“It’s safer for you here,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. He didn’t meet my eyes as he straightened.
“I don't have a weapon. Not to mention, I've never been in a fight.”
His cheek twitched. “My mind is made up, Savra.” With his chin, he gestured to an overhanging cliff of dirt at the edge of the Crease. “The shadows there will conceal you. Keep the cloaks as blankets in case you get cold.”
“But—”
A rumble from deep in the earth cut me off. My gaze snapped to Havialo. Had he caused that?
His eyes were cold as he tossed me the cloaks. “The journey ahead is no safer than what we’ve traveled so far. You must learn to trust my judgment because if we argue at the wrong moment, it could mean our lives.”
I winced at his hard words. I hadn’t meant to cause trouble. Then again, the sudden edge in his tone bothered me. And the trembling earth. Had it been a threat or my imagination? My thoughts returned to Teppo and the things he’d said about Havialo and my father. Maybe I should be more cautious with my trust.
After a tense silence, I glanced at the cliff at the Crease’s base and nodded. “What should I do if you don’t come back?”
“I’ll be back,” he said. “And Savra… I’m sorry. I have no desire to command you or anyone. But my vow matters more than my desires.”
With that, he trudged off along the lower flank of the Crease.
***
Havialo returned in the night. I heard the snorting of horses, the rustle of fabric. A fur-lined cloak fell over the top of me, brushing against my cheek. Still troubled about how he’d acted, I pretended to be asleep.
In the morning, the sight of all the supplies he’d obtained calmed some of my worries. There was clean traveler’s clothing, soft bread, dried meats and wax-shelled cheeses—even new boots. I picked up the pair that looked sized to my feet, drawing my brows together at the fur cuffs.
“Will it really be cold enough for these?”
“As I mentioned, you’ll soon have the pleasure of experiencing the winds of Guralan. The movement of air has something to do with the Maelstrom—I feel the same taint in the gale as I do in the Cosmali sea tides. In any case, I suspect you’ll appreciate a bit of armor against the wind’s bite.” He paused a moment, fixing me with a pensive expression. “And I got you something else. An apology for my short temper—the difficult conditions of the last days wore on me, despite my best intents.”
I hadn’t yet seen a full smile from Havialo, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he held out a packet of candied fruit.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the gift. “Now, are you ready to expose me to this ferocious wind?”
I shouldn’t have spoken so flippantly. Within the hour, we were making our miserable way through the forests of Guralan, where the frigid wind sliced through clothing and numbed straight to the bone. The widely spaced trees bent away from the weather, their bark dry and peeling on the windward side, branches gathering on the leeward exposure as if to shelter from the gale.
The few travelers we passed wore furs similar to ours. By the looks on their faces, they didn’t like the weather here any more than I did.
The sturdy little gelding Havialo had found for me—trying to cheer my spirits, I’d named my mount Breeze—plodded behind Havialo’s feisty mare. I kept my cloak pulled tight against the stiff wind. The icy air bit my cheeks and nose, and my toes alternately ached and went numb.
“Is it always this awful?” I asked.
“I’ve heard of Guralan blacksmiths hanging anvils from chains and judging the strength of the wind by how far it pushes the weight aside. Does that answer your question?”
I shivered. “But if it’s this cold here, and Jaliss is even higher into the mountains, how does anyone stand it? I can’t imagine living here, much less somewhere worse.”
“Well, first off, a Guralaner would tell you that without the wind, they’d be afraid of waking up soft and whining like an Aniselan or Cosmali. The age-old rivalry of the provinces.”
“What about the Atal? What do the Guralaners think of them?”
“Same as you, I imagine. They likely avoid thinking about the imperialists whenever they can.”
A low hanging bough cut across the trail, needles shivering in the wind. The mage laid over his saddle’s pommel to pass beneath it, the branch scratching over his cloak. When it dropped off the hump of his back and slapped his mare’s hindquarters, she shied and snorted. Havialo whispered to her, working a rein with each hand, until she calmed.
Once the mare stood quietly, I squeezed my heels against Breeze to urge him forward, ducking beneath the bough. “I’ve been wondering…” I said. “When Teppo said that Numintown fuels the Empire’s dominance, what did he mean? The Maelstrom-metals?”
With a click of his tongue, the mage turned his mount for the trail ahead. “That’s right,” he said over his shoulder.
I understood why the Empire would need metal for everything from swords to door hinges, but the amounts we delivered weren’t enough to provide kitchen knives for every household in Jaliss, much less longswords for the protectors. The metalogists used rings of various metals to channel power, but Cosmal couldn’t be their only source.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “The quotas are too small to make a difference.”
He pulled up so we could ride side by side. When I drew even with him, he collected the reins in his far hand and extended the other toward me, wiggling his middle finger with the silver ring. It was the band he’d taken off in disgust after failing to persuade the registrar to list me as a scribe.
“I know metalogists wear rings to channel their power,” I said. “You have a rank in argent magic, right? And you use the silver ring to signify your advancement. But there must be silver mines in the Icethorns.”
“I’m sure there are.”
“Then I don’t think I understand,” I said, though an idea glimmered in my thoughts.
“That’s because the Empire guards the secret carefully. Without the rings—and bracelets, anklets, armbands—there are no metalogists. The magic comes from the metals, not the other way around.”
“But not all metals…” I said, understanding. Silver, gold, and black iron were the only required metals in our quotas. Any other nuggets filled in the remainder. Argent, aurum, and ferro mages needed those specific metals for their power, but their magic must have required materials deposited by Maelstrom currents. It was obvious now that I saw it, but the Empire’s metalogists were something an ordinary Prov avoided thinking about if at all possible. Plus, by allowing us to fill parts of our quotas with metals like copper and pyrite, the Empire had a screen for their true desire.
He dropped his hand to his thigh as he nodded. "Only the Maelstrom-metals grant the power. And without the metalogists backing it, the throne would never stand. Without the work done by Numintown and the other Cosmali settlements, the Atal Empire wouldn't exist. Or if it did, it would look quite different.” His lips twitched in amusement when he glanced at me. “Perhaps we’d see how the geognosts would govern.”
Swaying in the saddle, I considered the new information. Numintown had worked the sluices for decades without understanding we were empowering our oppressors. Most likely, snitches reported those who figured it out. If Cosmali Provs caught on to the power they held, another uprising was sure to follow.
But Havialo had claimed that we needed to deliver the ledger to Jaliss to protect Numintown from rationing. Or worse, dissolution. Would the Empire actually starve or kill the people who produced the resource that fueled its power? I glanced sideways at the geognost. I didn't see why he would lie to me. He'd given me my father's letter. I'd seen the smoke rising from town.
But something didn’t make sense.
The rutted road curved around a rock outcropping that cut the wind, a welcome respite from the biting cold. I flexed my fingers inside my mittens to work the stiffne
ss from them.
"You never answered," I said. "Is it even colder in Jaliss?"
He smirked. "I don't think anywhere is colder than Guralan Province on a windy day. Not even the most exposed mountain top."
I sighed in relief. "Then I can't wait until we leave this place."
"To tell the truth, if it weren’t for the Maelstrom-taint in the wind, I’d consider settling here because of the gale. An earth mage practicing with such a ready and predictable source of energy could do quite well for himself. As it stands, I'd rather pull my teeth out than live here."
"So that’s all you need? Wind or an earthquake or a rockslide, and you can work your magic?”
"Yes and no. Every time a geognost connects with and changes the natural world, it saps the mage's internal reserves, which require time and rest to rebuild. I must choose carefully when I wish to use my power because I don't want to be fatigued if a real emergency arises."
As the far edge of the outcropping approached, the trees beyond shaking in a fresh gust, even the horses slowed. Before leaving the shelter of the hill, Havialo reined up. "Just an hour or so until dusk. Better to set camp where there’s shelter than risk that." He gestured to the howling wind ahead.
After the horses were brushed and watered and a small fire crackled, flames leaping when the wind swirled into our sheltered spot, I gathered my knees to my chest. A small rumble trembled through the earth below, reminding me of home.
“I didn’t know Guralan had shakes,” I said.
Havialo shrugged. “Been much worse everywhere, lately. On the mainland we don’t usually have the small shakes you see on the peninsula. Instead, we have quakes violent enough to open chasms in the land. It wasn’t so bad in years past because they only happened every ten or twenty years. But now, it’s once every few months. When we get onto the Atal Plateau, we’ll ride around rifts so deep you can’t see the bottom. Ruins lives when the herding towns get split down the middle. Especially since the Empire won’t help them recover.”
He dragged over a satchel of rations and started rummaging. Leaning back, I looked at the darkening sky. A few thin clouds scudded overhead.
"Hey, Havialo, why do you owe my father so much?" I asked as he handed me a crust of bread and hunk of cheese. “And even with your differences, why leave Stormshard entirely? It seems you hate the Empire as much as anyone.”
Havialo’s spine stiffened, and he stabbed the fire with his poker stick. "My disagreements with Stormshard’s base philosophy were irreconcilable. They believe everyone has the right to choose their actions. But the problem is, without a strong hierarchy, no single person makes final decisions. Your father believes it's the best way to work, but when there are differing opinions..." He shrugged. “It breaks down.”
"And the promise? You’ve come a long way to bring me to my father. You said it was a favor owed, but it’s a big undertaking. Not that I don’t appreciate it."
A grim expression settled on his face, the firelight etching lines at the corners of his mouth. "It's a long story. Difficult to talk about if I'm honest. Perhaps in daylight, I'll find it easier."
My bedroll was rolled and tied to my saddle where it leaned against the outcrop near the hobbled mounts. I shivered as I left the fire's warmth to fetch it. As I smoothed the wrinkles from the bedroll and climbed inside, laying my cloak over the top, I watched the geognost at the edge of my vision.
"Do you really think the Empire will cut Numintown off if we don't bring the ledger?" I asked.
He tensed again. I pretended not to notice, fussing with the lay of my covers.
“It's just... what if we fail? I can’t stand the thought of Numintowners dying because of me.”
Immediately, the mage's body relaxed.
"Not a problem," he said. "We’ll be striding into the Hall of Registry within weeks. The clerks won’t even look twice at you before handing over your writ and filing the ledger."
"All right," I said. "I'll just have to trust you, then."
I rolled away from the firelight, pulling my covers high. The problem was, I wasn’t sure I did trust him after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Evrain
A courier post, Atalan Plateau
OUTSIDE THE SMALL courier post, Evrain reined up and climbed down from the saddle. His knees cracked when his boots hit the packed earth, reminding him of the passage of time.
Seven long years since he’d seen his family, but that would soon change.
Evrain’s horse snuffled at his hair. With a crooked smile, Evrain dug into his pocket and produced a broken piece of carrot.
“Spoiled beast,” Evrain said, ruffling his mount’s forelock as he held his palm flat for the horse to take the carrot.
The midday sun baked the Atalan Plateau, raising heat shimmers from the gently waving grasses. Before stepping onto the porch of the courier post, Evrain paused and scanned the wide vista. As he did, a cool breeze swirled down from the Icethorn Mountains behind the post. A reminder that even in Highsummer a stray snowstorm could escape the mountains’ crest, sending flakes dancing over the plateau.
But not today. And anyway, what was he doing pondering the weather when he should be checking for news of his loved ones? Delaying. That’s what he was doing. Because so far, he’d heard nothing, and he feared that the silence meant that when he did receive news it would not be good.
The floorboards creaked as he stepped into the darkened interior of the post. At the counter, the courier, a young woman with Sharder sympathies looked up. Recognizing him, she pressed her lips and shook her head.
Evrain sighed. He told himself there could be hundreds of reasons for the delay. The problem was, so many of those reasons meant trouble.
Chapter Eighteen
Kostan
A cavern, unknown location
“THE EMPIRE DID not wish its Scions to survive beyond Steelhold’s walls. I wonder if you knew that before you ran.”
The voice penetrated my mind like a steel blade, cutting into my awareness. My eyes flew open.
Torchlight flickered off the stone walls of a cavern. A woman sat by my cot, her dark hair pulled back from a lined face and secured by half a dozen braids. Straw from the mattress beneath me poked into my back. I shifted and felt the rough-spun bedsheet against my bare skin. I’d been stripped of everything but my small clothes. My hand darted to my chest where I felt the Heart of the Empire still resting against my breastbone.
“Where am I?” My words fell from limp lips.
“We haven’t decided whether you deserve that information. And as for your necklace, you shouldn’t have worried. We aren’t petty thieves.”
I blinked a few times. On the far side of the cave, a natural opening had been enlarged to serve as a door. A curtain hung across the gap. Above the rod supporting the top edge, I spotted firelight dancing on the ceiling of another, larger chamber beyond.
“How long?”
The woman stretched as she stood then moved to a trunk against the opposite wall. She had a lithe figure, strong despite her advancing years. A bow was slung across her back. “Four days. You nearly died on the first night.”
“Bandits. You were following me. I remember…”
But that wasn’t right. Just before I’d lost consciousness, I’d seen the uniform of an imperial protector.
The trunk’s lid hit the wall with a muffled thump when the woman tossed it back. She pulled out a tunic with a heavy weave, then squinted as her eyes traveled the length of my body. After a moment, she cocked her head and held up a pair of trousers as if judging them against my size. With a shrug, she bundled the garments into her arms and returned to my bedside.
“Your clothing was beyond repair. Not that a seamstress could have tolerated the smell anyway.”
I rolled onto my side. My arms shook as I pushed up to sit. When I reached for the trousers, the realization struck me. They’d removed my pants and boots, exposing my golden
cuff and bandage. Bandits or not, I doubted anyone living in the Empire was ignorant about the custom of branding the Scions.
The words she’d used to wake me came back into my thoughts. What had she said exactly? Something about the Empire keeping its Scions confined to Steelhold…
She knew what I was, yet hadn’t killed me. Why? I had no illusions regarding the Provincials' opinions of the Empire.
Of course, maybe they’d decided it would be too merciful to kill me in my sleep.
A wry smile twisted her lips, deepening the line at the corner of her mouth. “You’re wondering why you’re still alive. Simple. Your condition and location cast doubt on your loyalty to Emperor Tovmeil. Given the information we could gather from an actual Scion, it would be foolish to eliminate you too quickly. Besides, the infection in your foot seemed likely to do the job for us.” A look of concern crossed her face. “It still might. We managed to calm the wound, but it doesn’t appear to be a simple matter to clear the affliction. Our healer seems to think there’s magic involved. Is there something you do to care for your brand?”
“Servants clean the wound and change the bandages.”
“That’s all?”
“There’s a salve.”
She pressed her lips together. “Perhaps enchanted to both keep the wound from healing—and to keep infection lingering but never thriving. If we could just clear the sickness from the flesh, the burn might finally close. As it is, the edges try to knit only to burst open from the swelling. Our healer has sent word to Jaliss, a discreet inquiry.”
Shakily, I shook the wrinkles from the trousers and stuffed them under the sheet to pull them over my legs. When the fabric brushed the bottom of my foot, darts of pain shot up my leg. Compared to what I remembered from the last days, though, I scarcely noticed it.
After sliding the pants over my hips, I considered what she’d said. I’d been taught the brand would only heal on my twenty-first birthday. Until then, the lines in my flesh needed to remain open to reflect the uncertainty of Ascension. Could this have been a lie? Did some type of magic hold our cuts open to keep us dependent on the Empire? If that was true, did our brands and scars even change to reflect worthiness, or had the Emperor’s symbol been burned into one of us from the beginning?
Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1) Page 10
