I tried not to let my relief show as I hobbled to the pile.
“My name is Evrain,” the man said as he lowered his muscular bulk back to the small stool. Once again, he took up the blade and whetstone, drawing the glinting edge across the stone. He smirked. “And it’s unlikely to change no matter where fortune takes me.”
“I recognize that uniform.” My gaze flicked to the protector’s clothing. “It was you that found me.”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Why did you help me?”
“At first, because you would have died otherwise. I didn’t know who—what—you were. As for the uniform, part of living as we do is keeping our immediate surroundings secure. I find that patrolling in the guise of a protector discourages bandits from encroaching on our refuge.”
I blinked. “Wait. I thought…”
Falla snorted. “Of course you did. You may have been groomed to rule an empire, but you’re surprisingly naive.”
Realization struck me. I sat straight and kept my eyes on Evrain. “You’re Stormshard.” It made sense. The guard at the Chasm Gate had spoken of groups from the renegade movement operating in the mountains.
Setting aside the whetstone and blade, Evrain laid his hands on his knees and stared at me. “There’s no point in hiding it from you. I lead our mountain division, insofar as Stormshard fighters follow any one person. We aren’t like your Empire. Stormshard is more a philosophy than an army, each of us guided by our morals and hearts.”
“I was taught that you operate in isolated groups to keep the Empire from discovering the plans of one band by capturing and interrogating a member of another.”
Evrain’s expression turned appraising. “That’s also true. Many choices have multiple reasons for their making.”
At the edges of the room, the other renegades had remained busy while we spoke. But as our conversation took on a sparring tone, they started casting extra glances in our direction.
“But enough of that,” Evrain said. “Obviously, you had reason to leave Steelhold. I’d like to know more about that.”
I stared at the man across the paces separating us. Did he not know about the Emperor’s death? This group was isolated—quite possibly, word hadn’t reached this far. Or perhaps the Hold was keeping the situation quiet.
As to his request for information, I needed to think this through. Given my disgust at the Empire’s policies, I probably had a lot in common with him and Stormshard. But ultimately, I was an imperial Scion. Falla had already said they’d kept me alive to get information. If I told them too much now, they might decide I’d outlived my usefulness.
“I was led to believe my life was in danger,” I said.
“I’d hoped you’d rejected the Empire’s practices and had decided to begin a new life,” Evrain said with a smirk. “We could use someone like you on our side.”
I gritted my teeth. That was exactly the answer I should have given. Too late now. “I didn’t say I believe in the Empire’s methods. Just that the threat to my life was the immediate reason for fleeing.”
Evrain tipped the point of his dagger in my direction, a gesture I took as a token of respect. “A fair point. So you might have rejected them eventually, it’s just that these would-be assassins forced you to decide.”
I shrugged. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”
He huffed an amused laugh and returned to sharpening the blade. “It must have been a hasty departure. Judging by your state when we found you, you had little time to prepare. Your leg was hot and swollen to your hip.”
“I was woken in the night. As for the infection in my foot, I was taught that it would only heal on the day of Ascension. You claim otherwise.”
“I’m sure you were taught many things of dubious value,” Evrain said.
“Perhaps.”
“What do you know about the threat to your life?” he asked, glance darting to Falla. I could almost read his thoughts. He hadn’t known about a move against Steelhold, and this concerned him.
“Less than I’d like,” I said.
“It wasn’t Stormshard. You should know that. We don’t kill young people without cause.”
“What about other Stormshard bands?”
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, none of the other Shards—that's how we refer to our groups—have that kind of… competence. My group might manage it, but the odds of success would be low. So, Kostan, you know less than you’d like, but that doesn’t mean you’re entirely ignorant, right?”
I hesitated, unaccustomed to being addressed without a title. In Steelhold, I’d either been referred to as “sire” or “Scion.”
After a moment’s consideration, I said, “Emperor Tovmeil told me there were many threats to Atal. He feared for the throne and the Ascension.”
“I see.” The man stared at me long enough that I felt uncomfortable. Along with the ache in my leg, fatigue was creeping back into my thoughts, fuzzing them around the edges.
“Well, Falla?” he asked. “How do you judge his words?”
The woman detached from the wall and stalked forward before turning. Her eyes narrowed as she considered me. “He’s telling the truth, as far as I can sense.” She cocked her head. “But he holds back. And there are complications I don’t yet understand.”
My eyes widened as I searched her hands for silver rings, but she wore none. Like the argent mages, her words suggested she was reading my thoughts. Immediately, I rubbed my thumb against my ring finger, seeking a connection to raise my spirit armor.
The ring was gone.
Falla smirked and reached into her pocket, pulling out the band I’d worn for seven years. She held it up and peered at me through it. “Trust me. You don’t want to wear this. Better to have no magic than power tainted by the Maelstrom.”
I’d never been good at argent magic, but I still felt vulnerable seeing my ring in her hand. I swallowed, not trusting myself to speak without giving away my nervousness.
She turned the corner of her mouth up in an amused smile. “So, we keep him around for a bit longer, Evrain?”
The Stormshard leader gave me one last considering look. “For now. But I don’t like hearing of such… upheaval in Steelhold happening without our knowledge.”
I dropped my eyes to the floor before my expression gave me away. If only he knew…
Evrain climbed to his feet and peered out the hideout’s entrance as if he could find answers in the open wilderness beyond. After a moment, he turned.
“Ride out. Kei is leading a small hunting group near the Vale Fork. Tell her to head for Jaliss with utmost haste. We need to know what this means.”
With a nod, Falla stalked to a rack beside the cave’s exit and lifted a long cloak from a hook. She snatched a rucksack from the floor and stuffed a sloshing water skin and an oiled-leather packet of food inside. Ducking out the entrance, she swung the pack onto a shoulder.
Moments later, hooves clattered across scree, fading to a low drumming when her mount gained an earthen trail.
Evrain stared down at me, expression grim. “Consider the next days your chance to prove yourself useful, starting with clearing up those complications which have perplexed my spiritist and healer. When Kei returns with information from Jaliss, I’ll make a decision on your fate.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Savra
Bellows, Guralan Province
TRAVELERS CROSSING GURALAN Province rarely spoke as we passed them, no doubt because one had to shout over the wind to be heard. As Havialo and I plodded along the northward road, we exchanged nods with the few parties we encountered. An acknowledgment of our shared misery more than anything.
In the evenings, we took shelter where we could find it. Even when a dense stand of trees or another stone outcrop provided enough windbreak that we could speak easily, we were too worn out from the constant gale. We hadn’t spoken again about my investigation of his saddlebags or
the things he’d told me that had persuaded me to trust him. When I looked at Havialo, I now recognized the deep sorrow that gripped his soul. Nothing he could do would bring his daughter back. Sometimes I wondered if her loss gave him more reason to keep his vow to my father.
Sometimes I wondered if he secretly resented me for living where she’d lost her life at the gallows.
Though we passed sidetracks leading to logging camps in Guralan’s forests, we rode through only one major settlement between the Crease and the border of Old Atal.
Bellows. When Havialo first told me the name, I laughed, thinking it a joke. But apparently, the Guralaners had a sense of pride about their wind.
As we approached the town, smaller roads joined our track, bringing foot-bound travelers and wagons piled high with timber, hostlers with mule trains in tow. I smelled Bellows before we could see the outermost shacks and the cloud of windblown dust pluming off downwind. It was the scent of humanity, wood fires and manure, fresh straw and baking bread. I’d never visited a settlement other than Numintown and the neighboring villages. That it could remind me of home so easily surprised me.
The differences were just as shocking.
The first building we passed was a blacksmith’s. Inside the smithy’s darkened interior, the blacksmith pounded hot steel with arms the size of a mule’s neck. His eyes glinted in the glow of his furnace. Beside him, a young man worked the bellows. Tacked to the outside of the building were the official writs declaring their metalworking Function. In Numintown, no one bothered to display their writs. Everyone in town was a sluicer. We’d never been questioned about it. I supposed in areas where Functions were more diverse, there was more concern about impostors trying to step outside their assignments.
Farther along, massive windmills rose over the buildings, slicing the air with blades that moaned as they wheeled overhead. I stared in awe at the whirling machines and wondered if one had ever broken free of the mounting.
Deeper into the town, my shoulders crept up so high it felt like they touched my ears. It was overwhelming, all the noise and bustle. Stalls offered skewers of meat for travelers and locals alike. Hooves raised pulverized dust and manure from the street, and I wrapped a scarf around my nose to keep from coughing. A few people clapped and sang on a street corner.
When we finally passed the central crossroads, my nerves started to ease until I thought forward to the weeks ahead. If I felt overwhelmed by the activity in this provincial Guralan settlement, how would I react to life in the capital? By my understanding, Jaliss was many times larger. Inconceivably larger, maybe.
Havialo must have noticed my anxiousness. He nudged his mount closer to mine. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “People are the same whether you’re in Numintown or some foreign land beyond the Maelstrom.”
I cast him a faint smile. I hoped he was right.
At the traveler’s bazaar on the far side of town, Havialo bought me a thicker cloak and a leather mask I could wear over my eyes when I wanted a break from the wind. Narrow slits allowed me to see while the mask cut most of the wind. With a scarf wrapped over my nose and mouth, the gale was almost bearable. I didn’t even care that I looked like a masked bandit.
Or worse, maybe I looked like the legendary creature used to frighten Numintown children. A Hollow One was supposed to come wearing layer upon layer of clothing. But if a curious child were to pull at the garments, take them off one by one, they’d find nothing inside. Just a great emptiness filling the clothing.
The thought brought a wave of homesickness.
In all, we rode across Guralan Province for eighteen miserable days. Except for the single night we stayed in a sturdy stone inn, I hadn’t felt warm since the Crease.
Despite my nervousness, it was a relief to reach the edge of the province. This close to Old Atal, the road was now called the Emperor’s Way. In many places, cobblestones armored the track against the constant abuse of horses and wagons. And where it bent and started up the first switchback on the massive slope separating Guralan from the high, Atalan plateau, stone blocks the size of small houses had been embedded in the road's surface. Letters had been carved into the blocks by long-ago masons.
Let all glory in the Empire’s rise.
Let all bow before the Emperor’s will.
As Havialo’s horse clopped over the stones, her tail lifted and the remains of last night’s grazing dropped onto the lettering. I wondered whether earth magic gave him the power to speak with beasts, or whether she simply sensed her master’s thoughts. Or maybe even the horses understood the evil of the Atal Empire.
My gelding plodded forward without depositing his own opinion on the stones.
According to Havialo, this part of the journey was called Hundred Turn Hill. The road cut across scree and around outcrops, through low brush that clung to the perilous slope. Halfway up the hundred or so switchbacks, a guesthouse perched on a platform cut from the hill. I eyed it nervously when Havialo reined up. Having grown up where the earth shifted and slipped and buildings sometimes toppled onto sleeping families, I wasn’t eager to try my luck at this unlikely nest.
The mage noticed my reaction and cast me a wry grin. “Just inquiring about the conditions ahead. The upper turns have a reputation for getting treacherous after rainy weather or a cold snap.”
“What exactly do you mean by treacherous?”
“I don’t want to alarm you. Perhaps it’s best we just wait and see,” he said with a wink.
***
After passing the guesthouse, I stopped trying to count the turns. At a switchback perhaps halfway between the inn and the rim, Havialo rounded the bend and reined up, closing his eyes in concentration.
“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t see anything different about the road ahead.
He shook his head, brow wrinkling. “There is a tremendous locus of stored energy a few hundred paces on,” he said as he opened his eyes. He stood in his stirrups, leaning first one way and then the other as he examined the track.
“What does that mean?” I looked to the side, down the dizzying slope to Guralan’s undulating sea of trees. From this height, each pine looked like a little floret of broccoli, the greenery gnawed from one side by the hungry wind. An image of tumbling down the mountainside to land, broken, amongst half-eaten vegetables made me shudder.
“Something is ready to give. A boulder about to unbalance. Or maybe a section of cliff is waiting to sheer off the main face. Could happen today or in ten years. In any case, I wouldn’t want to be in its path when it happens.”
“That’s what you meant by treacherous?”
He shrugged. “Among other things.” Clucking to his mount, he urged her to the edge of the road and peered down at the switchbacks we’d already traversed. While he examined the slope below, he muttered to himself.
“So what do we do? Find another way?” At the inside edge of the wider area where the road turned back on itself, a small tuft of grass had taken root amongst the piles of loose stone. Drawn by the promise of a quick snack, Breeze sidestepped toward it. I didn’t bother to scold him. I didn’t mind edging away from the drop, myself.
As he bent to tear a mouthful from the hummock, the rumble started. A low growl, as if the earth were clearing its throat.
“Down. Dismount!” Havialo yelled.
I vaulted from the saddle. Moments later, the first rocks clattered onto the road ahead. The ground began to shudder.
“Don’t leave this platform,” the geognost called. He’d left the saddle and now ran toward me, leading his mare. Without another word, he handed off the reins and dashed for the road ahead.
Rocks pelted either side of the man as he ran forward. I screamed when a stone the size of a watermelon bounced off the talus above and whizzed for his head.
The missile stopped and hung in the air for an instant before dropping straight to the road at Havialo’s side.
The geognost ran on.
&
nbsp; After maybe a hundred paces, Havialo stopped in the center of the track. He dropped to his knees, laid hands on the earth.
Rockslides loosed by the shake slid down the hill like rivulets in a pile of sugar. Liquid. Deadly. On the switchbacks below, travelers and caravans panicked. Men and women ran up, down, anywhere to escape the rivers of death tumbling toward them. Mules leaped from the track and tumbled for the forest below. A wagon teetered and fell over the brink, dragging the team of oxen down behind it.
As if time abruptly froze, the shaking stopped.
Fins of hard stone, serrated like knives, erupted from the slope. The rockslides slammed into the new outcrops and channeled aside, streaming away from the scattered parties. With a roar and clatter, the slides fell harmlessly onto the forests below, flattening trees. On the road ahead, Havialo arched his back and threw his hands forward.
Moments later, an area of the bench half a league away gave way, letting go in a slide so massive the dust cloud billowed to touch the clouds.
Havialo collapsed.
All was quiet.
After a few minutes, I led the wild-eyed horses up the road to him.
“As I mentioned,” he said, eyes rolling back. “It can get treacherous up here. Mind leading for a while?” His head rolled on his neck. “Seems I’m going to black out.”
***
“Savra,” Havialo said, “before I found you, what were your feelings on the Empire?”
Two days beyond Hundred Turn Hill, the geognost rode easily in his saddle. The vast grassland of the Atalan Plateau spread all around, broken only by herders’ huts and cracks in the earth that Havialo claimed had only recently opened.
The sun pressed warmly on my shoulders and thighs. Lazy flies buzzed around the horses’ ears and eyes, causing the mounts to snort and toss their heads. Every few paces, Breeze snatched a bite from the tall grass hanging over the road. I pretended not to notice his snacking.
“Hmm,” I said. “No one in Numintown likes the quotas or the Decree of Functions. But most people would choose to be sluicers anyway.”
Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1) Page 12
