Ilishian sucked his teeth as he pulled on the disguising garment. “It will have to do.”
“And then what?” I asked, planting my feet in a wider stance.
“We’ll get you somewhere safe and wait for news.”
“When will we return to the Hold?”
Ilishian’s cheek twitched. “When the traitors have been exposed and no sooner.”
“We’ll remain in the mountains?”
He shook his head. “There’s a difficult path that leaves the road not far beyond the gorge. It exits the mountains about half a day’s walk from the city. We’ll circle around that way.”
I didn’t mention that I’d never ventured into the mountains, that my only experience beyond the walls was my handful of trips through Jaliss. Ilishian probably knew that already, and if he didn’t, it would just give him more excuses to avoid consulting me.
“The three of us will easily find a safe spot within the city,” Ilishian continued. “I’ll contact the Hold afterward and begin sorting friend from foe. We must preserve the Ascension.”
“The four of us, you mean,” I said as I shrugged into the cloak.
Ilishian looked at me quizzically.
“Vaness. You promised to send Azar back for her.”
He pursed his lips, then nodded, frustration on his face. “You’re right, I did. Fair enough.” His gaze turned to Azar. “Once we’re across the bridge, you’ll attempt to get Scion Vaness out safely. We’ll wait for you at Graybranch Inn in the Splits.”
Azar nodded, her face set. “As you say.”
With a nod, Ilishian set out again, leading us on. Near the Chasm Gate, only scattered lanterns flickered. But atop the wall, fires burned every few paces. I remembered the view from the city, glimpsed on a long-ago trip to the astrologers’ high tower. Seen from Jaliss, Steelhold was the burning crown on a pedestal so high it seemed to scratch the clouds. Forbidding and utterly dominating.
My toe hit a pebble and sent it skittering across the stone. On the wall, a guard turned and quickly doused his torch to better see into the darkness. I froze, only to suppress a cry of horror when the man’s hands went to his throat, tugging at a dart that now bristled from his neck.
He crumpled as Ilishian tucked away the black-iron tube he’d blown the dart through.
Guilt spread through me like oil. That man had died because I was clumsy. I wanted to stop this, refuse to go further, but I remembered the Emperor’s words. If I didn’t Ascend, hundreds of thousands would die. Our civilization would be ruined.
Ahead, a span of bare stone separated us from the Chasm Gate, the moon glaring down on the approach. I swallowed and paused behind Ilishian. Azar’s quiet breath warmed my ear as she pressed close. My thoughts once again flitted to what I could see of her body beneath the shapeless robe and cloak. I pushed them away. Now was not the time.
With a nod, Ilishian started across the empty space. I followed, pulse rushing in my ears. When we neared the gate, the sentry whirled.
“We have business in the strongholds,” Ilishian said, brushing back his hood. “I’m taking these apprentices for training.”
The sentry on the right stomped twice to acknowledge the mage’s high rank. But he didn’t move to turn the winch that would raise the iron gate. “I have orders from the Emperor, conveyed through Minister Brevt. No one is to leave tonight. There have been rumors of Stormshard movements in the city and surrounds.”
A renegade group, Stormshard had been hassling the Empire for years. But they were an annoyance more than anything. Hardly reason to close down the Hold. Unless… had all the raids on caravans and interference with couriers been a cover while they moved on the ultimate target? Emperor Tovmeil had made it sound as if his enemies were close. Inside the palace walls, even. But maybe he’d been wrong. If so, how had a ragtag group of renegades managed to get assassins into the Hold? Then again, if Brevt had given the order to lock down the Hold, did that mean he, not Stormshard, was behind the murder?
“I appreciate your loyalty, Protector. But Minister Brevt is mistaken. I spoke with the Emperor late this evening. He’d heard of these resistance operatives, and much of what we will do in the strongholds will directly oppose their work.”
In any case, the guard’s face hardened. He wasn’t falling for Ilishian’s story. My shoulders tightened as the ferro mage reached for his robes and the blowtube and poisoned darts within. The act came so easy to him. This just wasn’t right.
And yet you’re just standing here letting it happen, I thought.
Without stopping to consider my actions, I stepped forward and threw back my hood. The guards immediately dropped their eyes, the habit ingrained after years of averting their eyes when a Scion drew near.
“There is little time,” I said. “We must be well away from Steelhold before dawn if we are to disrupt this plan.”
“It’s irregular,” muttered the guard who’d first confronted us. “A Scion leaving the hold.”
“I’m sure irregular things happened in the years before the Anisel Uprising, too. If I’m forced to summon the Prime Protector from her bed, I doubt you’ll wish to explain our delay.”
“No, sire. And I don’t wish to argue with one chosen by the stars. But the Minister—”
“Is ignorant. Or perhaps he’s a Stormshard ally. Open the portcullis, Protector, or I’ll do it myself.”
At my side, I felt Ilishian’s simmering rage. In his mind, it had been foolish to expose myself when he could have dealt with the problem quietly. When news got out of the Emperor’s murder, the fact that I’d left the compound within hours would cast suspicion on me and the mages escorting me. Better to be a suspect than stand by while more men were murdered for my sake, though.
Eyes still fixed on the ground at my feet, the guard clenched and unclenched his leather-clad fists. After a long, tense silence, he stomped twice then nodded at his partner. Together, they grabbed the wooden pegs on the portcullis winch and started raising the gate.
I kept my face even, fixing a faint look of disdain over my features as I stalked to the opening gate. At least my years of training as a Scion taught me to control my emotions. From the outside, I was the ruthless candidate Vaness believed me to be.
Just as the pointed spikes on the bottom edge of the portcullis cleared chest height, a shout went up on the far side of the Hold. The alarm gong clanged. Beside me, Ilishian stiffened.
“Go. Now,” he said under his breath.
Ducking our heads, we slipped beneath the spikes. When I glanced back, Azar had vanished, likely melting into the shadows now that we’d passed beyond Steelhold’s walls.
Ilishian strode onto the bridge as if unconcerned by the rising clamor from within the fortress. Hand falling on my hip where I usually belted my training scimitar, I swallowed and hurried my steps to draw even with him.
“Will Azar be okay?” I asked.
“She was wise enough not to show her face. Unlike you.”
“Those men didn’t need to die.” I wouldn’t apologize. Besides, we’d made it, right?
“Yet you’ve complicated our task. As you recall, we must find a way for you to Ascend. Difficult when you left Steelhold under suspicious circumstances.”
“I’m sure we’ll find a way to persuade any who might accuse me. Or would that require too much creativity from someone who would rather kill those who dared hesitate to obey?”
I knew this wasn’t the time to confront the man, but the night’s events were finally breaking through my carefully constructed control.
“The politics of the situation are clearly beyond your young mind,” the mage said as we neared the center of the high span.
I ignored the barb as I glanced back at the Hold. Along the wall, more torches now burned as patrollers ran to and fro, securing the perimeter. A cloaked figure stood motionless at the stone rail, silhouetted in the moonlight. Judging by the height, I guessed it was Azar. I hoped she w
as faithful to her promise to retrieve Vaness as soon as we’d disappeared from sight.
“Master Ilishian! Scion Kostan! In the name of the Ministry and the Empire it serves, I command you to halt!” When the man’s shout rang out in the cold night, the ferro mage jerked.
“Minister Brevt,” he called. “The Ministry’s handiwork this evening is a blow to the throne, no doubt. But know that the Ascension will still happen. No plots can upset the stars’ will.”
I clenched my jaw. So Brevt and his cohort were behind the plan, or at least that was Ilishian's conclusion. I thought back to the minister's cruel grin that day when I’d patrolled the walls with Vaness. He must have been planning my murder even then.
“Don’t stand there like a fool,” Ilishian said under his breath. “Keep walking.”
I shook clear of my thoughts and carried on. Vibration from my stomping footsteps traveled up my legs, jarring my knees. With every step, it seemed to grow.
After a moment, I realized it wasn’t just my footsteps vibrating my body. Beneath me, the bridge had started to shake. After another few paces, a deep rumble rose from the heavy stone blocks of the span.
A fist of fear clutched my heart. We had no shortage of earthquakes in Jaliss and Steelhold, and they’d only been worsening lately. The Chasm Span had withstood hundreds of years of shakes. Yet this felt different.
“Potential energy in the suspended arch. Enough of it from the natural buttressing of the stone,” Ilishian said behind me, his voice tight. “Go. Run.”
He dashed forward and shoved something into my hand. Clutching the metal chain and hard lump of stone, I nodded. He didn’t need to explain any more than he had. Geognosty. My eyes widened as my legs pumped.
Where had Brevt found a geognost willing to do someone else’s bidding? The earth mages were stingy with their magic, putting it only to purposes of their choosing. Earth magic wasn’t something that could be given through Maelstrom-blessed metals or countless hours of instruction—a geognost was born with the ability. Moreover, one master earth mage likely commanded more power than an entire order of metalogists. Their power lay in harnessing the natural energy in the earth and heavens. A boulder teetering on a cliff’s edge represented enormous potential. With just a mental nudge, an earth mage could send it plummeting or she could allow it to drift to earth, channeling the immense destructive power into the earth mage’s grasp. Stories told of geognosts who had siphoned the energy of an earthquake, turning it back on the shaking clay and raising a fully formed citadel from the earth. Others had gathered the force of the tide and lifted moisture from the sea, the resulting rain ending a years-long drought.
The Chasm Span arched over a drop almost too deep to fathom. Supported on either side by natural ramparts in the cliff, it represented enormous potential. Easy to nudge into action.
The light of the moon seemed to dim as panic closed on my vision. I sprinted over the shuddering stone pavement. Beneath me, the bridge trembled and shook. Somewhere behind, a loud crack split the air. I heard Ilishian yell but couldn’t understand the words. I risked a glance over my shoulder, saw him standing with blowgun raised, his head swiveling as he searched for the geognost.
And then, the ground gave way beneath him, crumbling with a grating roar that beat against my eardrums and rattled my teeth. Ilishian screamed as he fell, his voice fading into the chasm below.
My toe caught an uneven edge. I stumbled, careened toward the edge where the crumbling bridge gave way to open air, only caught my balance a step before the brink. Behind me, more stones fell, whistling as they plummeted to earth. Thirty paces separated me from the end of the bridge where a narrow track rose through the gash in the mountains.
My breath hissed and wheezed as fear choked down my windpipe. I shook my head. I wouldn’t give in. Not while my feet still pounded solid stone.
One long stride after another, my boots slammed the bridge beneath me. Twenty paces left. A distant part of my mind noticed the shouts, a woman among them.
“Run far and fast, Kostan,” she yelled. “You are the Empire’s last hope!”
Azar. She must still be atop the wall, must have seen her mentor’s fall. Ilishian was gone. The Emperor was dead. Countless enemies moved on the throne, ready to destroy the Atal Empire.
Ten paces separated me from the end of the bridge. To my right, one of the squared-off stones that edged the bridge groaned as the mortar holding it gave way. The massive block rotated and fell away, somehow graceful despite its ungainly shape. I gagged and leaped over a widening gap in the pavement ahead.
And suddenly, my feet skidded on packed earth and embedded rocks that had been smoothed and rounded after centuries of traffic on the road.
Behind me, the bridge fell away. After a thousand years, the Chasm Gate now protected nothing but open air. I stopped and turned, staring at Steelhold. It was the only home I’d ever known. A home and a prison. But at least within its walls, I’d known what each morning would bring. I’d understood my future. Now, the only way forward was through treacherous mountains. I had no food, no water. Just a leather coat, a roughspun cloak, and the strength of my body.
The cool metal in my hand caught my attention as something heavy slipped off my palm. I caught the chain in a tight fist and lifted the object Ilishian had given me into the moonlight. The banded agate pendant of the Heart of the Empire swung slowly in the air.
Slipping the necklace over my head, I gave the burning torches of Steelhold one last look and turned, trotting into the unknown.
Chapter Twelve
Savra
Dukket Waystation at the base of the Cosmal Crease
“SEE IT?” HAVIALO asked, pointing. “The Cosmal Crease.”
At first, I’d thought the shadowy hump on the horizon was a band of fog or a forested hill. But now, I spotted the dark cracks splitting the rise. Haze from the sea hid most other details.
“Not much farther then?” I said, trying not to sound too relieved. After all, he was carrying all the weight. We’d packed the useful items from the registrar’s party into a single pair of saddlebags which Havialo kept slung over his shoulders.
He shook his head. “No, not much farther.”
As we drew closer, the slant of the ground steepened. Now and again, little tremors rattled the earth. I’d underestimated the size of the Crease. Badly. What had looked like low bluffs and cliffs were jagged precipices, freshly heaved from the ground. The broken terrain reminded me of what happened when I buried my feet in wet sand. As I wiggled and pulled them free, the sand would mound up, breaking and cracking, folding and crumbling. But here, the upper end of the peninsula was being bent and twisted the Maelstrom sucked the lower end down.
Around what looked like a quarter hour’s walk from the Crease, Havialo ducked off the road into the tangle of brush and boulders. After a moment’s confusion, I noticed the trail, a faint track overgrown with rattling foliage. We followed this for a few hundred paces before turning to parallel the road. Havialo shoved aside brambles and branches, grunting as he forced his way forward.
“Was there something wrong with the road?” I asked, brushing aside hair that stuck to my sweating forehead. A few paces on, I stopped and stripped off the cloak and wool sweater—it stank even worse when warm. Rolling them together, I wrapped them around my waist and secured them with a knot.
“Better if my friend doesn’t know we’re coming.”
“Why?”
“Well, we didn’t exactly part on good terms. If we surprise him, he won’t have as much time to remember our little quarrel.”
Great. “But he’ll help, right?”
He didn’t face me when he responded. “I hope so. Just don’t get too comfortable once we arrive.”
***
Waystation Dukket sprawled at the base of the Crease, a low-slung collection of buildings surrounded by packed earth and hitching rails. None of the buildings were taller than the height of a man�
�in fact, I suspected that many travelers would have to hunch while inside—and the roofs were thatched with straw. I understood why when my gaze passed over the far side of the waystation. There, a pair of buildings had fallen inward, the straw piled above the timbers. Earthquakes—better to have a low roof of straw fall upon the occupants than an arching ceiling of heavy timber and slate tile.
We stood near the edge of the cleared area, covered in scratches and leaves from our venture through the brush. After inspecting the layout of the waystation, Havialo led us on a path that skirted the grounds until we were near the stables. There, he straightened his shoulders, coughed, and strolled from the brush as if this were the most ordinary approach in the world.
After a moment, I swallowed and followed him.
The geognost stopped at the stable entrance, a wide door split in half so the top and bottom could be opened separately. The bottom half was closed and latched, while the top had been swung aside, exposing a dim interior, dust floating in sunbeams that pressed through the thatched roof.
Havialo kicked the lower door a few times, setting the wood and the framing shivering. “Hello!” he called.
A pale face emerged from the darkness, hair stacked in a crooked pile atop his head. The man squinted into the light that fell through the door. “Who is it?”
“Ho, Teppo.”
The man’s face darkened. “I’m not sure if you’re brave or stupid to come here, Havialo.”
At the acid in his tone, I took a step back. The motion caught the man’s attention, and he turned his glare on me. “And don’t think bringing an innocent girl with you will make your treatment any kinder. I heard what you did to Evrain.”
I jerked at my father’s name. Havialo nudged me with his knuckles. A warning?
“Evrain was angry that I had no more heart for our cause, that’s all,” the mage said. “And we’ve since made amends.”
Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1) Page 7
