by Keri Arthur
“It’s the middle of the night and I’m not about to wake anyone. Besides, I’m not sure what I want.”
At least when it came to food.
The desire that flared briefly in his eyes suggested he was well aware of what had been left unspoken. But all he said was, “Then let’s go investigate. It would never do to have the queen starve in her own castle.”
Especially not, I thought, when this was the first time in a long time said queen had felt that sort of hunger. But satisfying it would have to wait. Despite the fact that I now sat on the throne, the whisperings and rumors had not ceased. I guess it was foolish to even vaguely hope they would—not after twelve years of basically being viewed as the royal trull. Because of that, my behavior going forward would have to be the exact opposite of expectation. Passion and desire—the two things so very absent in my life up until this man had entered it—had to be approached with extreme caution lest it be seen as a validation of past opinion.
It was, I thought bleakly, just another reason to hate this place and everyone within it.
The next day, with my brother locked in the same foul cell that had been given to Donal and me, I named my uncle regent and ordered the military to fall out, leaving behind only minimal force to defend Divona’s walls should Rodestat fall. But I also ordered more air and earth witches to Divona—the latter to widen the Merrigold River to create a barrier the Volker couldn’t easily jump and the former to raise the wrath of the skies and sweep away those who did.
The military moved out. The caterpillar haulers were given permission to go directly to Rodestat rather than follow the traditional route, but even so, it would take them two days to get there.
Donal, Rutherglen, and I raced ahead of the army in the Mauvaissian sprinter, with the Gigurri earth witches following us in one of the plush royal Divonian sprinters. The king had never been one to go without the very best, especially in his later years.
We arrived at Rodestat just as the setting sun set her walls ablaze. Initially, there was very little evidence of damage to the city, but as we moved through the long tunnel and deeper into her heart, the toll of the bipeds’ acidy globules became more and more apparent. And yet, rather oddly, the arch that dominated the skyline appeared unscathed despite the fact it had to be an easy target, and the barracks and military zone close to the wall that divided Rodestat from both the canyon and the abandoned fortress also had little in the way of damage—and that suggested the Mauvaissians had found a way to at least neutralize some of the globules.
The sprinters had barely stopped when three red-cloaked guards approached with a request from Marttia that we meet—which made me smile. It would have been an order only days ago. I asked Bentli—the strongest of the five Gigurri mages and my uncle’s advisor—to come with us. It never hurt to have a second opinion when it came to the earth power, especially when my knowledge of it was so sparse.
As the remaining mages were led away, we were taken across to the arch’s right side metal abutment then up the circular, surprisingly well-lit metal stairs until we reached the floor that held the war room.
Inside were Marttia, the commander, and the captain, as well as one other—a tall, slender woman with dark hair and the same sky-blue eyes as Donal.
“Neika,” he said, pleasure in his voice, “it’s lovely to see you again, although I do wish it was under better circumstances.”
“You do have a habit of calling only in dire situations.” Her voice was dry. She presented her cheek for his kiss and then gave me a somewhat frosty half bow—the Westal Ranges’ dislike for their Divonian rulers coming to the fore in full, I suspected. “My queen.”
“Please, call me Nyx, at least in the current situation.” I introduced Bentli and then added, “What happens with the Volker?”
Amusement played lightly around Marttia’s lips. “Is this the way your rule will proceed? All business, no time for pleasantries?”
“I’m all out of pleasantries after dealing with the other lords and ladies of the council.” I took off the scabbarded sword and hooked it over the corner of a chair before sitting down. “So, situation?”
Marttia motioned to the commander, who immediately said, “Two of the other Skaran tribes currently harry the Volker rear defenses. It’s giving us time to fortify ours.”
“I gather you’ve found a way to counter the globules?” Donal asked.
Marx nodded. “Via a combination of wind, rain shields, and water cannons.”
“We’ve not enough of the latter,” Marttia said. “This end of the Kannel Mountains isn’t prone to the wildfires that afflict the western edges. I’ve the smiths working around the clock to make more.”
“I take it these cannons are the reason this arch and much of the military zone remain unscathed?” I said.
“Along with the air mages, yes.”
“We’re currently running a rotation of three shifts, two mages per shift,” Neika said.
“With three running as overwatch?” Donal asked.
Neika nodded. “Myself, Rogan, and Teala.”
“Ah, good.” He must have felt my confusion over the term, because he glanced at me and said, “Overwatch is both the operational control and an additional source of energy should it be required.”
I nodded. “Are the Volker continuing to shield their main force and their mages?”
“They’re using the shield magic, but it’s not protecting either of their encampments,” Gallego said. “They’ve instead constructed two earth and stone domes. Their larger force remains at the border of the Wild Lands, with a minor encampment set up in the Gateway Canyon. They’ve shown no inclination to enter the fortress or drain the dam you created.”
“We’ve had Blue Hawks out monitoring the situation,” Marx added. “But other than the occasional clash with the Skaran, there’s been little movement from either force.”
“I take it you’ve tried bombarding the domes?” Donal said.
“Yes, but with little effect.” Gallego looked at me. “Could you and your mages bring the entire thing down on top of them?”
“Given they’re now well aware that they face at least one earth mage, it’s likely they’ll have drained the dome of life so it can’t be used against them.” I paused. “How big a force have the Skaran raised? Are they having any more success damaging the dome than we are?”
“There’re at least three hundred Skaran massed at the destroyed settlement, and more are on their way. From what we’ve seen, their attacks so far have been little more than investigative probes.”
“It’s a shame there’s no way to communicate with them and coordinate attacks. Between our two forces, we just might have some hope of stopping the bipeds.”
Marttia snorted. “The Skaran consider us part of their food chain. Past attempts—which have been few, I admit—to come sort of treaty with them have ended with our emissaries being the main course at a Skaran banquet.”
“The Westal Ranges also made an attempt, although it was long before we became a part of Cannamore. Let’s just say if it wasn’t for the wind, our people would have also ended on the menu.” Amusement touched Donal’s lips but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If there’s no shield magic protecting either of their encampments, where is it?”
“It’s currently moving into a section of the mountains apparently known as Dead Man’s Gulf,” Neika said.
“Are they tunneling?” I asked.
“No.” Marttia glanced at me. “It would seem their tunneling was simply a means of concealing their presence from us for as long as possible.”
Either that, or they were now saving the strength of their mages for another task. “So why are they headed toward the Gulf?”
“It contains a narrow but deep fissure that splits the back half of the range, running from the broken edge of Hendlar’s Peak into the flatlands,” Marttia said. “If their forces reach it, they’ll have a direct route into Mauvaissia.”
“Or,” added the comm
ander, “they could bypass Rodestat altogether and march on to Divona.”
I frowned. “If the Gulf allows easy access into Mauvaissia, why isn’t it defended?”
“We have a watchtower at the Hendlar’s Peak end,” Marttia said, her tone curt. I hadn’t meant the comment as criticism, but that was obviously how she’d taken it. “But the entire area has been decimated by multiple eruptions, and though the last happened over a hundred years ago, it remains as bleak and unforgiving as the Dead Lands. Even in the summer months, getting to both the Peak and the Gulf is difficult. The Skaran have never, in all the time Mauvaissia has held the area, ventured anywhere near that part of the Kannel Mountains. It’s doubtful they even know the Gulf exists.”
And yet the Volker apparently did. I doubted they’d forced the information from the earth’s collective consciousness, if only because the biped mages didn’t so much interact with the earth as use or drain it. But the Volker did live in an old volcano, and it was possible they were familiar with the Peak, if not the Gulf.
It was a thought that had foreboding pulsing through me. “Is the Peak active?”
“As I said, the last eruption was over a hundred years ago—”
“Which is not what I asked,” I cut in. “Hasn’t this entire region had been beset by tremors recently?”
“Yes, but the source is the Cal-Alban volcano that dominates the eastern end of the Kannel Mountains. There’s no indication Hedlar’s Peak is also awakening—there’s been no rise in the earth level in or around that peak, and no new steam vents.”
If it was venting, then it wasn’t exactly dormant. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms against the deepening sense of unease. “How big is the shield that’s approaching the Gulf?”
“Probably no more than forty feet in length,” Neika said.
“What sort of speed is it moving at?”
“Around one hundred miles a day, maybe a bit more.”
“Which is extremely fast, even for those bastards,” Donal commented. He glanced at me. “I take it you think it’s something more than a recon team?”
“I think it’s the mages in control of the black stone mage staffs and a protection detail.”
“Why would they be heading at such speed for the Gulf?” Marttia said. “If they were intending to bypass Rodestat, wouldn’t they be creating a tunnel so their warriors could move in safety, as they did through the dead lands?”
“How do we know they’re not?” the commander said.
“We don’t as yet,” I said, “but I don’t think they are. Nor do I think they’re heading for the Gulf.”
“Then what—” Donal paused, his expression darkening. “The Peak?”
I nodded. “Given they live in an old volcano, it’s very possible they’re aware of the two near here. Their regular mages are capable of making the earth molten, so it’s not such a jump to think those in control of the old mage staffs could hasten an eruption.”
“If their intention was to force an eruption,” Marttia said, “why wouldn’t they use a volcano that’s already showing signs of activity?”
“Is the Cal-Alban volcano close enough to cause Rodestat major problems?”
She frowned. “No, but neither is the Peak.”
“What if their goal isn’t just the Peak or the Cal-Alban volcano?” Donal commented. “But rather the entire String of Fire?”
The String was a semicircular line of volcanic activity that stretched from Cal-Alban at the eastern edge of Mauvaissia through to the Grand Mount in De’lorn Bylands and onto Mount Neerim near Cannamore Bay.
“It’s possible,” Marttia said, “but the majority of the volcanoes that make up the string are either too far away to cause us any problems or were declared extinct long ago.”
“Actually,” Bentli said, “while a number of either active or extinct volcanoes do line the String, it’s actually the nickname of a major fault line that runs from Og-dour Cove to Cannamore Bay.”
The uneasiness that had been pulsing through me became full-blown fear. “And would it be possible for a mage to make use of that fault line?”
“One mage? No.” Her gaze met mine, her expression grim. “But ten? Hell, yeah. And if they were able to force the divergence of the two plates—”
“Plates?” the commander said, with a frown.
Bentli hesitated and wrinkled her nose. “The outer shell of our world isn’t solid, but rather divided into a number of sections—or plates, as they’re more commonly known—that glide over the mantle, the rocky inner layer above the core. The position of these plates isn’t fixed, although their actual movement year by year is minute. Cannamore consists of two such plates—the Marmara and Carale. Basically put, it’s the pressure of these two pressing against each other that causes quakes and eruptions along what has become known as the String of Fire.”
“And if the biped mages attack the string? Diverge these plates?” he asked.
“Then we face, at the very least, the destruction of this city and every other one that sits along the String, including a good portion of Divona.”
“And at worse?” Marttia asked softly.
“Cannamore is torn apart along the fault line. Aside from the destruction of the cities, the low-lying nature of the Marmara plate around both the Sundar Flatlands and Chilba means much of the Divonian and Mauvaissian countryside would also end up under the sea.”
“And in the process of all that, they’d decimate most of our military force,” Donal commented grimly.
“Which is exactly what they did to the Isle of Whyte,” I said.
“And the reason why the sword and knife were created,” Bentli said. “The mages must be stopped. You have to stop them.”
“I know.” I looked at Neika. “Where is that shield currently located?”
She paused, her blue eyes briefly glowing as she communed with the air. “Twenty miles out from the Peak’s base. It now appears to be stationary.”
“Meaning they’re either resting or they’ve reached their target. If it’s the latter, it makes no sense,” Marttia said. “That entire area is riddled with gullies and old lava tubes thanks to past eruptions, but it’s a long way from the volcano itself.”
“They don’t need to get into the Peak’s crater to activate the String,” Bentli said. “They simply have to position themselves over a point where the two plates meet.”
I frowned. “If that’s the case, why would they risk heading to the Peak? Why wouldn’t they activate it from the Wild Lands, which they now control?”
Bentli shrugged. “Perhaps they thought it more likely we’d sense what they were doing.”
“It would at least explain why their main force waits near the Quaih River,” Donal said, expression grim. “It’s far enough away to avoid the utter destruction that will afflict this entire region.”
I rubbed a hand across my eyes. “The minute we attack the mages, their main force is going to come after us. We need to ensure that doesn’t happen, as I have no idea how the sword will work or even if it can destroy the mages.”
Marttia frowned. “But wasn’t that reason behind the sword’s creation—to stop the Volker?”
“Only the black stone staffs, not them,” Bentli said. “But Racinda didn’t leave a whole lot of information about either the sword or the knife, and they’ve never been tested.”
“Can’t the collective consciousness fill in the blanks?”
“If Racinda’s soul had joined them on death, yes,” Bentli said, “but it didn’t, so the consciousness can only give us what information those who attended her during the making of both weapons can supply—which is very little indeed and provides no greater clarity as to their use or how they function as a unit.”
“Then let’s pray to whatever gods you believe in that the damn things do work.” Marttia frowned. “For any attack on their warriors to be successful, we’ll first need to deal with the domes that protect them.”
“It’ll take all t
en remaining mage staffs to activate the String,” Bentli said, “which means they’ve probably left their stone domes unprotected—”
“I wouldn’t bank on that,” I said. “They still have their blood magic, and we don’t know enough about its use to say whether or not it could be used to bolster the earth.”
“Yes, but their blood magic doesn’t kill or mute the earth’s power,” she said.
“There’s one way we can find out—ask the earth.”
She immediately rose, but I motioned her back down and added, “I don’t need to be in direct contact with her, Bentli.”
I let my hand rest on the knife’s hilt. The response was immediate. Your wish?
The earth and stone used to create the domes two over the biped forces—has it been rendered inert?
Yes. But the earth on which it rests has not.
I released the knife and repeated the earth’s comment. Anticipation touched Bentli’s lips. “So while we can’t break the dome, we can break the earth that supports it and possibly even bring the thing down on top of them all.”
“Even if that doesn’t succeed,” the commander said, “you can at least create multiple tunnels into the dome through which we can blast the bastards.”
“We’ll need to attack both domes at the same time, though. Otherwise, we risk the bipeds reinforcing the larger one through blood magic.” Marttia glanced at Bentli. “Will five of you be enough?”
Bentli nodded. “Two of us should be able to deal with the smaller Gateway dome. That leaves three for the larger one.”
“If we can provide access points into the far side of that dome,” Marttia said, “the Skaran should do all the distracting we’d need.”
“But their presence also makes any attack on that dome doubly dangerous,” I said.
“Not if we’re transported to and from by air mages.” Bentli glanced at Neika. “That is possible, is it not?”
“It would take a number of us to transport three people, but yes, it’s possible.”
