“What about the glyphs?”
“It’s got to mean something.” D’Jenn leaned forward and gazed at the lines in the smooth rock. “I’ll bet if you measured the way that’s laid out, it will come out mathematically sound. Each marking a certain distance from the next, and so on. If you were to lay a straight edge over some of those curved bits with the dots at the end, I’ll bet the distance between those is straight as an arrow, too.”
“A spell? A ward, maybe? It reacts with my Kai—tries to, anyway. Whatever it was, it burned out long ago.”
“I’m too far away to feel a reaction,” D’Jenn said, turning away. He looked toward the mountain, in the direction the road seemed to be traveling. “We can’t stay here to investigate this. There are probably more Garthorin in these woods.”
“A comforting thought.”
D’Jenn gave him an empty smile. “We’ll move out of the lowlands today. If we make it into the passes by tonight, we can camp with our backs to hard stone.”
“I’d swing wide of this area. Maybe move west for a time, then head north.”
“Really? I thought we’d ride straight through, singing that song about Tirrin’s last stand.”
“Take care of Bethany. I’ll keep an eye out from overhead. Meet you at the top.”
D’Jenn flashed him the Hunter’s Tongue symbol for promise, and his form faded into the midmorning sunlight. Dormael listened as D’Jenn’s song fled into the distance—his mind headed back to his body—and took one last look at the destruction he’d caused during the fight. Tree limbs were shoved into the ground atop the Garthorin Dormael had killed, and the ground was torn by the passage of the other two. The forest uttered only the whisper of wind through the trees.
Dormael climbed back up the tumbled marker stone. He pondered the markings on its surface. How long had it been here, waiting to be discovered? How many people had seen it before? What civilization—because it clearly hadn’t been the ancient Vendon—had been capable of such precise markings?
What in the Six Hells happened out here?
Pouring his magic inward, Dormael took the form of the gyrfalcon. He was airborne within moments, gaining speed to pull himself into the higher reaches, where the cold winds eddied around the peaks. He couldn’t see the ancient, overgrown road from the sky, though the marker was visible enough.
Of the Garthorin, there was no sign. There was no howling, and no movement beneath the canopy. The woods were as silent as they had been before the chase.
It provided Dormael with little comfort.
***
Nalia Arynthaal, oldest legitimate daughter to the King of Thardin, parted the thick curtain covering the window of her fine coach. Daylight streamed through the crack in a narrow ray, illuminating swirling dust motes like fey creatures dancing in the light. Nalia held her breath against a sneeze, afraid of damaging her dignity.
Her family had lost enough of that already.
She stared through the curtain at the rolling hills of what used to be southern Neleka, but was now part of the Galanian Empire. The coach rocked and bumped along the unpaved road, despite the expensive spring system installed beneath the cabin. Nalia grumbled under her breath as she almost bit her tongue. She couldn’t be seen with tears in her eyes today. Though her knees shook and her chest wanted to burst, she would not give in. To everyone who looked on, she would be a vision of grace, beauty, and nobility.
She would be the Ice Princess they expected to see.
Her handmaidens were packed into the coach with her, and they suffered the ride with as much poise as they could. Serena, whose gray eyes always held a private joke, gazed at her nails and frowned in disappointment. Serena was plump, but not in an unattractive way. She was the kind of woman who drew every hungry eye—even a few female eyes—when she sauntered into a room. Her breasts threatened to pop from any dress she wore, and Nalia suspected she chose her dresses for that reason. All the women in Nalia’s service were gifted three garments of fine quality every season, and all of Serena’s tailors appeared to have the same measuring problem when it came to the woman’s chest.
It was just as well—Serena’s beauty was part of what made her dangerous. She was sharp, charming, and well-read. Serena could manipulate people into sharing almost anything, and her skills were devastating when turned against a man. Nalia had learned many things that had been shared with Serena over mugs of wine, or whispered over sweaty pillows.
A distasteful thing to admit. She had an aversion to putting such sexual tactics to use, and by doing so, engendering a culture within her service that perpetuated the behavior. She hated the necessity of the thing as much as her guilt. Her mother would have laughed at her.
Get used to doing things you dislike, darling girl. No matter how old Nalia grew, that moniker found its way to the tip of her mother’s tongue. The world is full of levers, and graveyards are full of people who hesitated to pull them when necessary. Identify the strengths in your people and capitalize upon them. That is how to win the war.
To her mother, war was an abstract concept. It was always mentioned in high-handed tones, often with an emphasis on the first letter—the War. Nalia had eaten the War with her breakfasts, had it read to her in her studies. It was enshrined in her family’s honor words—For all the world, a war.
Nalia’s mother had made sure to drive their meaning home.
“Highness?”
Nalia turned her eyes to Verith—a slight young woman sitting across from her. Verith had curly blond hair and a mousy, bookish appearance. She regarded Nalia with bright blue eyes and a concerned look.
“You were grinding your teeth again, Highness. Are you well?”
“Just brooding.” Nalia smoothed her jaw. “Nothing to worry about.”
Verith gave her a piercing look. “I hear the camp is a sprawling fortification. Units from four separate nations, all under the same commander. The follower’s camp is supposed to be massive—a chaotic mess. It will be perfect, Highness. I’m sure of it.”
Nalia looked gave her handmaiden a reassuring smile. “I have every confidence in you, Verith. It’s not the plan that compels me to silence.”
It wasn’t a lie—she did have every confidence in Verith. The woman was devious, and the sharpest of her handmaidens by a wide margin. Verith’s unassuming looks gave her the ability to be in any room and remain unnoticed. She was endlessly resourceful, and had run Nalia’s network of eyes-and-ears from the beginning.
Verith regarded her with a dubious look, but nodded her head in respect and fell silent. Nalia flashed Verith an irritated glance—she had always been able to see through Nalia’s façade—and went back to staring through the curtain. Her handmaidens had been her closest companions since they were children. All of them hand-picked, educated, and trained by Nalia’s mother.
The contrivance of the situation didn’t change how Nalia felt about them. She had come of age with these women. She had whispered of her first infatuations, shared her worries and fears with them. They could likely tell she was feeling anxious.
“It’s said that Emperor Dargorin offers ten golden marks to any man who can best him in combat, and a single mark to any who gets close,” Jaylenia said from her place beside Nalia. Nalia turned her eyes on her First Maiden. “The duels take place every morning at sunrise. The Red Swords apparently had to start keeping the location a secret because so many people showed up to watch.”
Jaylenia was a dark beauty. She was tall, regal, and had the same shiny, jet black hair as Nalia. Many people said that Jay and Nalia looked like sisters, though there was no relation between them. Jay had a playful challenge in her eyes, offering Nalia the mockery of an empty-headed grin.
“They say he’s never been defeated,” Jay gushed, putting her hand to her chest like a lovestruck girl.
“It is true,” Verith added, countering Jay’s mockery with a sober expression. “I have it on good authority that the Emperor’s chamberlain makes several appointments
for duels every week. A few who showed well in their duels were named to the Red Swords. It’s a matter of honor for them, I understand.”
“Dargorin has never been defeated in combat? Impossible.” Nalia sighed and sat back against her seat. “It’s more likely he has somehow perpetuated the legend.”
“I didn’t say never defeated, Highness,” Verith pointed out, “only that he hasn’t been bested in one of the duels.”
Nalia looked back through the curtain. “I certainly don’t plan to duel him.”
“Everyone will be sure you plan to marry him, or that your mother plans it,” Jay said. “That’s a good thing.”
“He is a good-looking man,” Serena said. Nalia gave her a dark glance, but Serena pushed ahead. “It’s true, Highness. All the ladies are talking about how gorgeous he is—that, and why he’s never accepted any proposals. He’s handsome, powerful, and successful in battle. From what I hear, though, he doesn’t have any concubines. I’ve never heard rumors about women he’s bedded. It’s odd.”
“That probably keeps all the nobility in the Empire throwing their daughters at his feet,” Jaylenia said. “It could be a ploy. He could be entertaining different offers from different factions, playing them against one another. It would be a good way to keep them off balance.”
Always keep your enemies guessing, Nalia’s mother would have said. The direct attack is the fool’s weapon, unless you win some greater victory in its doing.
“There is definitely more going on here than we understand,” Verith said. “I’ve heard conflicting things about him.”
“Like what?” Nalia leaned forward to listen.
“That he’s survived several assassination attempts, for instance. One such was a poisoning—and I’ve confirmed this, because several others were killed by the poison—yet the man does not employ any food-testers.” Verith shook her head, letting out a short breath. “It just doesn’t make sense. Anyone in his position should be more cautious, but his attitude seems careless. There’s a missing piece to this puzzle.”
“The war camp will be a hotbed of intrigue.” Jay parted the curtain on the opposite window and gazed outside. “Four separate nations fighting under the same shaky alliance. With all the discontent, there will be ample opportunity to learn what we need to know.”
“The supplies we’re bringing for the war effort will at least get me close to him,” Nalia said. “From there, I will need to secure real power. Once we get settled inside the camp’s fortifications, we will work on making me indispensable. That’s our first goal—to win the Emperor’s confidence.”
“Yes, Highness,” her handmaidens intoned.
Nalia went back to looking through the curtain as the sprawling war camp came into sight—a dark stain, like a roiling anthill, on the plains in the distance. She could see carts coming and going, and dust rising wherever there was movement. The sight of it brought ice to her belly, but she clamped down on her anxiety.
“Once I’m in his confidence,” she continued, “we will decide how best to kill him.”
***
Bethany smoldered with magic.
Even when she sat in quiet moments with her Kai sleeping, she could feel it. It hummed inside her, like a thunderstorm living in the hollow of her chest. At night she would curl around the feeling and hug it close.
It was hers, and the longer it burned, the more she loved it.
Bethany watched the others sitting around what would have been a fire, if they dared to risk one in this place. Instead, D’Jenn had introduced a trick he used with light. In the earliest days of the journey, before they had moved into dangerous territory, he had shown the trick to her.
Light, he’d said, has a tone like everything else. You can play it like an instrument if you listen deep enough. Sing a shrill note with your Kai and the light becomes blue and piercing. Hum something low and sonorous, and the light will deepen to crimson.
Her friends spoke in quiet tones while D’Jenn’s magic whispered in the ether. A nimbus of crimson light filled the space between them, just bright enough so everyone could see what the moonlight couldn’t reveal. For Bethany, whose Kai painted everything in sharp contrast, the red glow was bright enough to be irritating.
It reminded her of the Nar’doroc’s glow—red like fire and blood.
“The markings are like nothing I’ve seen,” her father said, trying to keep his voice low. “They made my Kai itch.”
“Itch?” Allen made a disgusted face. “Your magic can itch? Gross.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” her father replied. “It’s like the runes were meant to interact with magic, but they’d lost whatever power they once had.”
D’Jenn cleared his throat. “Most of the written magical forms we use are based on the Conclave’s research. The glyphs used at the Mage Tower are based on ours. Magical forms have changed and improved over the years, but they’re still essentially the same language.”
“But this one is different?” Shawna said.
Dormael nodded. “Different is an understatement. Most of the written languages in the world were codified by the Church Victorious, so they’re all similar. They read left to right and have similar characters. Imagine coming upon a language that you had to read not only left to right, but up and down at the same time.”
“There’s also a mathematical element,” D’Jenn said.
“You lost me at ‘understatement’.” Allen shrugged. “Are the runes dangerous?”
“Not the ones we saw today,” D’Jenn said. “But that doesn’t mean that the next set won’t be. We’ll need to be careful. Keep an eye out for anything that doesn’t look natural.”
Dormael sighed and gazed to the north. “I’ll bet there’s lots of this stuff up here, slowly being sucked back into the ground.”
“Lacelle did say something about ancient civilizations north of the Boundary,” Shawna said.
D’Jenn nodded. “So did Hamarin the Wanderer.”
Bethany drew her cloak over her shoulders. She wondered what this place was like before the woods reached up and took it all back. She had heard the howling earlier in the day. There was something deep in the tone of those howls, something wrong. Bethany had wanted to see one, but after today, her fantasies were drying up. Anything with that in its voice could stay far away from her.
With the Garthorin up here, it’s no wonder everything is gone.
Bethany kept her eyes on the ground as she spoke. “Did the Garthorin kill all the people?”
Everyone turned to look at her. The crimson light cast their eyes in shadow.
“It’s possible,” D’Jenn said. “It might be that they were all gone before the Garthorin showed up.”
“They’ve killed everything else up here.” Bethany looked at the moonlit hills. “If there were people, I bet the Garthorin got them, too.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Dormael said. “I don’t think anything would have scared them away.”
D’Jenn reached into his bags and pulled out his pipe. “We’ll have to be careful. We can learn about them. Use that knowledge to avoid them.”
“I just wish they hadn’t killed everything,” Allen said. “If the gods were kind, they’d have made the deer poisonous to Garthorin. I’m getting tired of all these hard rations and trail-berries. I’m wasting away.”
Bethany couldn’t agree more. She would have traded anything for a roast with carrots and onions. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of gravy. When they left this place, she was going to eat her way through ten plates of food.
If we leave this place.
A black form skittered past Bethany’s field of view, flitting behind Shawna and Dormael. Bethany froze, heart racing, but no one else noticed. She stared into the darkness, waiting for something to appear.
“Bethany?” D’Jenn leaned toward her. “Do you see something?”
The conversation died in an instant. Dormael grasped the fabric at Bethany’s shoulder, and she heard his Ka
i wake with an angry melody. D’Jenn held up a hand as weapons began to rattle. Everyone froze.
Bethany felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I just got startled.”
“The wards should alert me if anything gets close.” D’Jenn peered at her, and she could feel the weight of his eyes even through the crimson light. Bethany nodded.
Dormael’s protective hand changed to a comforting one. “I can’t sense anything. Probably just a shadow, little one. Nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about. If I repeat that to myself, will it come true?
Bethany nodded again. “I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
“Don’t worry, little pig,” Allen said. “This place has us all on edge.”
D’Jenn tapped his pipe on his boot, clearing the bowl. “We should get some rest. The terrain will only get harder from here.”
“Good idea. I’m exhausted,” Dormael said, ruffling Bethany’s hair.
Everyone else agreed.
Bethany sought her blankets and stared at the night sky. The air was chill, but not uncomfortable. For a while, she laid in silence and listened to the sound of her friends breathing. The wind blew across the hills, making the forest whisper. The horses made little noises in their sleep. Bethany, though, could not silence her mind.
Is it out there? Is it looking at me?
Bethany pulled her blanket over her head and tried to keep her breathing still. The horses gave soft whickers and scuffled at the ground. The wind picked up again, making the trees sway and the forest hiss in anger. Bethany tried to drown out her fear with the sound of her own breathing, but no matter what she did, her mind kept returning to a dreadful truth.
The thing in her shadow had followed her.
***
Dormael followed as the woman led him through the night.
“Where are you taking me?”
The woman didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken.
She dragged him by the hand over flower-covered hills, her face turned away from him. Dormael became transfixed by her hair. He watched the silky, auburn mass dance with a will of its own. Silvery tendrils were shot through the auburn, and starlight caressed them as she moved.
The City Under the Mountain Page 2
