Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1)

by Steven Kelliher

  Some part of Linn worked to reject the scene before her; it was the same part that had denied the death of her parents in those early dark days. But the rest of her, that which was fire-forged even if she lacked Ember blood let it all in and fanned the smoldering coals into a fresh blaze.

  Kaya Ferrahl was dead. A demon had killed her, just as it had killed Larren Holspahr before her. And they had harbored it, wrapped it in covers and brought it warmth and trust, offering themselves up as lambs to the slaughter. The Sentinel before them wielded the heat of an Ember, but it was no less cold than the black ghouls at her back.

  A similar sort of cold enveloped Linn now. It numbed her. It was the feeling of steel shining in starlight, of being perched on an arrowhead.

  She was in a killing way.

  “You must go.”

  Baas, in the grips of rage just moments before, now spoke with an eerie calm. The hawk’s eyes of the corrupted Ember darted up and took them in, sized them up.

  “Go,” he said again, more insistent this time. But Linn’s hands were closed into steely fists. She scanned the cave and noted Nathen’s bow close at hand, his spent arrows strewn in the mud.

  She looked back, and her icy resolve shattered when the thing that bore Larren’s face smiled at her, white teeth shining like a ghost. She heard a low growl and traced it to the deepest parts of Baas’s chest. His boulder of a body tensed, blood flowing freely from his many wounds.

  The Sentinel, seemingly amused, leaned its weight more fully onto Kaya’s lifeless form, sending up an audible crunch that resounded off of the close walls and low ceiling. Linn knew she would hear that sound in her dreams for the rest of her life, but the animal roar of Baas Taldis quickly rose to supplant it in the moment.

  The Riverman charged, covering the distance between him and the Sentinel in a leaping stride as Linn dove for Nathen’s bow. Sure-handed, she snatched it in a roll and came up with a feathered shaft nocked. She cursed, heart pounding as she fought to train the missile onto Larren’s lean form as it grappled with Baas. Even possessed of whatever supernatural strength it was, the Sentinel was giving ground, white teeth gleaming as it fought for purchase, spear igniting and setting Baas’s shield to glow as the weapons came together in a shower of sparks.

  Baas’s shield protected him from the worst of the flames, but Linn worried about that Everwood blade. The Rockbled were only impervious to weapons made of metal, one of the major reasons they had fallen in numbers against the Landkist among the Emberfolk generations before.

  Suddenly, the Sentinel withdrew from the press and Baas stumbled forward as the flaming spear slashed low, cutting deep into one thigh and sending the Riverman stumbling. Linn saw her opportunity and seized it, bowstring humming. The Sentinel saw the shaft at the last moment and Linn was shot back out into the rain as the chamber erupted into an inferno.

  Nathen pulled her up and she peered into the cave, seeing the Sentinel and its spear silhouetted in the blaze. Her arrow had found its mark, but the missile had already burned up, the wound on Larren’s chest now a smoldering scab. Those red eyes flashed her way and her hands worked of their own accord as she fell to one knee. Arrows lanced into the cave, most batted aside from the whirling wall of flame put out by the Everwood spear, but several found their marks, and Linn saw Baas’s shield glowing white hot as the Riverman charged in from the back of the chamber.

  Baas was a roaring comet. He collided with the Sentinel shield-first and slammed it into the wall, stone breaking off on the impact. The Sentinel snarled and turned the flames on him, but the Riverman would not be cowed.

  “Go!” Baas screamed as he brought the rim of his shield up to shatter the Sentinel’s nose. They battled in a pocket of hell, and just when Linn thought Baas was caught dead to rights, he punched the wall of the cave itself and the earth responded, sending a crumbling spur to pin Larren’s foot in place. Now it was forced to stand and fight, and the spear sent a torrent of fire at the glowing shield, Baas growling behind it.

  “Go!”

  Nathen snatched her by the wrist and they ran, the animal hisses of the shadow men mixing with the steady patter of rain. The brilliant light of Jenk’s blade stood out in the woods. He had been forced away from them and Linn saw the fire’s dance slow, the yellow trails growing sluggish.

  They broke into the clearing and Nathen was forced to fall to his back as Jenk’s blade found new life, shooting toward him with deadly intent.

  “We need to go!” Linn shouted over the storm as the branches clashed above them.

  Jenk was panting. His face was pale, skin hissing and sending up steam that mixed with the smoke emanating from the burned bodies at his feet. More shadows raced through the trees, timbers cracking and bending as they approached.

  The Ember nodded and ran in the opposite direction, Linn and Nathen following the bouncing glow of his blade as they lost the moon to the clouds and canopy. Jenk yelped as his blade was extinguished with a splash, but they could not slow, so Linn let out a shout of her own as they broke through the brush and crashed into the fast-flowing swamp.

  They paddled and Linn lost sight and feel of the others. Her strength flagged, and that was when she realized how strong the pull was, dragging her unerringly forward. A great shelf of jagged stone loomed ahead, breaking from the canopy and standing vigil like a silent titan. She heard the screams ahead, and then the darkness took her in a rush as the mud beneath her boots gave way to open air.

  The rain had relented, fading for the first time since they had set out. Occasional cracks of thunder still punctuated the sky to the north, but on the borders of Last Lake, all was quiet.

  Shifa splashed into the stream, lapping at the cold water before crossing to the opposite bank, and Kole followed. He held his boots in one hand and closed his eyes as his bare feet hissed upon contact with the flowing water. He felt the steam rise, tickling the hair on his shins, enjoying the battle his body fought with the cold for equilibrium. It was a battle he knew the water would eventually win.

  The hound barked and he waded across with a sigh. Taei and Fihn should be near. The fact that he could not hear them was only a testament to their uncanny woodlore. Normally, the forest would be teaming with game, with birds and beasts of every persuasion lending their voices to the canopy, but not now. Now it was as silent as it was during the deepest parts of the Dark Months.

  Kole found a moss-covered boulder and climbed it, settling at the top. He patted the spot next to him and Shifa hopped up, her pack rattling as she did. Kole checked it, ensuring the pitched arrows were wrapped and secure before pulling the map out of a pocket in the leather. The twins claimed to know every inch of the Southern Valley. Kole did not doubt them, but Tu’Ren would not let them leave without the parchment, so he had taken it.

  The guilt at having left the Lake still gnawed at him, but it was a distant thing when compared to the need that drove him on—the need to find Linn, and the need to reach the peaks. Kole knew the defenses would hold. Tu’Ren had assured him, but there was no telling how long. If Hearth was besieged to the degree Ninyeva said, then Last Lake would be next.

  As it turned out, he was not the only one feeling guilty: Kole had originally intended for Shifa to be his only companion, but the Kane siblings had insisted on accompanying him. Whether they felt more guilty for not having gone north with Linn’s group or for failing to tell the First Keeper until it was too late to affect change, it was impossible to say.

  Being honest, Kole could not say he particularly enjoyed Fihn’s company, but the deeper they got into the woods, the more assured he felt that their presence could only be a good thing. Taken separately, Taei and Fihn were two of the more formidable swords in the Valley. Together, he doubted if anyone was up to the task. Though only Taei was Landkist, his sister had made it her singular drive to prove to the World that it had chosen wrongly. From what Kole had witnessed, she had a point.

  As he waited, Kole turned over his final conversation with Ninyeva.
The Faey Mother had been uncharacteristically intense, even nervous.

  “Even if you do not find the White Crest—and I pray you do not come across the Eastern Dark—your journey can still bare fruit,” she had said. “The red-topped keep lies in a cloister in the spurs. Whatever drives this darkness is in its bowels.”

  “Was that not the White Crest’s abode?” Kole had asked, skeptical.

  “Once, maybe. Either way, there could be power there, Kole. Power for the taking.”

  “You would wield the tools of Sages.”

  “I would wield anything to save our people,” Ninyeva said harshly. “Unless it has the touch of the Eastern Dark. If so, purge it. But Kole,” she had looked earnest, younger even. “The White Crest was a being of wind and light. If any of his power remains, it would be a boon, not a curse.”

  Linn Ve’Ran’s face popped into his mind. He knew how she felt about the White Crest. He knew she was convinced he still lived. There was the guilt again. Did he know it? He felt it in his bones. He saw it when he closed his eyes at night. But did he know it? Or had he simply assigned his anger, his rage, to a being that had protected them simply because it had failed to protect his mother? Perhaps that rage had blinded him to the true threat, to the threat his people had fled the northern deserts to avoid.

  Kole did not hear their approach, but Shifa bristled beside him, issuing a low growl that quickly morphed into an excited bark. Fihn greeted the hound at the base of the boulder and Kole jumped down beside them.

  Taei emerged from a patch to the east a short time later. He seemed hesitant, but Kole had a difficult time reading the other Ember. Fihn, however, mirrored his concern.

  “What trouble?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Taei said, shaking his head slowly. “The woods are silent.”

  “How far did you go?” Kole asked, and Fihn nodded at her brother to continue.

  “Farther than I had planned. Even the trees seem fearful.”

  “Ninyeva said there was a great host before the walls of Hearth,” Kole said. “That’s where they all are.”

  “Maybe,” Taei said. “Maybe it’s this cloud cover that’s got the woods quiet.”

  He looked up and the others did as well .The canopy was dense, but sunlight should have filtered through the gaps in the leaves. Instead, there was only a lighter gray streaming in like moonlight through ash.

  “Do you think they tried for Hearth?” Fihn asked.

  The twins stared at one another, concern evident.

  “If Linn Ve’Ran thinks like I know she does, she went around,” Kole said. “West would bring them to the pines and up toward the peaks from the woods. She would not have risked the mission by stopping at Hearth.”

  “Who says she was in charge?” Fihn challenged. “Larren Holspahr—

  “Is a powerful Ember,” Kole said, “and an incredible warrior. But this is not his mission. They went around.”

  Kole adjusted his blades and re-tied his boots before heading onto the northern trail, unwilling to let the twins further the argument. After a time, he heard their soft footfalls drifting through the trees to his left. They would follow. And he would hope that he was right.

  When Talmir awoke, he was in a suffocating darkness. For a panicky spell, he thought he was dead and raised again as a small part of the black ocean that assailed the walls of Hearth. He imagined the white walls as little more than an eggshell whose innards shook and quivered with each attack.

  He cursed himself a fool when he sat up and swept back the black curtains, memories half-formed but flooding back in a rush. His body ached, but he was largely unhurt. His mind felt stretched, and judging by the marks on the melted candles on the ledge of his chamber, he had rested long enough.

  It had not been Talmir’s idea to take a respite with his city in such dire straights, but rather that of his three Keepers and their lieutenants. They had repelled the titans that had come against them from the west: three had been slain and one—the serpent—had not been seen since it had snaked its way into the tall grasses beneath the White Cliffs. Relatively speaking, they had been safe when he took his leave.

  As he had meandered down from the battlements, head swimming through the fog brought on by witnessing Creyath’s short, tempestuous battle with the Night Lord, he had come upon Karin Reyna, First Runner of Last Lake. The man had made it in before the first charge and was now cut off from his own, with his own. Talmir had met him before, and though others held him in high regard—Garos Balsheer chief among them—he had done little to distinguish himself in the Captain’s eyes.

  If ever that was want to change, Talmir thought these might be the circumstances.

  Talmir rose as quickly as he dared, stooping to buckle on the sword and belt that he had dropped unceremoniously to the floor. His joints reminded him in no uncertain terms that he would never possess the supernatural endurance of the Embers. Then again, he was in much better condition than Creyath. The Second Keeper had acquitted himself well, putting all of his power into a single strike to the crown of the great beast’s skull, but that had not saved him from its dying throes. He would be in the Red Bowl now, and Talmir hoped he would mend as quickly as Landkist usually did.

  The booms, claps and clangs of battle echoed in the cold stairwell as Talmir took the steps two at a time into the guts of the barracks below. The sounds had become so constant over the last few days that one could mistake it for the steady drone of rain on clay and tile.

  The breeze dried his face and stuck the sleep sweat to his skin when he threw open the door to the mess hall. The shutters were blown open and the wind howled outside. Bone-weary men and women craned their heads and leaned up from their cots to glance his way. Some saluted. Most fell back into what sleep they could.

  A young, mousey-haired lad stared at him from his place beside the fire. He was stirring a black cauldron of stew. Behind him, an old woman worked in a ledger, taking turns between scratching lines on parchment and candlewick. These men were on a timer that the Captain was not, and he felt the familiar pang of guilt over it as he straightened and strode toward the street beyond.

  The air was an odd mix of fresh and peppery, the smells of pitch and flame stinging his nostrils. He breathed it in and exhaled a sigh of relief as he noted the walls still standing and still-manned, Garos’s great brazier glowing atop the gate. The twang of bowstrings mixed with the guttering of torches. Since the Corrupted made no sounds but for the scrabbling of nails on stone, it looked from this angle as though his soldiers battled the storm itself, their flames having dried up all its water.

  “Captain Caru!”

  The shout came from closer than Talmir had expected. He put his head on a swivel but did not see the speaker until he felt a tug on his sleeve. A child no more than ten looked up at him, dark features and even darker eyes peering through a face caked with smoke and resin.

  “You’re a bit young to be a Runner,” Talmir said, and the child adopted a look so professionally perturbed he felt foolish for having said anything. He tousled the boy’s hair, which only served to amplify his annoyance.

  “A joke, lad,” he lied and the boy’s brows drew up. “I take it you were chosen for your sharp eyes and ears. What news to report?”

  “Captain Caru!” he restarted his address. “First Keeper Balsheer has held the wall with no untow—“ his features screwed up in confusion, swarthy cheeks going a deep red before the light went on. “With no untoward!”

  Talmir nodded encouragingly, waiting for him to continue, but the boy appeared finished.

  “No untoward …”

  “Happenings!” the boy shouted, remembering himself and pleased that he had. The rest of his address went more smoothly.

  Garos, together with Third Keeper Ve’Gah and her partner Dakken Pyr, had repelled three more salvos from the host. The Corrupted had only gained the walls once and had been thrown down in short order. Although there were several wounded, there were no casualties to report.
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  The calculations ran and resolved in Talmir’s mind. He nodded stiffly and squatted to meet the boy at eye level.

  “You’ve done well,” he said, smiling. The boy did not return it, only stared at him through those dutiful browns. “Now, I want you to take a message to First Keeper Balsheer. Tell him I’ve gone to the Bowl to check on Creyath and that I will return to relieve him as soon as I’m able. He’ll get a kick out of the second part.”

  The boy nodded curtly and started toward the gate, but Talmir caught him by the crook of the arm.

  “After you’ve seen to that, I want you to make your way to the mess and have them fill you up with something hot. I’ll not have one of my best operating on an empty stomach.”

  The boy looked grave, deadly serious. He ran toward the sound of battle, and Talmir tried not to think on it.

  It struck Talmir as he walked quickly up the sloping cobbled streets of Hearth how disparate the faces he passed under the awnings and milling behind the stained windows truly were. He saw the very old and the very young, but very few occupying the space between. Those were at the wall, or under their feet.

  How far had his people come? Had it been worse in the deserts?

  They had been fighting the Dark Kind for a generation. Why, then, did this feel so different?

  If nothing else, Talmir knew the answer to the last question. Strange as it might seem, the Dark Kind were a force of nature, though they emanated from another world. Fighting them was akin to battling landslides, quakes and even storms on the water. It was a fact of life.

  But this was different. What assailed them now hearkened back to the worst stories from the northern deserts, when the Eastern Dark had opened the doors to the World Apart a bit wider in an attempt to claim the Embers as his own.