Night of Flame (Steel and Fire Book 5)

by Jordan Rivet

  Siv forced himself to move, even though every muscle in his body screamed at him to leap into the fray. If he lingered, Berg’s sacrifice would be wasted. His blood would be wasted. Siv dodged around the duelists and ran up the corridor as the clash of blade against blade filled it. He hated leaving Berg to fight alone, but none of this would matter if he couldn’t get to Khrillin. Too many lives rode on what happened here today. Firelord help him, but Siv wanted peace for the whole continent. It might be a foolish ambition, but he wasn’t going to give up while he still had a chance to mend the relationship between Pendark and Soole for good.

  The thud of Siv’s boots echoed through the austere corridor. Latch had suggested several places where he might find Khrillin: his father’s war room, the audience hall, the lord’s chambers. Siv hadn’t expected it to take so long to get into the fortress. By now, the Waterlord was surely watching the advance of the Soolen army from the battlements.

  He went in search of the nearest staircase to the outer walls. The fortress bustled with activity as its occupants prepared for the assault. Siv’s progress was impeded every few feet as the defenders charged about, preparing for battle. Fort Brach had been built for this, and there looked to be no shortage of weaponry despite its repeated capture through magical means. It almost wasn’t fair that the wielders had twice conquered Fort Brach. A mundane army—like the one outside—would have a much harder time breaching these walls.

  Siv ducked into a side chamber as another group of soldiers rushed past. They said something about a duel as they hurried back the way he had come. Kres and Berg must still be fighting. Siv bit down on his sorrow at the thought of his former dueling coach. There was no way Berg could last much longer against Kres with his injuries. Be worthy of it, damn it, he told himself. There’s no other choice.

  Siv left his hiding place as soon as the soldiers were gone and came upon a staircase leading to the outer walls. He took the steps two at a time, keeping his head down when a team of archers passed him. At the top, he pushed open the door and rushed out onto the sun-drenched battlements.

  Khrillin spun to face him, silver cords already flying from his fingertips. The icy bands wrapped around Siv’s limbs and pulled tight. He halted, a mere ten feet separating him from the Waterlord. The morning sun haloed Khrillin’s well-oiled hair. He wore all purple today, and his luxurious beard glinted with chips of obsidian and silver.

  “Well, well. I didn’t expect you to get past Kres.” Khrillin spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my new fort, Sivarrion.”

  “Thank you kindly.” Despite the silver bonds holding him in place, Siv grinned as if he’d just arrived at Khrillin’s favorite restaurant for a glass of wine. “Quite a place you have here.”

  “Indeed it is,” Khrillin said. “So are you here to grovel for the sake of your precious Soolen ally and his family?”

  “Afraid not,” Siv said. “I’m here to deliver threats only.”

  Khrillin raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued.

  “I wanted to offer you safe passage back to Pendark on behalf of the Soolen Crown Prince,” Siv said. “But it’s too late for that. Chadrech wants to attack you anyway.”

  “I daresay he does.”

  Khrillin gave a twitch of his fingers, and the Watermight cords pulled Siv forward to the battlements. The Soolen army massed below. The Crown Prince had brought far more than five hundred men. There had to be at least two thousand soldiers down there, their burnished armor flashing like Firegold in the sunrise as they marched across the Granite River valley. They were much closer to the walls than Siv had expected.

  “The Soolens don’t like it when you steal their stuff,” he said.

  “So it would seem.” Khrillin fiddled with the obsidian woven in his beard. “You are not here to bargain for the fort then?”

  “No,” Siv said. “I’m here to bargain for Pendark. If you think the army down there is bad, wait until you see the Vertigonian force on its way to your city.”

  “What?” Khrillin said sharply.

  “The Lantern Maker,” Siv said. “My old enemy is marching for Kurn Pass. He’s carrying Fire Weapons the likes of which you’ve never seen. He’s hell bent on taking Pendark for his own.”

  “That’s madness,” Khrillin said. “The Waterworkers—”

  “You defeated the strongest Waterworkers quite soundly, last I heard,” Siv said. “And then you marched off to take over the Brach holdings with the ones who serve you. I assume that was to win the loyalty of the Pendarkan people after you poisoned their king?”

  Khrillin inclined his head. “They admire anyone who can best the Soolens, especially in their own territory.”

  “I figured as much,” Siv said. “You were never planning to hold this fort forever. It’s too exposed. You took a gamble because you thought the Soolen royals wouldn’t bother to defend Lord Brach’s land after he flouted their rule. But here they are.”

  Siv tried to wave at the thousands of men marching toward them, but the icy tendrils cutting into his arm prevented the dramatic gesture. The walls had begun to vibrate. The army was getting too close. There was no sign of the signal Siv had expected. What’s taking so long?

  “You forget,” Khrillin said. “I also wanted the secret Brach dragons. I expected to find more of them inside the fort itself.”

  “You thought you could take what you wanted in a few days and return to Pendark a hero before the Soolens so much as thumbed their noses at you? You must be getting nervous now.”

  Khrillin didn’t answer, but Siv saw the truth in his eyes.

  “There’s another way,” Siv said. “Go to Kurn Pass. Push back the Lantern Maker. Your people will laud you as a hero if you stop a Fireworker invasion. You won’t even need the dragons.”

  Siv’s heart pounded in time with the thud of the boots advancing on the walls. Where’s that damn signal? Couldn’t anything go his way for once?

  Khrillin combed at his beard, his fingers snagging on the ornaments, and chuckled. “You remind me of your father, you know,” he said. “But you are definitely more brazen. He would never believe so deeply in his own ability to blather his way to success.”

  “I am thinking Sevren was much like young Siv when we knew him.”

  Khrillin spun on his heel. Siv wanted to do the same, but the Watermight bonds only allowed him to turn his head.

  Berg Doban stood in the same doorway Siv had come through. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, and he was leaning on the doorframe, breathing heavily. But he was alive! Hope ignited in Siv’s chest like a bead of Fire.

  “Now there’s a face,” Khrillin said softly. “A face I haven’t seen in a long time.”

  “Well met, Khrill,” Berg said. “You are looking old.”

  Khrillin burst out laughing, waving off the guards who’d started to move toward the old swordsman. “And you have your foot farther in the grave than usual.”

  “I am here to speak for Sevren,” Berg said calmly. “You must not harm his son. I owe him my life. You owe him the same.”

  “I am not going to kill young Siv,” Khrillin said. “In fact, I tried to help him, even offered my hospitality on numerous occasions.”

  “Sometimes against my will,” Siv muttered.

  Khrillin shrugged. “Even so. I know my debts as well as you, Berg.”

  “Then you must do as he says.” Berg’s steady gaze didn’t waver. “It is as Sevren would have wanted, and it is right. This mattered to you once.”

  “I will not hurt the son of my old friend.” Khrillin sighed and flexed his silver-tipped fingers. “But I cannot withdraw. Even if I wanted to, those Soolens would not let me.”

  “Are you sure?” Siv said, preparing for a final toss of the dice. “They might have bigger things than you to worry about before long.”

  At that moment, a huge boom split the air, as if a hundred Fireblossoms had exploded at once. Finally! The timing could not have been better.

  Khrillin hurried to the wall, si
lvery power dancing in his hand. Movement rippled through the Soolen army below. Faces turned. Steps slowed.

  “What’s going on down there?” Khrillin demanded.

  “Sounded like a whole lot of Firepower to me,” Siv said.

  “It was not just Fire.” Khrillin tugged at his beard so hard Siv was surprised it wasn’t coming out of his chin in clumps. “Your pretty friend is at it again, I see.” A look of pure envy crossed Khrillin’s face. He was desperately jealous that Siv had Dara on his side.

  They watched the army below as activity flurried at its heart. Banners rippled around a tight knot of activity. It was impossible to distinguish faces at this distance, but Siv imagined he saw a flutter of green and toss of long, lustrous hair. Then the men began to march again, responding to rapid orders. Instead of advancing on the walls, they processed in the opposite direction. Siv hardly dared to breathe. Had it really worked?

  “What’s going on?” Khrillin said sharply. “Where are they going?”

  “You know Dara can make an explosion like that all by herself,” Siv said, “but Prince Chadrech doesn’t.”

  “You mean . . .?”

  “I reckon the little princeling thinks the Fireworkers are descending on the Watermight vent like a stampede of terrerack bulls. He has bigger things to worry about than your presence in this fort today. If he loses the vent, his mother will be very angry.”

  As Siv and Khrillin spoke on the battlements, the Crown Prince would have received notice that the Lantern Maker was launching a surprise attack on Mirror Wells. Vine must have succeeded in persuading young Chadrech to stop the Lantern Maker before worrying about Khrillin behind the walls of Fort Brach—as Siv had asked her to do shortly after Dara left last night.

  Brend Rollendar would be quick to urge Chadrech to destroy the Lantern Maker at once. His brother was off with Captain Lian, so he couldn’t give up the game if he caught Vine lying. Even so, Siv hadn’t been sure their warnings would be enough to sway the teenage prince’s resolve—until that big explosion. Whatever that sound had been, it would drive home the message that the Soolens had worse enemies than Khrillin on their borders. As important as Fort Brach was, it paled in comparison to the value of the Watermight vent.

  Siv imagined the confusion among the soldiers as they abandoned the attack on Fort Brach and marched off to face the new threat—which the conniving Lantern Maker’s daughter had no doubt brought down on their heads. With luck, it would take Prince Chadrech a while to realize the Lantern Maker and his men were still many days away from the Soolen border—if they planned to come here at all. Siv didn’t know if Rafe would attack Pendark or Soole first, but the threat was enough.

  Khrillin was still gaping at the army retreating from his walls. Already, a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders. He must not have been as confident about his chances against the Soolens as he seemed.

  “You’d better get out of Soole while you have the chance,” Siv said. “Especially if you want to protect your border from the Lantern Maker.”

  “Is he telling the truth?” Khrillin asked Berg. “Or will I be struck down the moment I open the gates?”

  “Sivarrion is like his father,” Berg said simply. “He is good.”

  Khrillin met the old sword master’s eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. “Very well. My forces will withdraw from Soole. The fort is yours.”

  He swept away, barking orders as he went. He was so busy directing his men to withdraw from the fort that he left Siv still wrapped in wires of glowing silver.

  Far below, the Soolens marched off to Mirror Wells in precise formation. By the time they realized the Lantern Maker wasn’t really attacking, Khrillin would be gone. Siv hoped Dara had plenty of time to get away before the Soolens arrived. They may have prevented a conflict here, but their real fight was yet to come.

  Berg hobbled over to lean on the battlements beside Siv. He eyed the Watermight bonds.

  “You are letting yourself get taken unaware again.”

  “I was aware,” Siv said. “I figured he wouldn’t listen without tying me up first. At least he didn’t suspend me by my ankles.”

  “Hhmph,” Berg said. “You are lucky.”

  “Damn right,” Siv said. “And so are you. You defeated Kres March? What move did you use? Can you teach it to me?”

  Berg raised a heavy eyebrow and didn’t answer.

  “Fine, keep your secrets, you old grump.”

  Berg made a sound that might have been a chuckle. Then he hobbled off, hopefully to get a Waterworker to heal the worst of his wounds—and release Siv from his bonds—before they all vacated the fort.

  Siv watched the men seething across the valley far below. So many soldiers, all ready for battle. He had prevented a fight today. Could he entice some of them to help him one more time?

  He looked to the forest in the distance, catching a glimpse of movement, a black shadow soaring above the trees. A fist tightened around his chest. Dara would be strong enough to face what was to come alone. She had to be.

  By the next day, Siv was feeling pretty pleased with how his plans had turned out. Dara had escaped with her Cindral dragon and a bellyful of Watermight. Khrillin had departed to defend his own lands from an attack that may or may not be coming through Kurn Pass. Latch was reunited with his family at Fort Brach. The Soolens and the Cindral Folk were on the alert for possible Fire Weapon attacks. All of them counted the Amintelles as friends. Siv was starting to think he was pretty good at this whole leadership thing.

  Then Vine brought news of Vertigon.

  The message came from Vine’s father, relayed through several Air Sensors scattered across Trure.

  “He’s old, you see,” Vine said. “He only has a slight Sense anyway, and it is very difficult for him to use the Air. But he managed to call for help.”

  “True dragons.” Siv stared at Vine, not really seeing her. “And . . . they’re destroying everything?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Vine said.

  Siv felt as if a steel gauntlet were punching him repeatedly in the stomach. After everything he had accomplished, after all this time preparing to fight the Lantern Maker, he hadn’t known that he too would face an even greater threat. The true dragons had awoken. And now, far away, his mountain was dying.

  26.

  Square Peak Caverns

  THE cave hummed with activity. Dirt scraped under Sora’s slippers as she crossed the vast space, picking her way amongst bedrolls and piles of supplies. She had attempted to maintain order in the underground hiding place, but the caverns were filled far beyond capacity. Every day brought more fugitives who’d been hiding in nooks and crannies across the mountain.

  The dragons ruled Vertigon now. The wild creatures swooped through the gorges and soared above the peaks, setting houses and orchards ablaze at random. They feasted on the poor captive livestock in the pens around the mountain, gorging themselves on the bounty Sora’s people had cultivated in the heights.

  Her heart ached when she thought of all the homes and gardens that had been torched, especially in the first few days of the dragons’ occupation. Worse still was the thought of the people she hadn’t been able to save. Dozens of survivors had already been hiding in the cavern when she ran to Square Peak with the fugitives from the castle, and they numbered in the hundreds now. But there were still too many she couldn’t reach.

  If only they’d had more warning of the threat they faced. Sora was responsible for what happened on the mountain, but she laid the blame for their lack of forewarning firmly at someone else’s feet. A very specific someone.

  Adjusting the waterskin tucked under her arm, Sora nodded at the white-haired guards: a retired bridge carpenter and Wora Wenden, an old duelist turned successful garment designer. Both men looked equally haggard, but they bowed deeply as Sora stepped into the alcove to address their prisoner.

  Lima didn’t look up as Sora sat on a rock beside her, placing the waterskin on her knees. Lima had been isolat
ed from the other survivors, though she could hardly do more damage than she already had. Sora tried not to think about Oat’s death as she studied the older woman. Her friend—Kel’s best friend—had fallen trying to save this evil creature. She’d better have information that would make his sacrifice worth it.

  “Talk,” Sora said calmly.

  Lima didn’t.

  “Talk,” Sora said again. “Your information is the only thing keeping you alive. If you won’t share it, I will throw you to the true dragons.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” Sora met Lima’s eyes, calm as ever. She was finished with diplomacy and appeasement. She meant exactly what she said. If Lima didn’t give her what she wanted, she would feed her to the true dragons for dinner that very night.

  “I intended to leave Vertigon before all this began, you know,” Lima said at last. “Corren foiled that plan. I thought he was with me. Otherwise, I’d have stabbed that young man you’ve been whoring around with in his sleep and been on my way.”

  Sora ignored the jab. She had bigger things to worry about than insults.

  “You knew this would happen.”

  “I was aware the true dragons were a danger when Rafe started altering the Well,” Lima said. “You know he tried to draw more Fire from the Spring, I believe?”

  Sora nodded, remembering the notes Rafe had found in an old journal she’d once stolen from him to give to Daz Stoneburner. A powerful Firewielder wrote down the plans to increase the flow of Fire to the Well more than a century ago, but they were never carried out. A Truren king had him assassinated in his sleep. Now Sora was pretty sure she knew why.

  “You’re saying the dragons came from the Spring?”

  “As far as we know.” Lima adjusted her skirt around her ankles, which were bound with rope, and eyed the waterskin on Sora’s lap. “There are legends in the Fire Guild archives that speak of such things. The language is vague, contained in old songs and poetry.”