father Orlov. She said you were dangerous.’

  All Vigilants are dangerous.

  ‘True enough, but she seems particularly worked up about you.’

  The Envoy is conflicted. On the one hand she suspects me of treason, and yet I have a power she can only dream of. She cannot decide to deliver me to the Emperor as a unique prize or a deadly prisoner.

  ‘So it’s true then?’ Streig looked at Silverdust from the corner of his eye.

  That I have committed treason or that I can see the dead?

  Silverdust regarded the endless darkness of the night-time forest. A pair of blue-white lights shimmered in the distance, two phantoms lingering perhaps half a mile away.

  ‘I don’t imagine you’d admit to betraying the Empire.’ Streig stared into the forest and Silverdust could feel the young man’s fear grow steadily stronger.

  There is nothing to be afraid of. The dead are content simply to watch, it seems. Unlike the Empire’s leaders, who live only to kill.

  ‘Are you going to eat that?’ said Streig, carefully ignoring Silverdust’s dissent. He pointed at the bowl of thin broth that sat forgotten beside Silverdust’s pack.

  I am not. But you may.

  The soldier took the bowl and spooned the greasy broth to his lips, pausing to cast a glance at the camp fire where the other soldiers sat and drank and played dice.

  You have kept this irregularity between us, I trust?

  ‘The fact you never eat?’ Streig nodded slowly. ‘Double portions for me.’

  Exactly. It is to your benefit. Silverdust watched the young soldier finish the broth, felt the swirl of thoughts in the man’s head. He was neither tall nor short, but heavy in the chest and arm in the way of Imperial soldiers. The young soldier viewed the world through wide, honest eyes and Silverdust sensed a question gnawing at him. And you are not bothered by this? The Exarch gestured towards the bowl. Streig shrugged.

  ‘There’s plenty of things I don’t understand and plenty of things about Vigilants I don’t know. I’ve always been told not to ask. This is another one of those things.’ Streig glanced at the Exarch a moment. ‘Though maybe this is particular to you.’

  You are astute.

  ‘Well, it works out rather well for me, so I suppose I’ll stay with not asking. And I’m not going to ask why you never seem to sleep either.’

  You are an attentive soldier, Streig. You could go far in the Imperial Army.

  Streig
shrugged and looked away, then snorted a weary and incredulous laugh. ‘As long as I don’t ask any questions. The Envoy has been very clear about that, stuck up …’ Streig stopped himself and eyed Silverdust warily.

  I have no great love of the Envoy, your indiscretions will not reach her ears.

  ‘Just our bad fortune that we have to escort Father Orlov across the continent,’ added Streig, quietly. ‘He was in charge of troop inspections on Vladibogdan. The pointless nonsense he had us do, just to show us who was in charge.’

  He is a man who grasps after power to the exclusion of all else.

  ‘You sure have a way with words.’ Streig looked back to the camp to make sure he hadn’t been missed.

  If you should overhear anything else between Father Orlov and Envoy de Vries …

  ‘You’d be amazed what important people say in front of lowly soldiers.’ Streig looked back towards the camp fire. ‘I’ll take your bowl back for washing. Do you need anything else?’ He let the question hang between them for a moment. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

  Silverdust watched the young soldier go and felt a glimmer of amusement. It was good to have an ally again.

  It was another week before they reached Steinwick, and Silverdust was grateful when they emerged from the seemingly endless tunnel beneath the bleak boughs of the Nordvlast forest. Steinwick served the nearby villages and hamlets, acting as a focal point for trade. The merchants had fared well, and a succession of headsmen had raised walls around the town. Smoke drifted lazily from numerous chimneys and lantern lights glimmered from the watch towers.

  Why are there Imperial soldiers at the gate?

  Envoy de Vries stared down the track and squinted into the distance.

  ‘Surely you must know, Exarch?’ She smiled smugly. ‘A garrison was left here. Two Vigilants were killed in their sleep months ago while lodging at an inn. Another went missing though her body was never found. The novices called her Sharpbreath.’

  Khigir’s sister.

  ‘The soldiers are a friendly reminder to the townsfolk. The innkeeper and his family were not much help during our investigation, which was unfortunate. More unfortunate for them as it turned out.’

  Silverdust fought the urge to set the woman on fire and stopped walking.

  Why would the innkeeper and his family know anything about the killer?

  The Envoy stopped beside him and looked back towards the forest, before ignoring his question and continuing her train of thought. ‘We have to assume the assassin came from out of town. Perhaps Cinderfell.’

  Steinwick is part of Nordvlast. We have no right to station soldiers here. The terms of the treaty we made with the Scorched Republics specifically forbid the Empire’s interference.

  ‘You’ve been on the island too long, Exarch.’ The Envoy smiled without humour. ‘We are the Solmindre Empire. We do as we please and if the Scorched Republics feel slighted …’ The Envoy pouted and shrugged. ‘Well, they may just end up like the innkeeper and his family.’

  That remains to be seen. The people of the Scorched Republics will not be so easily subjugated, I think.

  ‘Careful, Exarch. You sound perilously close to sedition.’

  What does it matter? The innkeeper and his family knew nothing of the assassinations, and yet they perished at our hands all the same.

  ‘Innocence isn’t protection from punishment, Silverdust.’ The Envoy stroked the curving mask with a single fingertip. ‘An example had to made here. And the Emperor does so like to make examples.’ She grinned girlishly. ‘You may want to ponder on that. We’ll be at Khlystburg before too long.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Steiner

  ‘I thought we were seeking out small towns and villages,’ said Kristofine. ‘So we can spread the word of rebellion and incite uprisings.’

  ‘We are,’ said Steiner, ‘and we will.’ He pulled his hood up against the faint drizzle that appeared to fall almost continuously. ‘But for now I’d simply be happy to be out of the rain.’

  They had been trudging across the dreary landscape of Svingettevei for two weeks, walking along the edge of the Great Western Forest in the hopes they would avoid being spotted. They dined on hare and, when the goddesses smiled upon them, boar, but food was scarce in the main. The trees watched silently, evergreen branches sheltering them from the worst of the north wind.

  ‘We’ve barely seen a soul since we left the barge,’ said Kristofine, a note of impatience in her voice.

  ‘I know. We’ll in the Empire soon and things will change.’

  ‘Is this because of what happened at the canal-side inn?’ she asked. ‘You might find a friendlier audience next time.’ Steiner winced as he remembered his failure to make any impression on the men in the bar.

  ‘I’ll try again, I’ll make people hear me. They will listen, I’m sure of it.’ But with every word he felt more uncertain. ‘Besides, people are talking about what happened. The innkeeper will talk about Vladibogdan and the dragon. Word of the taken children is spreading.’

  ‘But shouldn’t you be the one telling it?’ said Kristofine. ‘It’s your story after all.’

  ‘When we get to the next town,’ replied Steiner, frowning. ‘I promise.’

  A cold wind whipped at the tree tops and pulled at their cloaks. The forest they had walked beside for so long finally parted ways with them. Marek waited for them on a knoll a half mile ahead. The land here was unclaimed, miles of grassland between the forests and lakes.

  ‘Because if you are worried about talking to people,’ continued Kristofine, ‘I could try for you.’

  Steiner shook his head. ‘No.’ He felt a flash of irritation with her. ‘I said I’d do it.’

  ‘I just want to help,’ said Kristofine quietly. Her words were clipped, hinting at her frustration.

  ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘But I made a promise to Kimi. It should be me that fulfils it. It should be me that tells the tale.’

  Marek gestured that they hurry and the conversation was abandoned, but the irritation Steiner felt hung at his neck like a millstone. They walked in silence and if his father noticed the tension between them he didn’t mention it.

  ‘This is the border where the Karelina and Virolanti Provinces meet Svingettevei,’ said Marek. ‘And those’ – he gestured to a clutch of small black dots wandering along an ill-defined track – ‘are Imperial soldiers patrolling the border.’

  ‘And that’ – Kristofine pointed to a huddle of dour buildings a few miles away – ‘looks like an opportunity to get dry and eat something other than hare or boar.’ Steiner eyed the tiny settlement and pursed his lips, knowing he’d have to try and speak to the locals.

  ‘I can only see about five,’ he said, squinting through the rain at the Imperial soldiers. ‘If we surprise them somehow we might be able to …’ He caught Marek’s stern look and said no more.

  ‘I don’t like those odds,’ replied Marek. ‘We go into town and we see if we can find a few people interested in our tale. Maybe they’ve already had word here.’ He held up one finger. ‘We keep our heads down.’

  Steiner sighed. He’d rather fight with bad odds than try winning people over in a bar.

  ‘Come on,’ said Kristofine with a glimmer of renewed hope in her eyes. ‘Let’s find a good inn with a large fireplace.’

  The hamlet was barely more than a few roads that had the good fortune to run into each other. A muddy square formed the centre and a number of houses in dark timber had been thrown up. The houses had been covered in now-flaking plaster, while the thatched roofs were verdant with moss and stained with guano.

  ‘Welcome to the Solmindre Empire and all of its riches,’ said Marek.

  ‘Cinderfell doesn’t look so bad now that I’ve seen this place,’ said Steiner.

  ‘So is this Karelina Province or Virolanti?’ asked Kristofine.

  ‘Well, actually,’ said a local man who slouched in a nearby doorway, ‘this isn’t one place or another. We’
re right on the border.’

  ‘Does it have a name?’ said Steiner. The man had a patronising tone that made Steiner clutch his sledgehammer a little tighter.

  ‘You don’t know where you are?’ The man stepped out into what passed for the main street. He was a little younger than Marek, balding and narrow-shouldered. His cloak was a tired grey colour that matched his face. ‘Fancy not knowing where you are.’

  ‘If we knew we wouldn’t be asking,’ said Kristofine.

  ‘It’s not wise to start travelling and not know where you’re heading,’ replied the man with a sneer.

  ‘We’re heading east,’ said Steiner. ‘Come on. I’ll not waste my breath speaking with halfheads.’

  ‘Too bad the inn is full,’ said the man with a broad smile. ‘Full of Imperial soldiers. Soldiers looking for someone, I’d say. Looking for people coming from the west.’

  Marek pulled back his hood and glowered at the man. ‘This is Trystbyre.’

  ‘Ah, one of you has a clue then.’

  ‘We’re headed to the far side of the lake in Virolanti to see my sister,’ said Marek. ‘She’s had a fever for many weeks now. My son and his wife have never travelled before and don’t know the land like you do.’

  ‘Ah, well, no one knows the land like I do.’ The local man preened. ‘I’ve been here for longer than …’ But Marek had already walked away.

  ‘Why did you tell him all those lies?’ asked Kristofine.

  ‘Now he feels like he has something on us,’ replied Marek. ‘A little story about who we are. We’re not mysterious strangers any more, and that makes us unremarkable. People don’t gossip about unremarkable things.’

  ‘I wanted to smack him in the mouth,’ said Steiner.

  ‘I know,’ replied Marek. ‘And that’s exactly the kind of thing that will get us noticed.’ He frowned. ‘What’s got into you? You don’t normally let fools rile you so easily.’

  Steiner shrugged and tried not to think of performing speeches about sedition to rooms full of people who didn’t care to listen to him, or worse yet didn’t believe him.

  ‘Just cold is all,’ he lied. ‘Cold and hungry.’