The Frostfire Sage (The Landkist Saga Book 4)

by Steven Kelliher

  He sneered. “This one had memories of you. Memories that stretch back far, by the reckoning of these children you’ve gathered about you. Handsome Galeveth and cunning Ray, and fair Elanil between them. I’m sure that is a story to fill a ballad in any realm.”

  He leaned forward, bending so his face was only a foot from the struggling, foaming Sage’s. “But Galeveth tells me you are changed. He said this form belongs to another. Another that he knows well. The one who killed him. You are not yourself, mighty Sage, and that is no way to approach a god.”

  He straightened and removed his foot. The Eastern Dark let out a horrible, racking scream that split the sky as the god reached out to him. Kole thought he would crush the life from him without touching him, or cause him to burst. Instead, he split. Not down the middle and not at the waist with some expulsion of blood and gore, but rather like a shadow ripping free from its host. One figure went tumbling down to the flats, while the other lay curled and shaking.

  The sorry figure who lay before the stranger coughed and hacked into the cracks of the broken tower, his pale hands scrambling, twitching as he tried to push himself up. He had long, dark hair and an angular face, with ears that recalled the Valley Faey. He wore a rich black cloak that covered light, form-fitting armor that looked to be purple. His fingers were bedecked in jewels and sharp iron signets. There was a black hilt of a rich sword at his belt.

  It was as if he had been made from nothing, as if he had been conjured or summoned. He struggled up to his hands and knees, and the prince watched him coldly.

  Kole wanted to run to the opposite side, to peer over the edge and confirm what his heart knew to be the case. He looked to Linn, who was standing closer.

  “It’s him,” she said, seeming too shocked to believe it. But then, what was left to disbelieve? “It’s Rane.”

  “Is he alive?” Kole asked.

  She swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  Kole met the violet stare of the Shadow girl, who was also looking down onto the flats below. When she turned back to look at the struggling Sage, she observed him without passion or pity. She crouched atop the cracked tower and watched, not lifting so much as a finger to help her master.

  “Shadow …”

  The Sage choked the word out, and Kole saw black blood drip from his bottom lip to stain the blue-white stone between his hands.

  “Shadow …”

  She stood, seeming reluctant, and stretched her right hand out. The air went dark as it did when she disappeared, but instead of departing, she conjured that black blade and faced the god down.

  He regarded her without humor, and conjured a blade to match it, only this one seemed to blur at the edges. Kole thought he heard a strange humming sound coming from it, as if it had a voice of its own.

  “If he dies,” Shadow said, pointing with her free hand at the fallen Sage, “that can’t be closed.”

  “What can’t be closed?” Jenk asked her.

  She looked at him as if he were daft, but the questioning stares Kole, Linn, Misha and Baas turned on her had her sighing. She pointed behind the Last God, to the horizon.

  Kole looked.

  The sky hadn’t changed too much since the last time he had looked. It was still a nightmarish mix of black and red. Linn inhaled sharply, and Kole squinted to see. There, in the center of the horizon, splitting the place from frozen sea to stars, was a thin black line that looked like a scar. As Kole watched in horror, it began to widen, like the eye of a goat.

  “He … is weak.”

  Kole looked down at the struggling Eastern Dark. His face was drained of all color, and his chin was coated in that black, poison blood.

  “He needs time … in this place—”

  The imposter prince grimaced and stepped forward, raising his sword for the killing blow.

  Kole meant to dart forward, but Jenk beat him to it. The Ember and the Shadow girl leapt in, clearing the Sage in unison, yellow sword and black one striking at opposite angles. The prince sidestepped, knocking the black off course and bringing his blade down in a chop aimed for Jenk’s wrists. He was fast, and decisive. Faster than any blade Kole had seen, save maybe for Maro, and Talmir Caru.

  Jenk’s flare spared his hands the same fate Kole’s right had suffered, causing the prince to blink and throwing off his strike. He had to spin to intercept the Shadow’s next blow, which allowed Jenk to twist around and send a bright slash at his face.

  Misha shot past Kole next, her spear glowing amber, and Linn knelt, muttering to the air around her, which seemed slow in complying. Baas stepped forward, and Kole matched his strides.

  “Take him,” Kole said, nodding at the Sage who crawled toward the two of them, weak and pitiful.

  Baas hesitated, watching the furious fight at the tip of the spire. The Shadow girl had the prince off-balance. She popped in and out of the World, and with the prince’s black blade doing all the work it could to keep two Embers at bay, his martial mind seemed stretched beyond its limits as the Shadow made for his neck with try after try.

  Maybe they could beat him, here and now. Maybe they didn’t have to run.

  Baas bent and pulled the Sage to his feet, steadying him. He made as if to join in the fight, but Kole pressed his bandaged limb against his chest, holding him back.

  “There’s not enough space,” he said, watching the four figures dance and dart, duck, weave, pull and push. The prince, whose mouth had been stretched into a tight, anxious line, now seemed to smile fiercely, as if he was enjoying the challenge. Jenk and Misha sent small crescents and flares from the edges of their Everwood blades, but nothing like their usual stuff. After a few exchanges, Misha stumbled backward and set to prodding at him between Jenk’s attacks.

  “Back!” Linn screamed. “All of you, back!”

  Misha looked back at her and seemed to comply almost by mistake, while Jenk’s burning sword met the buzzing black one in a shower of sparks, Ember and god grinding their teeth as they pressed.

  The Shadow warped away, falling out of one of her portals next to Baas and the Sage, and Jenk seemed to see it out of the corner of his eye. Kole shot forward, meaning to snatch him by the back of the shirt, but Jenk managed to leap backward as the beam struck.

  It was a bright, raging blast of hellfire. It came from the south, from the flats where T’Alon Rane had fallen, and it shot the would-be god into the dark and bloody skies, his screams lost to the roar of the living flame.

  Kole shielded his eyes. They all did—Ember and Rockbled and Shadow and Sage. None could wield it like Rane could. He was the King of Ember, and he reminded them why.

  As the blast faded, its tail leaving crescents and swirls of light behind that were slow in fading, Rane landed on the spot where the prince had stood, glowing palms at his sides. He looked to the north, in the direction he had blasted the stranger, and then he turned toward the eastern horizon, framed like a figure of myth against a scene of ending.

  “Rane?”

  The Shadow girl approached him, and the king turned. When he looked down at her, his face softened. He almost smiled, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  “We should have let him die,” he said, looking back at the Sage, who braced himself against Baas to keep from falling over.

  T’Alon’s eyes roved over the sparse company. “It is good to see you all, and mostly whole.” He dipped a nod at Kole, who shrugged.

  “Not sure it’s going to matter much. Killed the god, maybe, but how do we stop that?” Kole angled his still-burning blade at the horizon. The black gap had stretched wider, and something was pulling its way through. It was massive. So large it might have been able to bring the tower down with a swipe of its great black hand.

  “Night Lord, I’m guessing,” Linn offered, to which Baas grunted his agreement. Jenk doused his blade and sank to his knees, and Misha let hers burn out as well, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  “He’s not dead,” T’Alon said. He turned toward the north. “Gave him
a good shock, but he’ll be back, and stronger.” He turned back to face the Sage. “Isn’t that right, Valour?”

  All eyes turned toward the Eastern Dark. He seemed a bit more in control than he had before, but he still looked weak and unsteady.

  He wiped a smear of the dark blood from his chin, tearing his eyes from the east with effort. “If Alistair and the others are anything to go by,” he said, his voice weak, “each hour he spends here will see him grow more comfortable.” He frowned. “Still, his nature is … curious.”

  “Curious.” Misha said in a flat tone. “His nature is curious.”

  “You know what he is.”

  The voice was weak. They turned to see Myriel, who laid on her back, her chest ripped open, bits of bone and gristle covering the ice around her. Her eyes stared sightlessly up into the night sky.

  “He is the Destroyer,” she whispered. “The Corruption. He will change this World as he changed mine. He has no end. He forgets his beginning …”

  “He is the World Apart,” Valour said, finishing for her.

  Myriel spoke no more.

  “Well, then,” Misha said, her tone clashing oddly with the mood of the land. “That about does it, I suppose.”

  Linn opened her mouth to speak, to refute her, but Kole saw the bleeding sky reflected in her eyes. It quieted her.

  He wanted to reassure her. To tell her it wasn’t his fault, that even had they known what the Frostfire Sage planned, it would have been impossible to prevent. The World Apart was coming, one way or another. It just so happened they had backed the right Sage at the wrong time.

  At least, it was easier to think of it that way.

  “There is no way to stop it, then?” Kole asked. He still felt strange—almost soiled—asking for the Eastern Dark’s counsel. But then, what were they to do in such times?

  Those dark purple eyes pierced the east, watching the Night Lord tear its way through, calculating.

  “I might have enough of the shadow left in me to close one scar,” the Sage said. “As for the other two …”

  “Other two?” Jenk said in mounting horror.

  “I can feel them,” Valour said, his voice distant. He watched the east, but his eyes seemed truly to be turned inward. “Two, for now. Opening in other lands. Lands to the west. Lands to the southwest.”

  Kole’s heart caught in his throat. He watched the Night Lord—a towering demonic beast that looked like a mix between a ram and a lion. It broke the frozen waves it fell upon, looked up into the swirling midnight sky and roared. The sound reached them a few moments later, and it shook the loose ice and stones, creating small rivers of rubble that trickled down to the sea below.

  There were other shapes as well—shadows and wraiths streaking behind the veil. Kole squinted and then nudged Linn. She was looking in the same direction.

  “They’re not coming this way,” she said.

  “They are going to the others,” Valour echoed. “The other scars. He does not see us as a threat, nor these empty lands as much in the way of conquest.”

  “What are we looking at?” Misha asked. “How many of these damn beasts, and how difficult are they to kill?”

  She pointed the tip of her spear toward the roaring Night Lord, which still made the frozen, inanimate sea the object of its rage. Its eyes glowed green, bright as flaming emeralds, and when it leaned onto its forelegs, it opened its gaping maw and unleashed a river of molten green fire that carved a melted path through waves the size of hills stretching beyond sight to the north.

  “Right,” Misha said, accepting it as an answer.

  “He was stalling,” Valour almost laughed. “He likely could have destroyed us on the spot. Had I known he could do what he did to you and me,” he was looking at Rane, who watched the light show to the east, “I’d have chosen a different tactic.”

  “We still live,” Rane said without turning. “We still stand, and bolstered by powerful friends.”

  Kole felt a swelling in his breast. He saw grim determination reflected in Linn’s eyes, as well as in those of his companions. Even Shifa.

  “My power was tied to yours, Rane,” Valour said. He sounded bitter, and he choked and coughed as he raised his voice. He quieted some before continuing. “I am nearly spent.”

  “What’s to stop him from opening more, assuming you can even close this one?” Linn asked. “What’s to stop him from bringing all of his beasts and servants through?”

  “The only lands with tales tied into their vast and storied histories of the Dark Kind are those where the Landkist are numerous, and powerful,” he said. “Granted, your Valley is an exception, but even before my own mistakes and those of my brother, Uhtren, rifts opened during the Dark Months. Dark Kind slipped through the cracks between worlds. That is, after all, how I first came upon the World Apart. I passed through one.”

  Given the circumstances, Kole thought it strange that the revelation shocked him. But then, it was still difficult for him to imagine that there was another World beyond the shimmering, swirling, vaporous veil. One that was here. One that, before this god had wrought what he had wrought, had had its own champions, its own people, its own unblemished, uncorrupted lands.

  “Power requires power to feed off,” Valour continued. “To sustain itself. The amount of power a thing like that requires,” he pointed toward the black scar, “is extraordinary.” He nearly shook with a sickening mixture of fear and—Kole thought—awe.

  “So …” Jenk said, stepping forward, “the scars will have opened—will open, rather—in lands with power. In lands like the Valley.”

  Valour shrugged. “Not so many Landkist left in that place,” he said. “Not so many Landkist left in the wider World, though. Assume the worst.” He passed by Rane and moved up to the edge of the spire, which was still smoking as a result of Rane’s blast. “Just as poor, foolish Elanil was a focal point for the beast to tether himself to, so I would assume the Night Lords will choose lands they can feel from afar. Lands teeming with life, and those who protect it. Those who fight to keep it. Such is their hunger. Such is the hunger of the World Apart.”

  The Shadow girl slinked between them, jumpy at every loose pebble of frost and each crack in the sky. She seemed agitated, more so than the rest of them. She seemed afraid.

  “You feel it, Shadow,” said Valour. “Don’t you?” She didn’t respond, only shook and shivered, glancing to the south, toward the remnants of the Quartz Tower and the dark lands beyond it.

  “The Night Lords are no friends of his,” Kole said, remembering bits and pieces of what Myriel had said. “They overthrew him in his own lands. Why would they help him take this one?”

  “They are no more allied than a pack of wolves to a hunter,” Valour said. “The World Apart is a land of power, but it has grown unwieldy and chaotic. It’s why I withdrew as soon as I felt it turn. It’s why I have tried to prevent it from happening here. Tried to prevent his coming.” He looked to the north. “Here, he can remake himself in whatever image he sees fit. Here, he is reborn.”

  “You speak of him as if he is a cycle,” Kole said. “As regular and inevitable as the turning of the stars overhead. And not a beast to be slain.”

  “And what if he is?” Valour asked. He frowned, lost in thoughts he had likely revisited time and time again in his long centuries trying to prevent the thing he’d called. Trying to make peace with it. Trying to blame anything but himself for the fate his World now faced, and he along with it.

  “He is here for something,” he said. “Just as he was there,” he tossed his head toward the raging beast to the east, and the rip in the sky beyond it, “for something. Something I have been unable to find. The Night Lords will bring their wrath and their ruin, and the Landkist and those besides will try to oppose them. Whichever side wins, it will leave the other unable to face him.”

  “Then we wait for death?” Kole asked. He felt cold despite his warming blood. He felt angry. A part of him wished to leap upon the black
Sage now, to rend him limb from limb, to grasp onto his throat and burn his way through, as he had with Alistair. It was a selfish thought given the situation, and one that filled him with shame. And yet, the shame did not reduce the anger, nor the desire that accompanied it.

  Quite the opposite.

  “Tell me, Ember pup,” Valour said, not seeming to mean it as venomously as he might have. “Would you fight the sun, if you grew tired of the day? What about the moon, if you wanted your nights to be darker and more silent? There are some things that cannot be fought. Some things that cannot be altered, once they have come to pass.”

  Rane laughed. He laughed full-bellied and genuine, and he earned a mix of angry, baleful and horrified expressions from the rest, Kole included.

  “You really don’t know him,” he said once he’d regained some modicum of control.

  Kole smiled. He smiled despite the renewed—and closer—roar of the Night Lord, and the quaking in the earth. He smiled despite the utter hopelessness of all around them.

  He smiled because he knew he still had control over one thing. They all did.

  Control of how they would choose to die. And when.

  “You don’t believe he’s invincible, Valour,” Rane said. He stepped to the northern edge of the fallen tower. “I’ve been in your mind, you forget. You might not be able to do it—”

  “I assure you, Rane,” Valour sneered, “you’re not up to the task either.”

  “No,” he said. “No, I suppose not. Still, we can only control what we can.” He looked past the Sage, focusing on the Night Lord. “How do you like my odds against that one?”

  “Less than dismal.”