Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  “But the siege towers…”

  Krellis put his hand on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off. He pointed past the mock battle on the stairs to the long, flat part of the wall. “You’re going to have to look again,” he said. “Look hard. Do you see anything different on the ramparts?”

  Baelandra narrowed her eyes. The top of the wall where the soldiers should be wasn’t Ohndarien’s classic blue-white marble. It was gray, and it glistened as if wet. “There’s a foot of water along the walkway, or…No, what is that?”

  “Watch.”

  The first siege towers pulled up to the walls. Dozens of Physendrian soldiers threw ladders against the ramparts and climbed up. They poured over the battlements, one after the other. Half of the invaders slipped and fell as soon as they jumped onto the wall, disappearing beneath the surface. They flailed through the goopy liquid that filled the walkway. One soldier slipped and fell from the wall, plummeting to the ground below. Those who maintained their footing found themselves wading in foot-deep gray sludge.

  “What is that?”

  Krellis chuckled. “Whale oil. Barrels and barrels of it. Shipload after shipload of whale oil.”

  Warning cries went up from the first arrivals. Some of them tried to go back down the ladders, but too many were coming up.

  “Brother,” a soldier said from behind them. Baelandra turned to see Krellis’s assistant holding a burning torch.

  Krellis grunted, took the flame. His face became stern, and he stood still, holding the torch and waiting. Baelandra watched, mesmerized by his cruel efficiency.

  “Finish this,” Baelandra whispered. “Do it and be done.”

  A slight flicker of his smile returned. “I want a few more fish in my net before I pull it up.”

  Baelandra tried not to think about the young men on the ramparts. Most were just a little older than Brophy. Krellis waited until the steady flow up the ladders ceased. Warning cries filled the air, but the attackers were still locked in a hopeless jam.

  Krellis cocked back his arm and threw the torch. It arced over the steps. The mock combatants ceased their charade and turned to watch. The torch descended, landing at the base of the staircase. It flickered for a moment.

  The first flame rose high, spreading quickly. A river of fire flowed along the wall, engulfing the hapless invaders. Screams rose with the fire, and Baelandra turned her head away.

  “You’re going to miss the best part,” Krellis said. “Watch.”

  Reluctantly, she turned back. The sight caught her breath. A hundred-foot wall of flame crowned the entire Water Wall, licking the arches that supported the aqueduct above.

  “Any moment now,” Krellis murmured.

  A spout of flame shot out from the wall, arcing over a siege tower. Screaming Physendrians jumped from the top like wingless fireflies.

  “How…?” Baelandra couldn’t see what had launched the flame.

  “I replaced some of the rampart stones with wax.”

  Another spurt of fire shot out, catching the edge of a second tower and setting it aflame. Another spurt went, then another.

  “And now they’re melting,” Baelandra said.

  Spout after spout erupted from the wall. In moments all but one of the siege towers were ablaze. The flames poured down the towers and splashed over the tightly bunched troops below. Burning soldiers fought each other to get away, spreading the flames as they fled.

  “And look over here,” Krellis said, pointing beyond the inner edge of the wall. A fountain of flame arced backward into the city, right over the opening of the Physendrian Gate.

  “Krellis!” she said.

  “Don’t worry.”

  The Ohndarien defenders had pulled back, drawing the Physendrian forces farther into the city, trapping them under the deluge of fiery oil.

  “You’ve set our own city on fire!”

  “Only a part of it,” Krellis replied. “And we will put that out when the dying is done.” He pointed upward at the towering aqueducts hundreds of feet above. “Remember, we have all the water we need.”

  Baelandra ran to the outside of the wall again. The lone siege tower creaked in the heat, abandoned on a field of flames. Phandir’s entire army fled across the badlands.

  “I told you, the blood of the Phoenix runs in my veins,” Krellis said.

  Had you foreseen this, she asked the Heartstone. Is this why you chose him, because no Ohndarien could be so cruel, so ruthlessly clever?

  Krellis waved his hand over his head.

  Shouts of “Close the Gate!” were relayed along the length of the wall.

  A pair of soldiers atop the aqueduct pushed a lever that would divert water to operate the gate’s mechanism. In a few moments, the Physendrian Gate clanged shut, smashing dozens of burned bodies beneath it.

  Krellis waved his hand again.

  Shouts of “Make it rain!” were passed from man to man to the top of the wall.

  Those same two soldiers turned the lever farther. Water roared out the side of the aqueduct and cascaded down the arches’ supports. A deluge poured into the streets raining down on the dying flames. Cheers rose from the soldiers in the city below.

  “It is not over,” she said to him in a dark voice. “They won’t let this stop them.”

  “I know,” Krellis said, with a cocky half smile. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “But we must savor our small victories where we can.”

  13

  WHITE FUMES curled around the ridge as Brophy stared at the thin shard of red diamond in his palm. He sat next to his father’s cairn, his scarred boot touching the base of the perfectly wrought pyramid. The rocks of the cairn, rough as they were, had been chosen with care, forming a reverent structure that stood almost five feet tall.

  The piece of heartstone around Brophy’s neck thrummed, and he wasn’t surprised when he heard his uncle’s voice right behind him.

  “Your father was the best of us,” Celinor said. “None of us would have had the courage to do this if it weren’t for him.”

  Brophy continued to stare at the stone.

  “Did one of those corrupted creatures kill him?” Brophy asked.

  Celinor made a strange sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Not one. Many. It was a gang of corrupted humans. They are the hardest to kill. Brydeon and I were trying to lead them into a trap. Another second or two and we would have escaped, but I let one get too close. She lunged for my calf, and I went down.” Celinor paused. Brophy kept looking at the red diamond in his hand.

  “We all made a promise to leave each other for dead if it meant saving the baby,” Celinor continued. “I would have left him if our positions had been reversed. But not Brydeon. The J’Qulins have always been headstrong. He came back for me, and we fought the world’s last stand. They killed him for it. In fourteen years, it was the worst battle I’ve seen.”

  “How long ago?”

  “At the very beginning, when we first got here.”

  “You made this cairn?”

  “I did.”

  “Thank you,” Brophy said.

  “He was my Brother.”

  Letting out a long breath, Brophy tucked his father’s heartstone safely into his pocket.

  “I have something else for you,” Celinor said. Brophy finally looked at his uncle.

  A long sword in a battered silver scabbard lay across Celinor’s open hands. A giant red diamond glittered at the pommel, grasped by silver roots. The handle was made of red and silver wire, elegantly swirled into tiny leaves. The stylized branches of the glimmering steel cross guard swept up on either side of the sheathed blade.

  “I assume the Heir of Autumn knows how to use this?” Celinor said.

  Brophy rose slowly as Celinor handed the blade to him. As soon as Brophy touched it, he could hear a faint singing. It was the sword from his dream, but without his father to wield it.

  “This stone—”

  “Is a part of the Heartstone. The Swords of the Seasons were
forged when the council was formed almost three hundred years ago.”

  “I can hear her, she sounds so close.”

  Celinor nodded.

  Brophy drew the blade, and the voice surged in his head. The huge red diamond at the pommel shimmered in the muted light. He looked down its length. The shining steel was flawless, the balance perfect.

  “It’s the most beautiful sword I’ve ever seen.”

  “You will need it before long, I fear. The stone makes it one of the few weapons that is effective against the corrupted.”

  Brophy’s gaze fell on Celinor’s own sword, strapped at his waist. The clear diamond sparkled at the pommel.

  “The Swords of Spring and Summer were lost in the ocean when Thorn and Kayder drowned. I’m glad I was able to salvage the Sword of Autumn. Your father would have wanted you to have it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come, Brophy,” Celinor said gently. “The time for grieving is short on the Cinder. There is much you must know before the battles come.”

  Brophy sheathed the weapon. He took off his old sword and fixed the new one to his belt. “Last night I saw some kind of hideous oxen climb out of the ocean and attack the soldiers from Ohohhim. They lost eighty men to kill a half dozen.”

  “Those creatures are the corrupted. They were once normal animals, but they became twisted into something hideous and powerful by the worst of Efften’s magic.”

  “Will they come up this far on the island?”

  “Oh yes. They seek her always, yearning to finish what she started.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, the Legacy is a child. A little girl less than a year old.”

  “A child? How can that be? You have guarded her for fourteen years.”

  “She is the daughter of Darius Morgeon, Efften’s greatest archmage. That baby is the best and the worst that the fallen city ever created.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you know what black emmeria is?” Celinor asked.

  Brophy nodded. Vallia had taught him the legends of Efften as a child. The black emmeria was a disease, a curse that the mages brought upon themselves. Probably the very same illness that had plagued Shara before she rescued him from the Wet Cells. “I think I felt that once. It made me ill.”

  “I know that feeling well. That baby is a vessel, a container for enough black emmeria to destroy the world.”

  “How?” Brophy asked. “A baby couldn’t be a mage that powerful.”

  Celidon sighed. “Normally you would hear this tale upon taking the Test. But you need to know, so I will tell you now.”

  Brophy’s uncle pointed to a rocky outcropping at the edge of the cliff. “Let’s sit over there,” he said, “so I can keep watch while we talk. The Ohohhim are already looking for us.”

  “Why are they here? If the child is that dangerous, why do the Ohohhim want her?” Brophy asked.

  “The Opal Emperor has been searching for the Legacy for years. He has sent his army here through greed and ignorance. If they knew what she was, they would never have tried. Come, I will explain it all.”

  Brophy followed his uncle into a jumble of boulders. They had to crouch to crawl into a little alcove between the rocks.

  Flat stones had been carefully arranged between the boulders to make more comfortable seats. Every rock face within arm’s length of the makeshift chairs had been meticulously carved. Brophy instantly recognized the Windmill Wall and the Hall of Windows amid the depictions of leaves, flowers, animals, and people.

  Sitting down, they could see the shore of the boiling bay through the mist, but they remained hidden from sight.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time here over the years,” Celinor explained.

  Brophy touched the carvings. He missed Ohndarien so badly, and he had only been away a few months. He couldn’t imagine how Celinor felt.

  A number of exquisitely carved stone figurines sat on a rocky shelf at the back of the alcove.

  Brophy picked up a half-carved statue of a young boy.

  Celinor took the little statue away from him and placed it lovingly back on the shelf with the others. “It’s my youngest, Celidon, as he looked when I left Ohndarien so many years ago.”

  “I’m sorry—” Brophy started.

  Celinor shook his head. “We must care for the living before the dead, and there is much you still need to know.”

  Brophy nodded.

  “The story of the child goes back three hundred years,” the Brother of Winter started. “She was born on the island of Efften, the greatest city in the world. The sorcerers used their magic to create a land of unimaginable beauty and prosperity. But too much success bred jealousy and greed among the mages. They threw themselves into ever-larger and more elaborate projects trying to outdo each other. They scoured the world, gathering slaves to work on their monuments. Using their magic, they enhanced and manipulated these slaves into building their fantastical city.

  “But power always comes with a price. The magic they used created a backlash of hatred and resentment from the people they controlled. This black emmeria began to consume Efften and her slaves. But rather than change their ways or curb their ambitions, the mages found a trick to avoid paying that price. They created stones that would contain the black emmeria, storage bins for the refuse of their magical greed.”

  Brophy hated to admit that Shara had been tempted by that same dark path. He remembered his revulsion of her in the Wet Cells. If one person could build up that much malignancy in a few months, what could an entire city of mages build up over generations?

  The Brother of Winter continued. “The kingdoms of the world grew to resent their voracious neighbors and united against them. Efften responded with fury and sent her navies to crush their enemies.

  “The pirates of the Silver Islands always hated and feared the magic of Efften. When the sorcerers’ fleets sailed, the pirates seized the opportunity. They swept over the mage’s unprotected city, slaughtering and burning all they could find.”

  Brophy listened in silence. He knew this story well; he had heard it since he was a child.

  Celinor continued. “Darius Morgeon, the city’s greatest archmage, had warned his colleagues where their pride would lead them. While others rushed to the city’s defense, Master Morgeon chose to face Efften’s demise with grace and dignity. Refusing to spill more blood in a hopeless cause, he decided to spend the final moments of his life singing his infant daughter to sleep.

  “His colleagues had other plans. If Efften was to fall, they decided to wreak a horrible revenge on the people who would destroy them. They broke every vow they had ever taken and released their imprisoned emmeria into the world.

  “Morgeon heard of their plans and rushed to stop them. He knew that much black emmeria would feed upon the living until it consumed the world.

  “The Archmage arrived too late to stop them completely. They had already shattered many of the containment stones and loosed their evil. Those mages were the first to die for their vengeance.

  “Master Morgeon did the only thing he could. Unable to stop the emmeria, he redirected it. He corralled the darkness and trapped it in the only magical vessel he had, his infant daughter’s dreams.”

  “How?” Brophy asked.

  Celinor shrugged. “I have heard that only something completely innocent could contain that kind of evil.”

  Brophy had a brief memory of washing the blood from Ossamyr’s thighs. “How could Morgeon have done that to his own child?”

  Celinor closed his eyes. “Sometimes a father doesn’t have any choice.”

  Shaking his head, the man went on. “Capturing the emmeria nearly killed Master Morgeon, but he used the last of his strength to enchant his daughter’s favorite music box. As long as the handle continued to turn, his daughter would never wake, and the darkness would remain trapped in her dreams.”

  “How did the child get here?” Brophy asked.

  “Master Morgeon’s eldest da
ughter smuggled the baby out of Efften as it burned. The teenage girl brought her younger sister to the shores of the Vastness and left her in the care of the horse tribes. Of all the people in the world, she believed they were the least likely to succumb to the child’s influence. For three hundred years, the women of the Vastness took turns turning the handle of the music box. Until one day, the handle broke. The music stopped, and the baby opened her eyes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Copi, the young woman who was watching the child, jammed the nub of the broken handle between her knucklebones and kept turning the box. The music started again, and the child fell back to sleep. She was only awake for a moment, but the damage was done. Any living creature that the child looked upon became infected by the black emmeria.

  “The infection spread as the corrupted attacked everything around them. Copi’s entire tribe was transformed into blackened and twisted monsters determined to kill her and the baby. Their horses were infected, birds were infected, insects, the grass, and the trees.”

  Celinor ran his finger along the carving of a tree in front of him. “I have been to that place. It is still a barren wasteland from horizon to horizon. The evil seeped into the soil and has remained there ever since. Any creature that wanders into that cursed place becomes infected.”

  “How did Copi survive?”

  “Courage and luck. The power of the music box saved her and her mount from the corruption. She rode day and night, all the way to the sea. A horde of corrupted horses chased her all the way into the surf. Her horse kept right on swimming with Copi and the child on her back as the corrupted creatures sank to the bottom of the ocean.

  “Horse and rider were sustained by the same power that keeps the baby alive. They did not age or tire, they had no need of food, water, air, or sleep. Copi’s horse carried her all the way to the Cinder, and this is where she remained.”