steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  “That is the correct question,” Rafe said. He returned to the table and tapped on the book he’d been reading. It was a journal of roughly scrawled notes and diagrams that must be over a hundred years old. “The Worker who was truly the strongest had interesting ideas. I believe he was preparing for a Work that would have altered the balance of power in the continent.” Rafe fell quiet for a moment, as if lost in thought. When he spoke again, Sora was no longer sure he was still addressing her. “He had to have been close. The King of Trure protected his interests by installing a less-powerful Wielder on the throne. Sovar must have swayed him by promising to further limit the Fireworkers. He must have known it was possible. And now Vertigon is not as strong as it could be thanks to our ‘First Good King.’”

  Rafe stared at the journal, and Sora was surprised it didn’t burst into flames under his gaze. He didn’t say anything else, apparently losing himself in the obsession that had gripped him lately. Sora was starting to figure out what it was.

  “And you want to make Vertigon strong again?” she prompted.

  Rafe smiled. “You are perceptive. The mountain is enduring a painful transition right now. I’ll be the first to admit that it hasn’t been as smooth as I’d like. But you have no idea how strong we could be.”

  A fierce light blazed in the Lantern Maker’s eyes, and Sora shivered. He may respect her understanding and speak to her like an adult, but she couldn’t forget how dangerous this man was. Rafe with his slow-burning ambition and his utter dedication to his goals was a greater threat than his harsh wife. And far more was at stake here than Sora’s own safety.

  “What Work was the strongest Wielder preparing?” Sora asked.

  A slow, deadly smile spread across the Lantern Maker’s face.

  Someone banged on the door, making Sora jump.

  “Come,” Rafe called.

  Captain Thrashe marched in and offered a gruff salute. “The Soolen army has crossed the border into Trure,” he announced. A gleam of anticipation and triumph lit his single eye. He tugged his eye patch straight. “My countrymen are marching to Rallion City!”

  “Now?” Sora gasped. “I thought they wouldn’t move until spring.” It may not snow in Trure as much as it did in Vertigon, but it was still an inhospitable place for an army used to southern climes.

  “They are expected to reach the capital before the week’s end,” Captain Thrashe said, still directing his comments to the Lantern Maker. “Commander Brach will set a brisk pace.”

  “Good,” Rafe said. “Tell me as soon as the siege has begun.”

  A siege? Fear sent Sora’s heart racing. Her mother and sister were still in Rallion City as far as she knew. Her grandfather had estates all across the plains where they could retreat if needed, but what if they didn’t escape the capital in time? The locations of those estates were among the few pieces of information Sora had managed to keep from Rafe and Lima, despite their abuse. But what if they found out some other way? Sora already felt guilty enough about telling the Ruminors what she knew about the size of the Truren army and how many of their forces were typically stationed in the capital.

  She hoped her grandfather had called reinforcements and extra provisions in from the countryside, but he too must not have expected the army to begin a siege in the dead of winter. Had they really been able to carry enough supplies halfway across the continent? It didn’t seem like a wise strategy, especially in light of what Sora knew of Rallion City.

  Captain Thrashe departed, the door snicking shut behind him, and Sora looked at the Lantern Maker. He had returned to his studies. He wasn’t nearly surprised enough by this news.

  “How do you know the Soolens are going to lay siege instead of launching an assault on Rallion City?” she said, hoping Rafe’s chatty mood would continue for just a little while longer.

  “I have been in contact with Commander Brach for some time,” Rafe said.

  Sora frowned, arranging the quill fragments around the empty parchment in front of her. Commander Brach? He came from one of the richest and most-influential houses in Soole. He was supposed to have a brilliant military mind. Something didn’t line up.

  “But you know Rallion City is vulnerable to a direct attack,” she said. “The army needn’t bother with a lengthy siege. I told you so myself.” Hope bloomed in Sora’s chest. Was it possible she hadn’t betrayed her family as thoroughly as she feared? “You didn’t pass on all the information I gave you to the Soolens?”

  “Of course not,” Rafe said. “That information is for me to use, not Commander Brach. Don’t mention it to good Captain Thrashe, if you please.”

  “I don’t quite understand,” Sora said. Rafe was communicating with the Soolen commander, but he’d held back a critical piece of information. Why? And why had his wife gone to such lengths to get the information out of her? He must plan to use it himself. Which meant . . . “You want to attack the Soolen army while they’re occupied with the siege and take Rallion City yourself!”

  “You are a clever girl,” Rafe said.

  Sora stood, sending the quill fragments fluttering across the table. “You’re not going to stop with Trure, are you? You want to conquer the Lands Below. All of them.” Sora could hardly believe it. She knew the Lantern Maker was ambitious, but this?

  “With the full use of its Fire, Vertigon Mountain is the single most-powerful entity on this continent,” Rafe said. “We have the potential to truly use our strength. I will not allow it to languish as a single petty kingdom. It is time the Lands Below acknowledge our rightful supremacy.”

  Sora could see it now: Rafe bringing his Fire down on the lowlands. Rafe destroying all who opposed him in a torrent of Fire and smoke and blood. No wonder he wasn’t worried about petty factions on the mountain. No wonder he spent all of his time studying the Lands Below and whatever mysterious Work had led the old King of Trure to help her great-grandfather murder its original creator. Her eyes fell on the ancient journal that had arrested his attention once more. What if Rafe figured out how to replicate this great Work himself? Could anyone stand in his way?

  She had to stop him. Not just for the sake of Vertigon. She had to stop him for the sake of the entire world.

  28.

  Tollan

  TOLLAN simmered with activity when Dara, Vine, and Rid arrived. They reached the fork where the Ridge Road met the High Road the morning after Vine lost Siv’s trail. They turned south to ride into town, joining a steady stream of travelers: traders, miners, local vineyard workers, and even a few noblemen surrounded by hard-eyed bodyguards. Every party was abuzz with rumor and speculation.

  “Soole has crossed the border!”

  “They’re marching on Rallion City.”

  “I can’t believe it. Cindral Forest is one thing, but Trure?”

  Mistrust of strangers warred with the travelers’ desires to hear the latest gossip and share their own theories about what would happen next. Dara and her friends could hardly ride a hundred yards without another passerby calling out to exchange news.

  “It’s an army of tens of thousands!”

  “The king has sent soldiers to protect us.”

  “The capital is days away. We have nothing to worry about.”

  “We’ll never lose to those rockeaters.”

  “There could be Soolen spies everywhere!”

  As Dara listened to the speculation, she realized they’d made the right choice in allowing Rid to accompany them. He may not be a particularly imposing bodyguard, but at least they were no longer two women wearing foreign clothing on the road alone. It was more important than ever to avoid attracting attention. Rumy drew far too many eyes, though. Few cur-dragons ever traveled this far south.

  Dara felt out of her depth as the rumors of the hostilities spread. She had grown up in a peaceful land. Even though that had changed of late—and she’d been right in the thick of the action—she had no experience of true warfare. Were they in danger because they were outsiders, even though Ve
rtigon wasn’t involved in the conflict? She wished someone could advise them. Vine and Rid were only a few years older than her, and neither one acted particularly confident in these circumstances. They both moved closer to her as they rode through the outskirts of Tollan. Somehow she had become a protector, first of Siv and now of her companions. But she wasn’t sure what to do herself.

  After Vine lost track of Siv the previous night, they had agreed to continue toward Kurn Pass, hoping Siv might still be moving that way even though Vine could no longer feel him. Vine postulated that if Siv had been killed, she would still sense some residue of him instead of this gigantic nothing. Perhaps he had moved beyond the range of the Air somehow.

  Though they’d stopped to regroup, Dara barely slept. The trail had gone cold once more. The situation was almost as bleak as when Siv disappeared from Rallion City without a trace. They could only hope to find some clue in Tollan.

  As they rode amongst the thatched houses and trees of the busy town, a company of Truren soldiers marched past, apparently returning from patrol. Some neglected their strict formation to turn and admire the two women on horseback. One of the men had big ears, like the handles on a cider mug. There was something familiar about him . . .

  Dara stiffened, resisting the urge to duck. That mug-eared soldier had helped search the capital for Siv after he disappeared. He must have been reassigned. He was sure to recognize her, and he’d been in the room when Vine arrived at the palace too.

  “Let’s stop for a meal,” Dara said quickly, wheeling Storm toward a black stone inn beside the road. The soldier would send them straight back to King Atrin if he spotted her.

  “It’s like you read my mind,” Rid said. “I’m starving!”

  Dara wished his voice were a little quieter. She lowered her head, hoping the familiar soldier wouldn’t look up. Fortunately, Vine didn’t say anything. Wearing a vague expression of concern, she followed Dara off the road without objection.

  They found themselves in the yard of a cozy-looking establishment called The Vintner’s Rest. A pair of stable boys jogged out to take their horses. Vine handed over a few coins to coax them to look after Rumy too. She assured them he wouldn’t bite.

  “I am so looking forward to a hot meal,” Vine said.

  “Ain’t that the truth!” Rid said, starting toward the inn. “Oh, uh, beg pardon, m’lady. Should I eat with the stable boys, or . . .?”

  “Nonsense,” Vine said. “You must eat with us.”

  Rid grinned and offered Vine his arm to escort her up the inn steps. A large woman with hair like fine-spun straw met them at the door and introduced herself as Madame Timon. She ushered them to seats at one end of a communal table before bustling off to the kitchen at the back of the inn.

  A few locals sat at the other end of the table, near a large fireplace. They eyed Vine and Dara with some interest, and Rid quickly positioned himself between the two women and the strangers. He was hardly intimidating with his homespun clothes and youthful air, but it was a commendable effort. Dara had half expected him to run off to report their whereabouts to more Rollendar informants as soon as they reached the town. Apparently Vine still had his loyalty. And probably his infatuation as well. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  The innkeeper returned, a sprightly serving girl in tow, and asked about their travels as she set steaming bowls of hot porridge in front of them.

  “We are riding to Pendark to visit the great city by the sea,” Vine said.

  Dara bent over her bowl to hide her surprise. Pendark? Surely Vine didn’t think this chase would take them that far.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now,” Madame Timon said. “Kurn Pass has been closed to protect Trure.”

  “Closed?” Dara said.

  “Yes. Soldiers and Sensors both are blocking the passage.”

  “Sensors?” Vine said.

  “Yes, my dear,” Madame Timon said. “Air Sensors. You may think it’s superstition, but we must protect our land in all ways, including using the ancient discipline.”

  “You can put up a barrier with Air?” Dara asked. She met Vine’s eyes. Could that be why she suddenly lost track of Siv last night? He could have entered Kurn Pass before the barrier went up. A ray of hope worked its way into her. They could be close!

  “Of course,” Vine said. “That would be a magnificent undertaking. Do you also Sense the Air, Madame Timon?”

  Madame Timon inclined her head. “When it grants me the gift, I do.”

  “Could you help us find someone?” Dara asked before Vine and Madame Timon could start rambling about gifts and requests—or suggest daylong meditation sessions. “He may have passed beyond the barrier last night.”

  “If they are on the other side, my Senses won’t help you,” Madame Timon said. “But I am an innkeeper.” She chuckled. “A lot of people come through here. What does your friend look like?”

  “He’s tall,” Dara said. “And handsome. He has dark hair, high cheekbones, and a scar on his temple. He may or may not have a beard.”

  “How old is this friend?” Madame Timon asked. Dara thought her voice sounded sharper than before, but when she looked up Madame Timon’s face was smooth.

  “He’s twenty,” Dara said. “We don’t know who he’s with, but we think he’s traveling against his will. He was kidnapped.”

  Madame Timon’s eyebrow twitched. It was a tiny gesture, but Dara immediately sensed a coldness to her manner that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  “I haven’t seen him,” she said. “Now, will you be taking a room?”

  Dara and Vine exchanged glances. She must have picked up on the sudden chill too. But they couldn’t travel any farther until they learned more about the barrier. Besides, Madame Timon might offer more clues. They agreed to take rooms in the Vintner’s Rest.

  After lunch, Vine retired for a nap. Dara checked on Rumy to make sure he wasn’t causing too much trouble in the inn stables. She found him gnawing a bone, surrounded by a pile of feathers. He snapped his jaws contentedly at her.

  Satisfied that Rumy wasn’t going to make the inn’s horses stampede, Dara decided to investigate the barricade at Kurn Pass. If Siv really had been taken beyond it, they had to catch up with him soon. Kurn Pass only had a single outlet, but they didn’t know which way he’d go from Fork Town on the other side. If they picked the wrong fork, he’d be gone for good. Unless Vine could Sense him in the Air outside of Trure? None of that mattered if they couldn’t get out of Tollan, though.

  Rid jogged up to her as she crossed the inn yard. “Where are you going?”

  “I want to look around town,” Dara said.

  “Can I come?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to rest?”

  “I ain’t never been to a town like this before,” Rid said. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

  “Fine,” Dara said. “Try not to draw attention to yourself.”

  “Not a problem.” Rid fell in beside her as she headed up the road, arms swinging. “I reckon you stand out more than I do with your fancy sword.”

  Dara frowned, but she didn’t contradict him. Her weapon was unique, and it looked much finer than her travel-worn Guard coat. She was not exploring a strange town without her Savven blade, though. They could meet any number of suspicious characters around. She needed to be on her guard, especially after the news of the invasion.

  The town of Tollan was basically one long stretch of shops and taverns lining the High Road. A few smaller streets turned off into the foothills, with a scattering of houses and tree groves along each one. The Linden Mountains dwarfed the town with purple-blue shadows. Even so, these mountains weren’t nearly as tall as Vertigon Mountain or the vast, wild range of the Burnt Mountains in the far north.

  The narrow gap of Kurn Pass knifed the Linden Mountains in two. The range was an effective barrier protecting the southern border of Trure. Unless you traveled through Kurn Pass, you had to make a difficult trek over the heights or
travel far to the east where the mountains gave way to the badlands between Soole and Cindral Forest.

  Rid sauntered along beside Dara, taking in the details with wide eyes and chattering away. She appreciated his eagerness to help, but he did ask an awful lot of questions. She didn’t know anything more about Tollan he did. She may have grown up in a larger city than Rid, but she was just as naive in the ways of the world.

  “Where’d you get your sword?” Rid asked after they passed a smithy, with clangs and hot air emanating from its open doors.

  “It was a gift.”

  “They have a lot of black swords in Vertigon?”

  “No.”

  “Lady Vine was saying it’s a Fire Blade. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Dara said. “It wasn’t always that way. I imbued it with a Fire core myself.” It had been an accident, and Dara still wasn’t sure how her Savven blade compared to other Fire Blades. The torrent of power blazing through it during the confrontation in the Great Hall had been far greater than Firesmiths normally used when they Worked Fire Blades. She could wield the sword faster than was natural—as with any Fire Blade—but it also contained more heat than any Fire Blade she had encountered. Moreover, she felt connected to it in a way that was difficult to describe. Yes, Siv had given it to her, so it was special for that reason, but this was something different. Something more elemental.

  “Can you do that with other things?” Rid asked. “I reckon a Fire staff would be darn useful.”

  “If it was made out of metal, I could try,” Dara said. She glanced at Rid. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with Fire Witches.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “You don’t seem so bad. Folks around these parts get nervous around Air Witches, but Lady Vine is probably the nicest gal I ever met.”

  “I guess she is,” Dara said. “I hope she can do something about this barrier of Air.”