Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1)

by Steven Kelliher

  “Contain it!” Misha shouted, tearing through the dissipating wall of fire as if it were a curtain of water. Kole followed after, blades leveled.

  The Sentinel darted at Baas first, but the Rockbled was quicker than he looked, deflecting the fiery spear and cracking Larren’s nose apart with a spinning strike with that stone shield.

  Somehow, the Sentinel retained its footing, leaving Baas to ward off a jet of flame. A female Rockbled—bracers cracking along her forearms—stomped the earth, which responded by opening where the Dark Ember’s booted foot fell next.

  It went down in a tumble and the Embers were on it. What followed did not resemble a duel so much as a pair of wolves at a carcass, both Kole and Misha scoring punctures on their initial attacks as the shrieking Sentinel rolled up into a crouch, spear spinning, mouth agape and showing teeth that had blackened and chipped to angled points.

  The beast did not fight like the Second Keeper of Last Lake, but rather like a cornered predator. The Embers drove it on, Baas occasionally filling the gap between them to deflect a wild stab as Kole and Misha absorbed the jets of fire, their own power only augmented by each blistering volley. Baas’s warriors kept their distance, moving in a wide arc behind the three-pronged attack to cut off any chance at escape.

  The Sentinel faked a stab at Kole only to lunge for Misha. It might have succeeded if not for a rock the size of a tortoise taking it in the chest and launching it backward to skitter along the edge of the cliff. The Rockbled that sent the stone was on his knees, bracers cracked like spider webs as he panted.

  The Sentinel, spear low and flames guttering, rose on shaking legs and shot a look of wild rage to the east, where Linn watched with her charges. She stood, brown hair blowing in the wind, the maelstrom of white and black clouds battling in the far horizon over the fields below. Jenk lay unmoving at her feet, while Nathen cradled his head in his hands and knees, rocking.

  “No!” Kole screamed, blades streaking forward in a two-hand stab as the Sentinel sprang across the gap. Kole missed by a hair’s breadth and firm hands grabbed him round the shoulder and yanked him back—Baas preventing a fatal fall into the golden pools below.

  The Sentinel streaked into the air in a bright arc, a meteor of death hurtling toward his friends.

  Until Misha’s thrown spear took it out of the air in an emphatic crash that flashed like the meeting of twin stars. Larren Holspahr’s hands flew out wide, his own spear snuffed out like a dockside lantern, eyes melting to black even as he fell. His body landed in the golden wash below with a splash and sizzle, slow steam rising to punctuate his end.

  Tiny motes of flame trailed out in a fairy path from the point of impact to Misha’s outstretched hand. She stared at the liquid pocket of air with an expression of shock.

  Kole approached.

  “It wasn’t him,” he whispered, coming to stand beside her. He looked down into the pool below, noting the ripples that still played on its surface like tiny waves of molten gold. The sun was beginning to dip, framing the distant ridges to the north in silhouette.

  Misha came back to herself and her expression changed, the usual color rising. She tossed Kole a look of mock disgust.

  “My spear,” she said, sweeping her arm out toward the quieting pool, though he noticed she would not look down.

  Kole nodded and the Embers stepped back to where the Rivermen had gathered around their fallen comrade. The life had gone out of him quickly and Baas was set back from the others, his expression predictably unreadable.

  Kole sighed and let his gaze drift back across the span, where Linn looked back with those piercing eyes, her own expression strained. He started toward her, and the walk became a jog, which quickly morphed into a sprint as he sheathed his blades, feeling the warmth of the Everwood against his back even through his armor.

  A salt mist stung his eyes as his tears evaporated, the fire still high in his chest, and he nearly broke her in the impact of their embrace.

  “You came,” Linn whispered.

  “Yes.”

  They broke off and locked eyes for an eternal moment before Kole noted Nathen staring up at them through his own curtain of tears, smiling weakly. Linn was gaunt, but Nathen looked the picture of death, his broad shoulders reduced to bony protrusions that matched their stark surroundings.

  “Jenk,” Kole said, squatting down. He had nearly forgotten the state of the other Ember in the flood of emotion.

  “He’ll live,” Linn said, resting a hand on Kole’s shoulder as he looked him over.

  Blood caked the blonde bangs, but the ugly gash had been sealed by fire of his own calling. Self-cauterizing was very difficult for an Ember to do, given their seeming immunity to fire. But that immunity lasted only so far as the Ember allowed. The fire could be let in. The flame would always choose to burn if it could.

  Jenk was in a state beyond sleep. He did not stir even as the distant booms of thunder rolled in from the south, the black clouds cracking apart, thrashing their death throes like gods made suddenly mortal.

  “You must be Linn Ve’Ran.”

  Misha came over, extending her hand, which Linn took. She winced slightly, as the Ember’s battle heat had yet to dissipate. Kole wondered if Misha had kept a bit of the sting in on purpose.

  “Thank you,” Linn said, nodding in the direction of the pool below, which had grown still.

  Misha shrugged and studied the sorrier sorts at her feet. Nathen offered a sheepish smile; he seemed fragile enough that a single word could prove a titanic effort. The Ember’s gaze lingered on Jenk.

  “That one has some real fire in him,” she said before switching back to Linn. She studied her appraisingly, looking her up and down and taking in the lean muscle and prominent ridges that stood out along her collar.

  This is what we came for? The look seemed to ask.

  This is what I came for. Or should have.

  But the wind, which had been stirring all afternoon, picked up, and Kole looked back toward the hill and the broken gate at its crest. He stared into the darkness of the open keep.

  “He’s not at home,” Linn said, following his gaze.

  “Not dead, then?” Baas asked, coming up with a silence that belied his bulk. It was as if the earth itself went out of its way to mask his present. His warriors still stood apart, some chanting over their fallen comrade, others watching them calmly.

  “No,” Linn said with a shiver. “But we purged his Dark Hearts.” She looked back down at the pool.

  “Dark Hearts?” Kole asked, and Misha and Baas moved closer.

  “His mechanism for controlling the Dark Kind—making them, perhaps. Iyana said they were taken from the Night Lords that came against the White Crest a generation ago.”

  “The skies,” Baas said in his low rumble, nodding knowingly.

  “The Sentinel,” Misha said, uncomfortable assigning the term to the fallen Ember. “It continued to fight even after you destroyed them.”

  “They are not the same as the Corrupted that came against Hearth,” Kole said. “They are something more pure. Captains from the World Apart.”

  “It did change,” Linn said, her eyes glazing over. “After we bled them out. It grew wild. Erratic as the skies.”

  Kole examined her, the guilt for not having been there gnawing at him.

  “Let’s just hope it’s happened to all of them,” Misha said, looking down over the Valley, where the white jewel of Hearth glittered in the distance, smoke rising from the fields without.

  A boom had all eyes looking up, and the orange glow at their backs cast a strange light on the skies, tingeing the white clouds gold and their fleeing adversaries bloody black, like coals left too long in the grate. Webbed patterns of lavender light arced between the breaches, which heralded a shockwave that scattered the vapors.

  The waters in the pools below churned, flecks of spray changing to foam in the space of seconds as the winds took on a bite, ripping at the slopes. They whistled along the ridges and sp
urs and sighed through the open maw of the keep in a sound like a portent.

  Linn shivered and Nathen drew his knees in. Kole felt a sudden coldness of heart that contrasted his blood.

  “What is it?” Baas asked, squinting up at the shifting skies.

  “Linn,” Kole turned to her, and she peered into the distance, eyes widening.

  “What—

  “The White Crest,” she said, nearly breathless. “He’s coming back.”

  “Looks like he’s bringing the sky with him,” Misha said, hands twitching without her spear. Nathen handed her Jenk’s blade, hand shaking.

  “He is the storm,” Linn said.

  If anything, it may have been an understatement.

  But though the heavens themselves seemed to move against them, Kole could not help but feel a tingling anticipation swelling up with the dread. It was a thing borne on the same tide. His was rising while those around him fell, particularly Linn. For her and for her alone, he would try to end it quickly, though his heart yearned for something longer.

  What he at first took for the absence of clouds soon resolved itself into something apart from the air around it. It was a creature made of wind itself, and it was charged with crackling energy, reflecting the light of the setting sun with an undulating shimmer. As it drew near, Kole could see bright blue jewels glowing in the place of eyes. It was a drake, or an eagle.

  It was the White Crest, and its tail left popping percussions in its wake.

  “A weapon!” Linn screamed over the rising roar. “Hand me something!”

  One of the Rivermen handed her the huge war bow that had fallen with its wielder, which looked comically large in her hands. Linn cast about for the silver missiles, and then the storm was on them, the great maw opening like a gulf.

  Kole drew his blades and lit while Baas crouched down before Nathen and Jenk, raising his shield.

  For a space of seconds that felt achingly long, Kole was sure they would all perish in a hail of cutting wind and stinging electricity. He cursed himself, certain that the only thing more foolish than believing a god might be on their side was believing it could be challenged. It was all he could do to keep his blades lit, glowing like twin lanterns in the maelstrom of dirt, grass and whipping water from the pools below.

  The Rivermen stood strong, feet rooted in place. Some yelled into the wind, harsh sounds whose intent Kole could easily guess. Nathen clung to Baas’s back like a toddler, and the Rockbled held the prone Ember down with his free hand. Jenk still did not so much as flinch.

  And then it stopped.

  Kole opened his eyes, and everything was still.

  As one, they spun to the north. There, faint and fading, the great serpent floated, its bright eyes glowing like the pre-dawn sky. Its look was wild and hateful, and its features shifted chaotically from reptilian to avian and back.

  Kole stepped forward, spreading his arms wide in challenge, his twin blades burning brighter than the golden fields beyond, the fading sunlight illuminating his black armor like a grounded star.

  “Is this all your power?” he screamed. “We have taken the dark from you, monster! Now we take your life.”

  With a piercing shriek, the serpent wheeled and dived toward the keep, its passing churning up the pathway and shattering the marble gate in a rain of gray shards. Kole, Baas and the warriors of the Fork took up the chase, while Misha stayed back with Linn and the others, Jenk’s crackling blade held uncertainly in her hands.

  Kole felt the familiar heat light his veins like glowworms, his muscles charged and thrumming, aching to be freed into the beautiful chaos of battle. The flames along his blades streaked like razors, bouncing from tip to hilt and even engulfing his hands as he fed the fire.

  He was first to reach the steps of the mock citadel and he plunged into the inky black, his blades flaring as he entered, tongues of fire whipping and curling. He cast about, wild, and saw nothing but the amber light reflected back from the cracked marble floors and sparkling soapstone pillars. Above, the light caught the glint of mirrored surfaces—armored figures with the stern, alien faces of birds.

  “Sage!”

  Kole shouted his challenge. He heard Baas and the Rivermen file into the hall behind him, spreading out among the pillars with practiced ease.

  There were steps ahead, and Kole started up them. He had cleared half a dozen when the black shape before him resolved itself into a massive chair of carved turqoise. The glassy surface was slick with damp, but, unlike the broken floor, nothing grew here.

  Seated upon the throne was a suit of armor twice Kole’s height. His blood hot, he shot one blade forward and sent a jet toward the helmeted visage, and a blue glow flashed behind the visor. There was a sound like shattering stone and a great gauntleted hand stretched out with inhuman speed. Kole leapt backward and avoided most of the blow, but the impact still sent him skittering along the floor of the hall like a swatted fly.

  The Ember kept hold of his blades and rolled to his feet, charging forward with Baas at his back, the warriors of the Fork flanking them. And then the chamber burst into a storm light that froze them all in their tracks. All movement ceased but for the hungry flicker of Kole’s blades, which merged with the blue light of the Sage’s making.

  The titan stood upon its dais, glowing eyes looking down at them through slits in a polished helm that narrowed to an eagle’s peak. Even from a distance, Kole could see black slits bisecting the blue eyes, giving impressions of lizard, cat and bird at once. The blue glow was not limited to the helm, but bled through cracks in the body of the armor, the molten scales shifting like feathers that struggled to contain the power within.

  Another shriek carried a hurricane’s wail and nearly brought the party to their knees. But Kole struggled forward, his steps lurching as his head wrung. The White Crest looked down at him balefully, great gold-tipped wings unfurling behind the armored back.

  Kole heard a crack and something hurtled past him, flashing in the blue light. The Sage’s eyes never left Kole’s as one wing carved the missile from the air. White dust swirled as shards of marble flew in all directions.

  “You destroyed them.”

  The voice carried a strange echo, but it was firm, strong and inhuman.

  Kole shifted and began to walk forward again, Baas moving out to his left, the Rockbled female who had launched the tile on the right. Shadows shifted and metal glinted in the gallery above, making the gooseflesh rise along the nape of Kole’s neck, but his heat was up, and the fire needed feeding.

  “We did,” Kole said, the flames on the tips of his blades dancing.

  The Sage traced his path but stood unmoving.

  “You know not what you’ve done,” it said, its focus singular, unconcerned.

  Baas raised his shield before his chest, gearing up for a charge.

  “I could have killed her. I let her live so I could strike a bargain with thee.”

  “You are a scourge on this land,” Kole said. “We are the folk of the Valley. We are the cleansing fire, come to purge you away. I will not bargain with you.”

  Kole ceased his advance at the foot of the dais, doing his best to match the blue stare.

  “You have doomed your kind,” it said, wings rising in an arch, spreading like an angel of nightmare.

  Kole spat, the wet dart evaporating as it passed through the burning gate framed by the blades in his hands.

  “You were supposed to protect us,” he said, anger rising, flames settling into a low growl, turning from orange to red with flecks of blue. “We counted you as ally, and you turned the weapon of our enemy against us. This is your reckoning, and this is the place we’ll have it.”

  The Rivermen began to emerge from the shadowed pillars, and the Sage’s eyes flickered as he took in their approach.

  “I’ve seen your eyes before,” it said in that haunting melody, its head tilting in an affectation of owl or dog. “When I slept. I saw eyes like those.”

  “You saw them
in another,” Kole whispered, his heart turning from fire to cold stone. “She came to you for help and you cut her down. She came to you.”

  “You mistake me for your enemy,” the Sage said. “But I am merely the object of your vengeance. Tell me, what will you do against the Eastern Dark when he comes for you without me? Without your protector?”

  “You would have us all dead before then!”

  “Only the weak,” it said in a voice full of pity, or something like it. “You do not see things from outside of yourselves. I did not turn the dark against your mother. Yes, I remember her face. No, I harnessed the dark after waking. I turned the hearts of his generals to my own ends. He would have used you against me. Against the World. There is no other way to defeat him than to use the same fire. My brothers and sisters do not see. I would have been the end of him.”

  “You would be the end of us,” Kole said.

  “I would have been the sword to carry out your vengeance.”

  “What good is vengeance if none of us are here to see it?”

  “A question I have long pondered, mourning the loss of my people.” The blues flared to life. “Though I do not have their souls for companionship, their forms are always with me.”

  The shadows in the alcoves above shifted and a dull glow came down from the corners. The warriors at Kole’s back spread out in a ring, backing into the center of the hall, weapons raised.

  “I have sensed your coming for some time, now,” the White Crest said, stepping down with a clack. “The Dark Hearts are no more. Your people are safe. It now falls on us to face him directly. To dispel the darkness, once and for all.”

  The Sage’s feet were great metal talons, spread out and tapping.

  “You fear us,” Kole said, holding the blue gaze. “In trying to prevent your rival from using us against you, you’ve spelled your own doom. Your fate is sealed.”

  The blue eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “He’s weak,” Baas said, tone firm, and the blues shifted to him. “It’s why he’s confined himself to this form. He’s weak. Something’s changed.”