Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1)

by Steven Kelliher

  “Then we’ll talk, and see what he has to say.”

  That ended it, and they walked until the cloister loomed above them.

  “Damn.”

  “What is it?” Jenk and Linn asked in unison.

  “No way we make it up there without being seen,” Nathen said from under the next rise.

  They moved up behind him. Over the ridge, they could see the keep clear as day. It rested at the top of a crisscrossed series of pathways carved into the steep hillside. They looked like cart paths overgrown after decades of neglect. Linn could make out a wall of green-flecked marble in front of the structure, and the gate in the center of the yard was broken and leaning at the hinges.

  “Well,” Linn said, “if it is the White Crest, we probably don’t want to surprise him anyway.”

  “Assumptions,” Jenk cursed. “Power corrupts, and it corrupts the mind most of all.”

  An image of Kole Reyna was called up in Linn’s mind. She shook the thought away.

  The three moved off, wending their way up the zigzagging path as casually as goatherds out for a graze. The dark stones of the citadel loomed overhead, another dark cloud to replace those they had climbed above. Closer now, and the red tiles looked less like jewels and more like rusted, spiteful things full of growth, the curved towers and gaps leering like something sick.

  But the nightmare was down below, Linn reminded herself. The nightmare her people were living through, dying through. Whatever she might face in the dusted halls of an old Sage’s keep, she would give as fine an account of herself as she could.

  Nathen was the first to see him, sitting on a rounded boulder that must once have been part of the keep but had since broken away. His upper body was stiff, back straight and gaze locked on them as his legs dangled in the wind.

  Even from a distance, Linn could see Larren’s bearing, but something had changed about him, seemingly for the second time. In place of the red eyes of the Sentinel from the cave were stones of piercing blue. They tracked their progress with the glacial calm of one who has seen mountains grow and slowly crumble into dust.

  None of the three spoke, tensing as if they expected him to leap down on them at any moment. His spear was not in hand, but it leaned against the boulder, and they had all seen Holspahr wield it firsthand. At his peak, he was one of the most formidable warriors among a people whose children now counted themselves as players in a generation of war with the Dark Kind. Though the Larren they knew was clearly gone, Linn did not expect him to be any less potent now.

  As they neared, the details of the keep resolved themselves in vivid detail, carved beaks and piercing gazes of birds of war adding their own stone scrutiny from behind their former ally.

  They reached the sloped ground before the crumbling gate, the boulder and its keeper seated to their left. Across a small courtyard, the maw of the keep opened wide, doors long since rotted away, the hints of cold statues bedecked in armor that glinted molten in the late afternoon rays of the sun.

  It took Linn a moment to register that Nathen was no longer beside them. She tried not to alert the thing on the boulder as she cast about, eyes wide, but the creature wearing Larren’s skin laughed a laugh that boomed like faraway thunder and whistled like the wind between ridges.

  “Missing someone?” it asked. “He slinked off into the rocks midway up your climb.” It leaned over the rock and crooked its head, neck contorting in an odd way that gave the impression of an owl. “I must admit, even I lost track of him, and these eyes see quite far.”

  Neither of them answered, and that looked to annoy the creature. It sat back with a sigh.

  “Come,” it said, “Do not let us be burdened by the loss of friends … however recent their departure.”

  Beneath the discordant layers of melody in his voice, Linn could hear Larren bubbling through. She wondered if there was anything left of the Ember.

  As if he could read her thoughts, the creature smiled at her in an exaggerated way that exposed teeth whiter than marble, canines filed to points like the Corrupted they had fought in the Valley.

  “I like this vessel,” it said. “I sent that other beast out. What have you taken to calling them? Sentinels. Yes.”

  Jenk spat, his fingers twitching toward his sword.

  “We can’t allow those princes of darkness to ride around in our precious Ember shells, now can we?” it asked, looking at him pointedly. Its smile dropped to a hard hawk’s stare.

  Linn remained quiet. She glanced about for signs of movement along the ridges. There were plenty of hiding spots about, but the creature did not seem concerned.

  “Are we speaking with the White Crest?” Jenk asked. “Or merely a servant?”

  “Both, in a manner of speaking,” and the smile returned. The blue hawk’s eyes swiveled to Linn, making her feel very small. “I wonder if you are the ones I sensed approaching. My Sentinels lost you in the Deep Lands. It is no small thing to come through those catacombs unscathed.”

  “Do we look unscathed to you?” Linn was trying to mask her attempts at stalling, but the creature’s ease gave her the distinct impression that they were merely rats in a cage at that moment.

  “Are you not the White Crest?” she asked.

  “I am a being of light, wind and air,” it said, leaning back and spreading its arms out wide. It breathed in deeply, and a breeze stirred around them, tickling their tattered clothes in an embrace that was part caress and part threat.

  “Why?” Linn asked. “Why have you turned against us?”

  For all the fury she had built up, she felt somehow deflated upon the realization that Kole had been right, that their Sage was party to all that had come against them. She hated the child’s voice that escaped her, asking questions where no answer could serve.

  The creature turned those blues on her, its smile shifting for the barest moment into something that approximated pity. As soon as she saw it, however, the look vanished and turned cold.

  “There are many powers in the World, children,” it said, voice melancholy. “Some have been here a long time. Some would seek to challenge the others.”

  “We grew up on tales of the White Crest’s bravery,” Jenk said, voice rising. “That you withdrew from the affairs of your kind.”

  “That does not mean the others removed their attention from me,” it said, sneering. “One has mistaken my dalliance for weakness. He sent those foul creatures here weeks ago—or was it a generation? Those black beasts, titans from the World Apart.”

  The creature tilted Larren’s head.

  “No matter,” it said, settling back. “I sniffed out his plan, and now his weapons are my own.” It examined Larren’s hands, calling up a tiny flame between thumb and forefinger that had Linn and Jenk stepping back warily.

  “The Embers are not yours to wield,” Jenk said, anger mounting. His hand moved ever closer to the hilt of his Everwood blade.

  The flame disappeared, as did the smile behind it.

  “All Landkist are weapons,” it said, “put here by the World to challenge us, or to be used. I’ve already teased out more power from this husk than Holspahr could in a lifetime. Would that they still made your kind like they did when I first happened upon you—or when you happened upon me and my Valley—all those years ago.”

  “Perhaps they still do,” Linn said, and the blue eyes shifted to Jenk.

  “I was your shield,” it said. “Your shield from the terrors out in the World.”

  “Until you brought them here,” Linn said.

  “The Dark Kind were not my doing. At least, not at first.”

  The creature wore a curious expression as its thoughts traced their way back in the far reaches of memory. It looked as though it were fighting through a constant fog. Linn had seen elders possessed of such mannerisms, but she had not expected it from one of the Sages, creatures of immeasurable power and limitless wisdom.

  “I …” it paused. “I am not so easily controlled. I found myself in the sam
e darkness as you, and now I’ll fight back with the light. Your light, to be specific.”

  It stood Larren up, straight and tall.

  “I did not ask for this fight,” it said. “The Eastern Dark thought I could be used, controlled.” It curled Larren’s fists, and Linn winced when she saw the blood running between the Ember’s fingers. “But no longer. I am awake, thanks to one of your own. His plans are nothing but wisps on my winds, now.”

  The blue eyes softened, fists relaxing as the blood went dry with a faint sizzle.

  “It’s all a bit dark, yes. But then, all magic is.” The blue eyes turned on Jenk. “Even your gifts, born of the land, have a dark bent when led by a vengeful heart. There is nothing separating us in this.”

  The veins stood out on the side of Jenk’s neck. His muscles tensed, thickening with fast-flowing blood. The air around them shimmered and Linn broke out in a sweat.

  “What of your bargain?” Linn screamed as the wind picked up. “What of the King of Ember?”

  “It is forfeit,” the White Crest said. “My hand has been forced. He’ll not have the weapons in this Valley. I’ll no longer be his Keeper. Now then—

  A form slammed into him from behind, spearing him over the lip of the boulder and tumbling down the steep ridge. Linn and Jenk sprang into action, sprinting toward the edge of the cliff where the two wrestled. Nathen struggled and spat, hands clamped around Larren’s throat.

  Linn was fast, but Jenk shot past her, sword out and catching fire as he leapt high into the air. His arc brought him down, sword angled sharply, curved point lancing toward the skull of the Sage’s host.

  A sound like the shriek of an eagle rang in Linn’s ears as she ran. She saw Nathen launched backward, his head cracking in a spray against a nearby spur. He slumped, blonde bangs plastered over unseeing eyes.

  “Ahh!”

  Jenk’s sword came down in the same instant, but the sudden burst of wind had pushed him off-course. His blade split a rock just behind the prone Ember’s head, sparks flying up around them.

  Larren rolled away, came up in an animal crouch and shot directly toward Linn with inhuman speed, horrifyingly fast even for a charged Ember. It took all she had to send Nathen’s hunting knife spinning while she dove to the side. She heard the metal ring as it struck armor, and then she hit the rocky terrain at an odd angle, ribs shaking as she tumbled. She stopped her roll dizzy and disoriented, one arm dangling into the open air above the Steps.

  The clash of weapons had her struggling to turn and she saw Larren’s spear alight and locked in a bitter and spitting embrace with Jenk’s own blade. The young Ember had managed to trap the other near the boulder on which it had stood, but he was already losing ground.

  Jenk gave way, relaxing his push and ducking under the spear to cut low, but his strike was blown off course by some unseen current and Larren spun away, hopping and slicing. The Everwood spearhead thrust straight, but the flames curling off its end carved at odd angles on crescent gusts. The flames could not hurt Jenk, but they interrupted his vision and slowed his stellar swordsmanship.

  Linn knew that Jenk was fighting a losing battle. The thing wearing Larren’s shell could not recall the Second Keeper’s technique fully, but it fought with an alien quickness, its mastery of the very air in which they fought making it impossible to predict and harder to harm.

  She struggled to her feet, her hand reflexively closing around an errant stone as she did. She rolled it around in her fingers and shook her head, attempting to clear her vision. The Embers ducked and rolled in their deadly dance. Larren backpedaled onto the edge of the far cliff, where the ground fell away steepest.

  It was a feint. Linn knew the instant she saw it, but Jenk was too caught up in the exchange to notice. He charged, sword stiff and steady at his hip, aiming for Larren’s gut. He ducked a lazy swipe and thrust forward, but Larren was not there; instead, he hopped back, dangling for the barest of moments in the open air before rocketing up and over the young Ember in a somersault.

  The Sage landed lighter than a feather and streaked forward with that inhuman speed. Jenk could not turn in time.

  Linn’s throw prevented him from being skewered where he stood. It took the Sage in the cheek, opening a deep gash and knocking him off course, but it was not enough. He slammed into Jenk shoulder-first and Linn watched him fly off the precipice, sword going wide and mouth open in a scream that was lost to the howling air.

  The blue eyes wheeled on her and another freakish leap brought the White Crest face-to-face.

  “I know who sent you,” it said, spitting and wild. “The same old bird that woke me. I think I’ll pay her back the visit.”

  “You should fear her,” Linn said, but much of the fight had gone out of her. Her knees felt weak. “You should fear us.”

  “Healthy fear is sometimes a boon,” it said, grasping her around the throat and lifting her without effort. “She’ll tell me who else she has out here.”

  “Know …” Linn choked out.

  “What’s that?” the grip loosened.

  “You already know who it is.”

  The blue eyes flashed and then Larren held up a hand to Linn’s nose and mouth. The air was pulled from her like a ghost. As her vision faded, she saw Nathen’s sorry form leaning awkwardly against his stone. When the darkness took her, she saw a green firefly making its trails on the backs of her eyes.

  Kole and Misha were on their third round of a circular argument concerning how best to approach the refugee camp when the Third Keeper of Hearth made a grab for her spear.

  “We should just light our blades and call out to them,” she said.

  Kole put a hand on the haft, drawing a murderous look.

  “After what they’ve been through tonight?” he asked, exasperated.

  “We’ve all been through it,” Misha hissed. “Besides, what are they going to do?”

  “I’m sure the Dark Kind they left in their wake would’ve asked the same.”

  “We left a few of our own,” she reminded.

  “We don’t even know if it’s really them.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There must’ve been Sentinels about—at least one. Those Corrupted looked freshly-turned.”

  The mist had cleared somewhat and the field was cast in a ghostly glow from the light of the embattled moon overhead. The Embers were huddled under the eves of a natural trench just a few strides from the nearest tent. They had seen little activity but for the occasional passerby—a woman carrying skins of water or wine toward the center of camp. No guards were posted, which had Kole jumpy.

  A light, musical sound like the trill of a songbird lilted over the rise.

  Before he could stay her, Misha was up, spear in hand and charging over the lip onto the grassy knoll. Kole scrambled after her, running face-first into her armored back, as she had stopped almost immediately. Kole backed off wincing and drew his blades, craning to see around her.

  The source of the sound appeared to be a girl no older than seven. She had light features and dirty blonde hair, and she looked directly into Misha Ve’Gah’s eyes as if the serrated tip of a six-foot length of sharpened Everwood was not angled directly between her own.

  “Are you coming?” she asked, frowning slightly when neither of the Embers made a move to speak. Misha’s eyes darted wildly, searching for signs of ambush. The girl asked them again, speaking more slowly this time, either to help them comprehend her thick accent or because she suspected them of being slow.

  Kole placed two fingers on the haft of Misha’s spear—the second time he had touched the weapon in as many minutes—and lowered it. The little girl turned another frown on Misha before she switched her gaze to Kole. She smiled warmly, her pale skin turning bright pink.

  “What’s your name?” Kole asked. He sheathed his blades and squatted down to meet her at eye level. “And where are your parents?”

  “Undermiddle, with everyone else,” she said in that child voice.


  Misha planted the butt of her spear in the earth with a dull thud.

  “And who sent you to get us?” Kole asked. “Did you see us under the rise?”

  “No,” she said. “Old Farsight saw you hiding.”

  “That a Seer?” Misha asked, patience wearing.

  The girl stuck her tongue out at Misha before turning back to Kole.

  “He always knows where anyone’s hiding,” she said.

  Kole nodded. Though he did not know much about their Valley neighbors, the fact that they had something approximating a Seer surprised him, since they held no love for the Landkist among the Faey. Misha continued to scan the camp and the surrounding mist, the thought of being discovered so easily not sitting well with her.

  “Lead the way,” Kole said, rising to his feet.

  “Karpi,” the girl said, extending her hand. “That’s my name.”

  “Kole,” he said. He took the small white fingers in his own darker ones and squeezed lightly, causing Karpi to pull back with a startled shriek that soon turned into a bubbly fit of giggling.

  “Hot,” she said, bouncing up and down and shaking her hand out dramatically. “Your name fits! Follow me.” And she was off at a skip.

  Misha smirked at Kole, who shrugged and followed.

  Their winding path took them through a camp that was much smaller than Kole had anticipated. There were plenty of tents, but the ones on the outer edges seemed deserted, no signs of bedding or cookfires within. The larger tents in the middle of the plateau appeared only recently vacated, flaps thrown open and pots and pans still dripping grease.

  The only Rivermen they saw during their walk were either the very young or very old. All of them largely ignored the passing Embers and their fluttering guide, who talked excitedly in her harsh tongue while she bounced.

  “No wounded,” Misha remarked, scanning the makeshift settlement intently.

  Kole nodded.

  “Hard to get wounded over the Deep Lands,” she said, and Kole did not argue.

  “How can they be in such high spirits?” Misha asked, staring at the bouncing gaggle of children that had joined Karpi in front of them. Several of them tossed sour looks her way, tongues lolling out of tiny mouths.