Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  They climbed up through the trapdoor as the Emperor shrieked behind them, thrashing against his chains. The white-faced woman closed the trapdoor and slid the thick rug over it, but it could not completely shut out the howls of rage.

  “Please, sit,” Lewlem offered. “And I will tell you our story.” The food had been cleared, and their untouched wine had been replaced with a different vintage.

  “That young man was still an unweaned babe when he was recognized as the latest incarnation of His Eternal Wisdom,” Lewlem began. “Since he was old enough to read, the Emperor was fascinated by the stories of ancient Efften. He studied every book that could be found, never satiated, spending lavish amounts for information on that old and powerful island kingdom. It is near fourteen years ago, as you said, that strange and disturbing reports came from the Vastness.”

  Lewlem swirled the wine in his glass. “His Eternal Wisdom asked to be taken across the Great Ocean. It was a highly unusual request. No emperor has left the Opal Palace in five thousand years, but His Eternal Wisdom has never been wrong, so we did as he asked. We sailed to the Vastness to witness the stretch of corrupted land.” Lewlem shook his head. “His Eternal Wisdom entered this land with his bravest guards. At the end of his first night, the Emperor and his entire escort became as you see him now.”

  Lewlem turned back to Shara. “We captured the Incarnation of God on Earth. We hunted and slew his escort at the cost of many men.”

  “Oh Father…” Shara said.

  He shook his head. “We know not why His Eternal Wisdom chose this path. It is beyond our mortal comprehension, but we trust that all will be revealed.

  “Since then, we have done everything we could to obtain the Legacy of Efften from Ohndarien. It took a long time, but we stole the information bit by bit. After we met Krellis, we knew we must be correct. He offered the child to me for aid in a long line of betrayals. The man’s heart is black with deceit and ambition. We thought the Brothers had hidden the Legacy of Efften, preventing her from healing the damage that they had wrought, refusing to undo what they had done, refusing to let the light of the child into the world again.”

  He paused, closed his eyes. “But now we have seen the child…” Tears welled and streaked down Lewlem’s powdered cheeks. To her surprise, Shara noticed that his wife was also crying.

  “Brophy will take the Test,” Shara said. “If there is a way to heal your emperor, he and the Sisters will find it.”

  “I apologize for our tears,” Lewlem said. “Your words bring hope where we have felt none in many years. Such emotions are a parent’s weakness.” He reached out and took his wife’s hand. The woman’s dark eyes met Shara’s, pure and unflinching.

  “Parents?” Shara asked, leaning back in her chair.

  “Oh yes. His Eternal Wisdom is our son.”

  16

  KRELLIS WATCHED the Physendrian and Farad armies swarm across the ocean and assault the Sunset Gate. He still couldn’t think of a way to stop them from doing it. Ohndarien’s western defenses had been designed to resist navies. The Sunset Gate was slightly taller than a ship, half the height of the other walls. It was poorly suited to repel soldiers who walked on water.

  Krellis cursed Father Lewlem again. With an Ohohhim fleet on the Great Ocean, they could have broken this attack in a few hours. The Farads had felled hundreds of trees and rolled them down the slopes into the ocean. In the gentle waters of the strait, they lashed those trees together to form huge rafts, then pushed them up to the gate. Krellis tried setting them on fire, but the logs were mostly submerged. No fire would catch. The catapults and trebuchets were useless. They crushed soldiers as the men ran across the shifting rafts, but they couldn’t break the logs underneath.

  Krellis had a dozen ships packed with Ohndarien archers waiting for the attack just inside the gate. His men fired at will for half the day, but they could only kill so many. They were running out of arrows, and the invaders had plenty of men. Ohndarien defenders still held the walls to either side. They had managed to stand their ground this long, but it would not last. Once the invaders broke through the Sunset Gate, it was finished.

  The Farads had launched a major assault against the Quarry Gate while the Physendrians attacked the Water Wall. With all of his best manpower at the locks, the rest of the walls were thinly defended. Soldiers and civilians alike fought for Ohndarien, but they were beset on three sides. A breach was imminent, even if it didn’t come at the Sunset Gate.

  Master Gorlym stood next to Krellis on J’Qulin’s Arm, a mighty stone walkway that extended west from the Citadel, defying the sheer drop to the base of the ridge. The walkway rose almost five hundred feet above sea level and gave a clear view of Ohndarien’s western edge, from the Windmill Wall to the Sunset Gate. Krellis turned to Gorlym. “What is your assessment?”

  Gorlym had been frowning for three days. His armor was flecked with bloodstains, but his counsel was as calm and accurate as ever. “We can hold for a couple of hours. Maybe a day.”

  Krellis nodded, looked back at the carnage below. “I agree,” he said. “Pull the men back in waves precisely the way we planned it. We’ll make our stand in the Night Market.”

  “What of the soldiers left on the walls?”

  Krellis shook his head. “They will die for their city.”

  Gorlym grunted. “Yes, sir. What shall we do with the Sister of Autumn and the man from Kherif?”

  Krellis looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he mused. “Bring Baelandra to the Night Market. Drug her if you have to. Do not let her run free like last time, or I’ll have someone’s head.”

  “And the man?”

  “Use arrows. Kill him in his cell. Don’t let any of your soldiers near him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  17

  THE AMBASSADOR’S ship slid down a swell under full sail. The Kherish vessel Brophy and Shara had taken north was certainly seaworthy, but the Emperor’s flagship was the most graceful vessel on the Great Ocean. Constructed of gray ironwood, its elegant bow curved upward like a Kherish sword. No carvings adorned its hull or even the stern of the ship. It was sleek and effective like the Ohohhim themselves. They had outdistanced the rest of the fleet almost immediately and left them hours behind.

  “We are almost there,” Brophy said. His hands clenched the pommel of his sword, and he softened his grip. The creeping black corruption covered his right hand and had spread to his shoulder. Dark tendrils reached toward Brophy’s chest like roots. He had already cut his lip on his own teeth. They were sharp as a knife and growing longer. Sometimes his body felt numb. Every few minutes, he had the urge to grab the baby from Shara’s arms and dash her little head against the deck.

  The child was wrapped in a white bandage that kept Brydeon and Celinor’s heartstones bound against her wound. The amulet was draped around her throat, and Shara carried the Sword of Winter on her hip. All the heart-stones helped slow the corruption, but the child was still getting worse. The infection covered her entire face and chest like a scaly mask. A few tendrils ran all the way down her legs. Brophy had no idea how much time they had. If he was losing control, surely the child was that much closer. The baby had always been as still as stone, but now she squirmed whenever Brophy came near.

  The Ohohhim had crafted a new sling for Shara. The leather garment held the baby securely against her chest. A separate pouch held the music box with the handle sticking out so she could turn it with one hand, leaving the other hand free. The new sling was essential for Brophy’s plan. Shara must have one hand free to swim while still turning the music box. They had already tested the box by dunking it in a barrel of water. The liquid muted the sounds, but did not affect the baby.

  Shara lifted a leather flap and peered at the child. “She’s fading.”

  Brophy put his hand over Shara’s shoulder, careful not to crush her in his grip. The baby twitched and let out a tiny grunt.

  “I know,” he growled. Clenching his teeth, he cleared his throat
and spoke normally. “I feel the same. I can fight it, but my mind wanders so easily.”

  “Oh Brophy.” She looked at his neck, then looked away.

  “What?” He reached up and felt a few long hairs, stiff as quills, protruding from behind his ear. He suddenly wanted to hit her, smash her nose with his fist. He moved his hand back to the Sword of Autumn and drew a breath. “Just one more night, and it will be over. One way or the other.”

  Father Lewlem shuffled forward to join them at the prow. His wife trailed behind, eyes on the deck and Lewlem’s robe pinched between her fingers. “My worthy friends,” he said, “there are enemy ships ahead. We dare not come closer without the rest of the fleet.”

  “We can’t wait,” Brophy hissed.

  Lewlem’s wife stepped between them, but the old man pushed her gently back. “I understand this and I agree,” he said. “But it is nearly nightfall. I suggest you wait and continue on in a smaller boat under the cover of darkness.” He pointed to the east. Dark clouds bunched on the afternoon horizon, purple and black. “The coming storm should cover your passage as well. It will be here in less than an hour.”

  Brophy nodded.

  “I will get ready,” Shara said.

  “No,” Lewlem replied. “Please do not take offense, but Shara-lani will remain.”

  Shara shook her head. “The baby cannot wait that long. We must take her to the Sisters immediately.”

  Lewlem pursed his lips. “You misunderstand me. My wife, Medew, will take the baby and accompany Brophy. Shara-lani will remain.”

  “No!” Brophy roared, lunging toward Father Lewlem. The man’s wife stepped between them again. Brophy towered over the tiny woman with her hands still tucked in her cloak. He barely held himself back, breathing through gritted teeth. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. He could kill the old man before that bitch got her blades out. He knew he could do it.

  Brophy stared at Lewlem’s powdered face until his breathing was back under control. “You don’t need her as a hostage!” he hissed. “I’m coming back.”

  Lewlem inclined his head. “Of course. But Shara-lani must remain. As soon as his Eternal Wisdom is cured, we will attack the invaders.”

  Brophy snarled and tore himself away, stalking across the deck. Didn’t that pasty-faced runt understand what he was going through! He needed Shara by his side. He needed all the help he could get!

  He drew the Sword of Autumn and swung it as hard as he could, burying the blade in the wretched ship’s railing. The sword’s gem blazed beneath his hands. He clenched it, until his ragged breath returned to normal.

  Shara walked up behind him and put her free hand on Brophy’s arm. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “They have placed great trust in us. We should return the favor.”

  Brophy nodded, struggling to get his temper back under control. He felt like he was trying to roll a boulder up an endless hill. If he relaxed for one second, he’d lose control.

  Finally, he pried the sword out of the ironwood railing and started to sheathe it.

  “Maybe you should keep it in your hand from now on,” Shara suggested.

  With a sneer, he thrust it back into the scabbard and walked back to Lewlem. He wasn’t beaten, not yet.

  “I’m sorry,” Brophy said to the ambassador.

  The old man nodded. “There is no shame, all can see the burden you bear. We will make ready the boat,” Lewlem said, bowing and shuffling away. His wife followed him.

  Shara cupped Brophy’s cheek as her other hand continued to turn the handle of the music box. The tinkling music was driving him mad, and Brophy wanted to smash it to pieces.

  “I want to go with you,” she said.

  “I know,” he replied, forcing his jaw to relax. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea that she stayed away from him. “Stay safe. I know what a strain the child is, let someone else carry her for a while.”

  Shara leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Even now, you think of others.”

  Brophy pulled away. He didn’t like her touching him.

  “What if the city has fallen by the time you get there?” Shara asked. “What if you can’t find the Sisters?”

  “Then I will take the Test and do what must be done.”

  “Alone? While fighting the infection?”

  “I don’t have any choice,” Brophy snarled. He reached out a hand, his fingers curled like claws. He could crush the child’s skull in one fist. It would be so easy.

  With a grunt, Brophy pulled himself away. He stalked to the ship’s railing and punched the gash his sword had made. The wood cracked.

  “Get her away from me!” he snarled, breathing through clenched teeth.

  She nodded and left him standing by the rail.

  BROPHY YANKED on the oars of Lewlem’s rowboat, glaring into the driving rain. Sheet after sheet of water pelted them. As long as he was moving, he could keep the rage at bay. It was sitting still that drove him mad.

  Mother Lewlem held the rudder in one hand and turned the music box with the other, the baby snug in the cunning sling. The waves tossed them about, but the tiny woman stared down the throat of the storm, giving ground where she had to and holding true when Brophy thought the boat would capsize.

  The white powder had long since washed off the tiny woman’s face, but her skin was just as pale underneath. Brophy could see the strain in her body language, but the woman showed nothing on her face.

  Brophy knew they were in the Narrows near the Sunset Gate, but he couldn’t see a thing. With the rain slashing at them, the Physendrian armada could be smashed to twigs or Ohndarien collapsed to rubble, and they would never know.

  Lightning lit the sky, and Brophy spotted a thick lump in the storm-tossed waters ahead. He stomped twice on the deck. The boat started to turn, but the warning was too late. The dark lump was a huge log rising on the swells. It rammed the little boat, and Brophy was almost pitched overboard.

  “What are you doing!” he shouted at the stupid woman.

  Medew shouted something into the wind, but Brophy could barely make out the words.

  “What!”

  “What did we hit?” she yelled louder.

  He tossed the oars aside and lurched to the side of the boat. “A log,” Brophy shouted back. “It’s a whole damned tree.”

  He grabbed the gaff pole and leaned over the side. “We are breached! It’s punched clean through.”

  Lightning flashed again. Brophy craned his neck around. Another bolt of lightning lit the Narrows. As far as he could see, the water was full of logs, bucking and rocking on the waves. They filled the strait from shore to shore.

  “By the Seasons!” he roared, flinging the gaff pole at the log. There were no trees in Physendria. How did they get here?

  He hurled himself over the side and tried to shove the boat free. His feet slipped on the wet wood, and he couldn’t get it to budge.

  “Who’s there?” a man’s voice shouted through the rain.

  Brophy spun around. Dark figures scrambled across the rafts toward their mired boat. “Who goes there?” the man called again. “These waters belong to King Phandir.”

  One of the Physendrian soldiers raised a horn to his lips and blew. The deep honk rivaled the noise of the storm. Another man pulled back a bow. The arrow whistled past them in the dark.

  Brophy drew the Sword of Autumn. Another arrow whistled past his head. A firm hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him backward. He slipped on the wet log and a wave swept him into the ocean.

  Brophy spluttered and kicked in the raging sea but managed to hold on to the sword. The waves closed over his head, and he quickly lost all sense of direction in the dark and choppy seas. Medew jumped in next to him.

  “No fighting,” she shouted, paddling awkwardly with one arm, turning the handle with the other. “Swim. Swim under the rafts.”

  Brophy shook his head to clear it. The sudden shock of cold water had calmed his rage.

  “Follow me,�
�� she said, and dove.

  Brophy sheathed his sword and swam blindly after her. Thunder boomed overhead, sounding eerily quiet under the water. He fumbled through the darkness and hit his head on something. Flailing wildly, he tried to find the surface. Medew’s strong hand closed over his wrist, and his need for air subsided.

  Brophy looked about, but he couldn’t see anything underwater. He groped for her and grabbed the leather sling. Brophy’s lungs spasmed, but he refused to draw a breath. Holding on to Mother Lewlem with one hand, he scrabbled along the underside of the raft with the other, pulling them forward foot by foot in the pitch-darkness. They finally emerged on the far edge.

  His head broke the surface and he coughed up a torrent of water. Mother Lewlem bobbed next to him.

  Lightning flashed, and he looked back the way they had come. Soldiers swarmed over the little boat in the distance.

  “These waters belong to Ohndarien,” he spat at the distant figures. If they had been any closer, he would have climbed back on that raft and killed them all.

  Medew tugged on his shirt. “Where from here?” she asked, blinking against the rain. The music box’s childish tune warbled about them, nearly drowned out by the roar of the storm.

  Brophy looked across the shifting sea of logs. A lightning flash revealed Ohndarien’s walls looming in the distance.

  “To the Heart,” he said, rage and fear mixing in his belly. “Before it’s too late.”

  18

  RAIN POUNDED down on Ohndarien that night, but she was alight with torches and lanterns, alive in a way she had never been before. The city was overrun. Farad soldiers lined Stoneside. Physendrians held Dock Town and the Long Market. Krellis destroyed both bridges as the armies entered the city. The only way to attack the shores of the Night Market was by boat.

  Krellis stood at the edge of the seawall, Master Gorlym at his side. The piers glowed with the lights of their sentries. Barricades had been built all along the shore, but Krellis didn’t fool himself. They weren’t hundred-foot walls. It had taken Physendria and Faradan a little over a month to break through the greatest defenses in the world. It would only take them a few hours to break through the crates of fishnets and barrels of sand that made up the Night Market’s barricades.