When the Heavens Fall
Page 63
Vale snorted. “Shame he didn’t get a chance to share his thinking with the god. Shroud might’ve done us all a favor.”
“Perhaps. The point is, the consel felt Shroud owed him a favor.”
The Endorian’s brows knitted. “What did he want?”
“I asked him the same thing. He even started to tell me before he realized how much he was revealing.” Ebon gathered the reins. “He wanted to know where Ambolina is. He needs her, Vale. Her and her demons.”
Vale’s expression was skeptical. “Even if you’re right, after the beating we’ve taken there’ll be other redbeaks circling. Mercerie won’t pass up the chance to rub salt in the wound.” He turned his horse. “Someone’s going to have to pick up the pieces Mayot left behind. If not you, who?”
“I’ve a thought to that,” Ebon replied. If he still lives.
Then, with Vale still waiting for an explanation, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and steered the animal out of the building.
They rode in silence, Ebon leading the way toward the hill where they had fought the Fangalar. In the ruins to either side he sensed hidden eyes—more of Shroud’s servants perhaps, or other strangers drawn by the Book who had arrived too late to take part in the fight with Mayot. None of the watchers approached.
When Ebon reached the hill he saw the slope facing him was covered with the bodies of scores of Vamilians. A handful of trees had been uprooted by the storm, and his eyes widened when he noticed a trunk suspended dozens of armspans overhead in the upper branches of two trees. On the hilltop itself, a circle of corpses surrounded a sea of churned mud perhaps two hundred paces across. Tree stumps jutted from the ground, and on one was impaled the body of a Vamilian woman. Death-magic hung so thickly in the air that every breath scratched the back of Ebon’s throat.
For a time he sat staring at the devastation, his horse prancing beneath him as the wind buffeted them. To the east a flicker of lightning lit up the sky, and a score of heartbeats passed before a rumble of thunder sounded.
There was no sign of Mottle.
Ebon glanced back over the city. The damage caused to the dome by Mayot’s sorcery looked worse from up here than it had inside. There were two holes on opposite sides of the roof, each a dozen armspans across, and cracks had begun to snake their way across the intervening stonework.
Ebon told Vale of his conversation with Galea in the dome. “Was I right, Vale? To refuse her?”
“You did what you had to.”
“She all but admitted she had done nothing to help Majack. And yet…”
“You still think she might have come good after all this time? Let it go. Even if the Book could do what she said, the bitch wouldn’t have shared.”
“And if you are wrong?” Ebon asked. “What have we really accomplished here, Vale? For my kinsmen, I mean. Release for those enslaved by the Book? Dead is still dead. What if I just threw away their last chance of redemption? That is something I suspect I will always carry with me—the not knowing.”
Vale frowned, but said nothing.
As the silence drew out, Ebon shifted in his saddle. Now that the time had come to leave, his stomach had turned sour. For a few more days only he could hope. For a few more days he could dare to believe that Lamella and the others had survived the attack on Majack. He took a final look round, then gazed up at the sky and said, “Mottle, if you should hear this … You know where to find me, friend.”
Wheeling his horse, he set off down the hill.
* * *
A chill wind blew across the clearing. Luker rose from beside a mound of packed earth, his knees leaving deep impressions in the ground. It had taken him a bell to scrape out a shallow grave using only his hands and a spear he had found half-hidden beneath mud and roots. Water had seeped into the pit faster than he could bail it out, so in the end he’d had to tip Kanon in and cover his floating head and body as best he could.
Brushing dirt from his hands, Luker retrieved his master’s sword from a puddle. He looked round the clearing. After his duel with Kanon, the undead had moved on to leave nothing but a sodden patch of torn and trampled earth. The Guardian scratched his scar. His master deserved better than an unmarked grave in this Shroud-cursed backwater. Perhaps one day Luker would return here to collect his bones and take them to their proper resting place in the grounds of the Sacrosanct.
He heard a rustle of leaves behind.
“I didn’t get an opportunity before,” Jenna said. “To say I was sorry for your loss.”
Luker did not turn round. He plunged Kanon’s sword into the ground at the head of the grave and leaned on the pommel until only the hilt and a handspan of the blade were visible. Then he stepped back. It seemed he should say something in Kanon’s memory, but he’d never been good with words, and his master had always preferred silence in any case.
“Pity you never got to meet him,” he said to Jenna. “I reckon I knew Kanon as well as anyone, but still not as well as I would have liked. We spent years traveling together, first when I was his apprentice, then later when I came back from beyond the White Mountains. Even then, he kept to himself. Must have said more before our fight than he’d said in years.” He heard Jenna take a step forward, felt her hand rest briefly on his shoulder.
“Does he have family?” she said.
“Not that he ever spoke of. Guardians were probably the closest thing he had.” Luker’s expression tightened. “Kanon spent his life serving an ideal his commanders couldn’t live up to. I think he came to see that before the end, but his honor kept him from walking out.”
“How did you meet him?”
Luker watched the wind ripple the surface of a puddle. A part of him was surprised he’d never told Jenna the story before, but more of Kanon had rubbed off on him than just the Will, he supposed. “He saved my life. Edge of the Waste, not far from Ontep—that abandoned slaver town we passed through. I was seven. My father had been drinking. Don’t think he even saw the sandclaw till it was on him. Kanon arrived to spit the creature before it could turn on me. Reckon he felt guilty for not getting there in time to save us both. Maybe that’s why he made me his apprentice.” Or maybe, as Luker liked to think, it was because Kanon had seen something in him that he approved of, for after Luker’s father had fallen Luker hadn’t simply waited to die, but instead snatched up a spear and advanced on the sandclaw.
“He never told you why he took you on?”
“I never asked.” Luker saw again the closing moments of their duel. “He let me kill him, you know. At the end. Even smiled as the blow landed.”
“He was already dead. You didn’t kill him.”
“Maybe not. Feels like it, though.”
“He knew you came after him. You got a chance to tell him that, at least.”
Luker nodded. “Aye, there’s some blessing in that, I suppose.” He turned to face Jenna. The assassin glowed with health. Her hair shone, her freckled cheeks were blushed with color, and even the crisscrossing scars from the attack in Arkarbour had disappeared. “How are you feeling?”
“Strange. My mind hasn’t caught up to the fact my body has been healed.” Jenna held up her left hand and studied it. “I keep looking at my arm expecting to see a stump.”
“Give it time.”
The assassin smiled her crooked smile. “I’m not complaining.”
Water was pooling round Luker’s boots, and he retreated to drier ground, Jenna following him. His horse was nosing through the muck, searching in vain for some grass to crop. He caught Jenna’s eye. “Did you find the others? Merin? The boy?”
“Chamery was where we left him—dead. His wrists were chafed, but whether his struggles came before or after he died, I couldn’t tell. As for Merin, I didn’t find his body.” The assassin watched Luker for a reaction before adding, “You don’t seem surprised.”
The Guardian shook his head. “Tough old bastard.”
“Will you go after him?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he? Can’t betray someone who’s not on your side. We both knew the way it was.”
Jenna frowned. “If he lives to tell the story of what happened here…”
She had a point. Luker had no intention of going back to Erin Elal, but there was something to be said for not giving the Breakers another reason to come looking for him. “I’ll think about it.”
Jenna stared at him for a few heartbeats before reaching into a pocket in her cloak and withdrawing a hip flask. In response to Luker’s questioning look she said, “From one of the Sartorian soldiers—the one who survived. Want some?”
“What is it?”
The assassin unscrewed the cap and took a swallow. “Not bad. Like juripa spirits, but stronger.” She offered the flask to Luker, and he accepted it. “So if we’re not following Merin, where are we heading?”
The Guardian grunted. We? “Not sure. Said I’d take first watch on Aliana.”
Jenna’s eyes twinkled. “Never had you down as a nursemaid.”
“I said I’d look in on her. Nothing more.”
“And that’s all you feel you owe her? Parolla, I mean.”
Luker studied the assassin, then looked away. “Shroud said he’d get word to us when the kid’s born. Until then, I’ve got a few ideas of how we could pass the time.”
“Care to share them with me?”
Luker’s lips quirked. “Maybe Mercerie. Maybe we’ll go find that rooftop for some shooting practice. It’s been three years, right? Peledin Kan must’ve forgotten about you by now.”
“Well I haven’t. Forgotten, that is. In the dome, you admitted I’m the better shot.”
“Must’ve taken a blow to the head. Amazing the stuff people come out with when the world’s spinning.”
Jenna searched his eyes. “You’d take it all back, then? The things you said?”
Luker kept her waiting while he took a sip from the flask. “No,” he replied at last, holding her gaze. “No, I wouldn’t.”
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Erin Elalese
Luker Essendar, a Guardian
Gill Treller, First Guardian
Kanon, a member of the Guardian Council
Avallon Delamar, emperor of Erin Elal
Merin Gray, member of the Emperor’s Circle, formerly commander of the Seventh Army
Don Chamery Pelk, a mage of the Black Tower
Mayot Mencada, a mage of the Black Tower
Sekh Rakaal, commander of the Breakers
Jenna Amary, an assassin
Gol, Jenna’s minder
Galitians
Ebon Calidar, prince of Galitia
Vale Gorven, Ebon’s bodyguard
Mottle, an air-mage
Isanovir Calidar, king of Galitia, Ebon’s father
Rosel Calidar, queen of Galitia, Ebon’s mother
Rendale Calidar, prince of Galitia, Ebon’s brother
Domen Janir Calidar, Isanovir’s brother
Tamarin, chancellor to the King
General Reynes, commander of the Pantheon Guard
Lamella Dewhand, Ebon’s companion
Captain Hitch, a soldier of the Pantheon Guard
Sergeant Grimes, a soldier of the Pantheon Guard
Corporal Ellea, a soldier of the Pantheon Guard
Bettle, a soldier of the Pantheon Guard
Sergeant Seffes, a former soldier of the Pantheon Guard
Sartorians
Consel Garat Hallon, de facto ruler of Sartor
Ambolina Alavist, the consel’s sorceress
Falin Hallon, the consel’s brother
Pellar Hargin, the consel’s first adviser
Gen Sulin, commander of the Consel’s Guard
Others
Romany Elivar, a high priestess of the Spider
The Spider, a goddess
Danel, servant to Romany
Parolla Morivan, a necromancer of unknown origins
Aliana Morivan, Parolla’s mother
Tumbal Qerivan, a Gorlem wanderer
Shroud, Lord of the Dead
Lorigan Teele, a commander of the Belliskan Order of Knights and a disciple of Shroud
The Widowmaker, a disciple of Shroud
Andara Kell, a disciple of Shroud
Kestor ben Kayma, a disciple of Shroud
The Lord of the Hunt, the Antlered God
Ceriso di Monata, a novitiate of the Antlered God
Olakim, a follower of a dead god
Mezaqin, demon lord of the Shades, third of the Nine Hells
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MARC TURNER was born in Toronto, Canada, but grew up in England. When the Heavens Fall is his first novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Map of the Lands of the Exile
PART I
A Spider’s Web
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
PART II
Shades of Black
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
PART III
Breath of the Dead
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
PART IV
River of Lost Souls
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Dramatis Personae
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
WHEN THE HEAVENS FALL
Copyright © 2015 by Marc Turner
All rights reserved.
Map by Rhys Davies
Cover art by Richard Anderson
A Tor Book
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3712-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-3120-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466831209
First Edition: May 2015