Near the town border, Kostan reached into the satchel slung over his leather armor and pulled out scraps of linen. I understood why when the wind swirled and carried the first whiff of decay. His jaw clenched as he handed me one of the rags, and soon we both held them over our noses. They’d been scented with clove oil, pungent enough to dent the wall of stench. My respect rose for the sentries who stood stoically around the town. Far from retching into the grass or complaining about their assignment, the closest pair thumped fists to chests as we approached.
“Your eminence,” they said.
Kostan tugged the reins and urged his horse to approach each in turn, handing over more oil-scented rags. The soldiers protested but relented when the protectors in Kostan’s honor guard pulled out rags of their own, likely received from Kostan before we left the city.
As we steered our mounts onto an earthen street leading toward the center of Pascar, I noticed the first body. After days in the sun, the flesh was bloated and flies carpeted areas of exposed skin. I couldn’t even tell if the person had been a man or woman. I hardened my jaw to keep from crying.
Though Kostan’s face was an expressionless mask, his knuckles were white around the reins. He nodded at me and squeezed his heels to his mount’s ribs. Though the horses tossed their heads and rolled their eyes at the scent of death, they pranced forward. Again, I patted Breeze’s neck.
Only the buzzing of flies broke the black peace within the town’s borders. It felt as if even the wind feared to disturb the bodies. Closing my eyes, I brought my aura-sight to life. I doubted Parveld was here; even maddened, I couldn’t think of a reason he would remain in this cemetery. But I scanned the buildings, peering through walls in search of his huddling spirit.
The town was deserted. I exhaled in relief. As much as I hoped to find the man, I was glad to know he hadn’t spent the tenday keeping company with the dead.
From the northern edge of town, the sound of hoofbeats broke the silence. Like water rushing to fill a gap, the protectors spurred their horses and quickly formed a ring around their Emperor. Kostan stood in the stirrups to see over their heads and shaded his eyes with his hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s someone from the Sharder camp.”
After the fall of Steelhold and the final rout of the Riftspawn, Stormshard had retreated to a nearby alcove at the base of the Icethorns where the cliffs were too steep to climb. With sheer walls at their back, they’d encamped, building hasty fortifications from some of the rubble littering Lowtown. Kostan had protested the primitive encampment until Sirez had explained that real homes would make the Sharders too comfortable. They couldn’t afford to lose their fighting edge.
I agreed. We all knew the difficulties were far from over. The Heartstone could defend Jaliss, but beyond the capital, the Empire was broken beyond our imagination. Riftspawn hordes moved over the landscape. And we still knew far too little about the Maelstrom’s rift and its failing seal.
As the rider neared the edge of town, braids streaming behind her, she sawed at the reins to slow her mount. I recognized Sirez from her rigid posture and the proud tilt of her jaw.
“Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be foolish, your eminence,” she called when she reached shouting distance.
Kostan’s smirk hid behind the scented rag, but I heard his low chuckle. “What new grain of wisdom did you come to share, Sirez?”
“Did your Prime not counsel you to remain within the safety of the city? We don’t know when the Spawn might return. Not to mention the human threat. Chaos breeds lawlessness. There could be thieves or worse.”
“Villains like Stormshard, you mean?” Kostan said as the woman drew her mount alongside mine and gestured for us to continue our ride.
“We weren’t the only groups living outside the Empire’s justice,” Sirez said. She had no rag to cut the stench, but though her lip curled, she maintained an otherwise even face.
“I won’t cower inside Jaliss indefinitely. We watched the chasm for nine days. The Prime has stationed guards along the rim. If any more Riftspawn appear, they have orders to blow the horns. Besides—” He gestured at the streets and bodies splayed upon them. “You’re hardly innocent of taking unnecessary risks. We agreed—or perhaps I should say you assented to my command that none were to enter Pascar until I had given my approval.”
“And?” she asked.
“I notice that none of the bodies are Stormshard’s. I don’t blame you for wanting to recover your own and give them a decent burial, but we decided to wait as a matter of the Empire’s security.”
“You have me there. But no ill came of our retrieval of the bodies.”
“I don’t wish to be a tyrant, Sirez, but if you are going to fight under the Empire’s banner, I have to know my decisions will be respected.”
Sirez sucked her teeth. “Here’s the truth. I agreed to stay out of Pascar, and I’ve abided by my word. As promised, I passed the command to my Shard and the rest of the conclave. The problem is, Stormshard has never been an organization of leaders and followers. Each person is free to make their own decisions—it’s our central creed. Asking me to enforce your commands… that’s a difficult proposition. I can say with honesty that I didn’t witness any Sharders creeping off to recover their fallen brethren, but I don’t doubt it happened.”
“I gather by your tone that you don’t mean to confront the culprits.”
“Especially during war, a commander must be certain his troops will follow instructions. I get that. Here’s my question, though: is this the issue you want to challenge them on?”
Kostan drummed his fingers on his thigh. “No, I suppose not. If I don’t give them the freedom to grieve as they desire, they’ll never believe I intend to grant them control over their own lives. But I need more than your words as assurance, Sirez. Eventually, everyone will have a voice in decisions affecting the Empire. But battles leave no time for debates and votes. Especially when there’s no one around to freeze the combatants in place.”
I closed my eyes again, spreading my awareness wider at the reminder of Parveld’s actions during the battle. My chest ached from knowing he’d done so much for us but had likely fallen under the Hunger’s control as a result. From my bracelet, I felt an echoing sense of grief and longing. I jerked in surprise, once again startled to feel my companions after their recent retreat.
We’ll find him, I said to Lilik. Maybe this was my chance to break through the walls the woman had put up. I missed our connection.
I hope so, Lilik’s voice carried the same, flat tone she’d used since the battle for Jaliss. The emotions from the bracelet vanished, and my brow furrowed. Maybe she was acting this way out of grief or worry for Parveld. They’d been childhood friends and companions for centuries. I wished I could offer her consolation, but she refused my attempts to connect. Sighing, I turned back to Kostan and Sirez.
“In any case, I assume you’ve decided the town is safe,” Sirez said. “I have volunteers who will help retrieve the bodies and others who will stand sentry to make sure no poisoned water leaves the area. ”
“I’ve already asked Vaness to find trusted people to build a pyre and gather the fallen. We’d welcome Stormshard’s help, but are you certain? You’ve already buried or burned your own, and the task has only grown more unpleasant with the delay.”
“We all bear responsibility for these poor townsfolk. If anything, it’s Stormshard who should be laying them to rest. We can’t blame ourselves for Joran’s actions, but he was one of us. Maybe if we’d been more observant…”
I shook my head. “I don’t think anyone could have guessed. It wasn’t Joran’s scheme anyway. Warrell masterminded the plot.”
“I’d never celebrate someone’s death,” Sirez said. “But it’s a relief to know he was in the Hold when it fell. Though even if he’d survived, he wouldn’t have the resources to hurt us again. Or the motive, seeing as the throne
he coveted is scattered over the grasslands.”
We’d reached the center of the town, a low hill of trampled earth dark where blood had muddied the ground. Grief hid behind Kostan’s mask, and I knew he was reliving the battle. I drew even with him so I could lay a hand on his arm.
“While I’m here, I wanted to let you…” Sirez trailed off, cocking an ear. “Did you hear that?”
The Sharder woman was stiff in the saddle. She rose in her stirrups and shaded her eyes, peering east toward Jaliss.
A chorus of alarm horns blew.
Chapter Eight
Kostan
Approaching Jaliss
GRASS WHIPPED MY shins, and the wind tore at my face as we raced over the grasslands. Ahead of me, Sirez’s braids thumped against her back. She stood in the saddle, thighs tensed to absorb the pounding gait of her horse. I tried to copy her—it was that or be thrown from the saddle. I heard Savra close behind, her stalwart gelding matching pace with prized steeds reared by the Empire’s breeders.
We’d torn around the northern end of the gash that separated Pascar from Jaliss and now approached the city at a dead run. I prayed to the clear skies that we weren’t too late; Sirez had scolded me for endangering myself with my visit to Pascar. Perhaps that had been foolish, but the greater mistake had been leaving the city undefended. Only I could command the power of the Heartstone. If the Riftspawn were attacking, and more citizens had already died, I would never forgive myself.
The horses snorted, sides heaving, as we drew rein near the outskirts of Lowtown. There, a protector stood with his sword drawn, his eyes wary.
“What is it?” I asked. “More Riftspawn?”
The man shrugged, looking guilty for his lack of answers. “I don’t know, your eminence. I’ve received no orders. I didn’t want to abandon my post.”
The horns blew again and again as we struggled through the ruined streets of Lowtown. Rubble strewed the ground, making progress agonizingly slow. The district had burned twice in the short weeks since my Ascension and was a blackened warren, the skeletons of buildings hanging stark over piles of ashes. Provs dressed in rags peered from behind collapsed stone walls, bewildered by the alarm.
Despite the shrill cries of the horns, the city seemed eerily quiet. I’d expected to plunge straight into a fresh battle or at least to hear the cries of melee being joined. But aside from the scuffling of children in the alleys, no one moved. I stole a glance back to the west, taking in the townsite of Pascar and the canvas sea of the Sharder tents pressed against the Icethorn foothills. Stormshard was responding to the alarm, and fighters were massing and forming ranks.
But where was the threat?
At the entrance to the Merchant’s Quarter, a protector lieutenant trotted up and thumped his fist to his chest. He wore ringmail and a grim expression.
“Your eminence,” he said. “The Prime needs you at the Heartstone.”
“Why the alarm?” It had to be Riftspawn. Otherwise, why call me to the Heartstone? But if the Spawn were attacking, why couldn’t I hear them?
“It’s the Spawn, your eminence. But there’s something different.” The man’s eyes flitted nervously.
I glanced at Savra. She stood in the saddle, gaze unfocused as she ran her eyes over the city. I recognized the faint look of concentration she wore when using her aura-sight.
“What do you see, Savra?”
Her mouth twisted. “He’s right. They’re… I see their auras, but they’re outside the city still. Not many, and they aren’t moving.”
Well, that was an unlikely blessing. Shaking off my questions for now, I put heels to my mount’s ribs. Savra and Sirez fell in behind, and we raced for the Corridor of Ascent.
Behind the low wall now crowning the rim of stone, protectors stood sentry. A cry went up as our small band approached, and the Prime Protector jogged through the break to meet us.
“Your eminence,” she said, lightly pressing her fist to her chest in salute.
“Savra says there are Spawn outside the city,” I said.
The Prime’s brow knitted. “We can’t make sense of it.”
“Show me,” I said, urging my horse into the circular area bounded by the stump. Within, protectors stood in ready ranks, groups of foot soldiers behind a cohort of cavalry. A dozen additional sentinels stood at rigid attention in a defensive ring around the Heartstone.
The dome of polished agate stood bare and gleaming. Glancing at it, I felt an answering warmth from the pendant that pressed against my breastbone. The stones sensed the Spawn’s presence. I laid a hand over the lump on my chest. When I’d inherited the necklace from my predecessor, Emperor Tovmeil, he’d claimed it was called the Heart of the Empire. Savra had said it was the Heartshard. I suspected her name was the true one.
Most of the rubble had finally been cleared from the hollow core of the spire. I hurried behind the Prime to the closest of the makeshift stairways that climbed to the rim of Steelhold’s stump. Up top, she shaded her eyes to look out over the plateau.
“There,” she said, pointing.
I blinked as, beside me, Savra gave a quiet hum of confusion. Though our vantage was hardly the perch it had been when Steelhold had stood, the rim was still the highest point within the city. From the pile of rubble, rooftops and narrow streets fell away, disintegrating into a scattering of warehouses and shacks. Perhaps two or three thousand paces beyond Jaliss’s outskirts, a small group of Riftspawn—less than twenty if I guessed right—stood unmoving upon the plain. Dusk surrounded the group, darkening the grass. The distance hid details about their force, but it was clear that these were unlike the monsters we’d met before. Though their number was small, they were arrayed in ranks. Two-legged abominations towered at the rear, some astride monsters that resembled horses or other beasts I couldn’t even name. Those who moved on four or more legs gathered in front. Above the group, bird-like things flapped and hovered.
The beasts were utterly silent.
At the edge of the city, my protectors formed a defensive shield. They outnumbered the Spawn at least five to one, but that meant little. I knew too well how vicious the beasts could be and how difficult to kill they’d proved. Between the Spawn and the Heartstone, the first defensible location was the wall separating the Prov areas from the Heights. Squinting, I spotted out a stream of citizens hurrying through alleys toward the core of the city. The flow washed against the Heights’ border wall, breaking against the hard stone and splitting in either direction.
“We need to get people past that wall,” I said to the Prime. Though the Heights could hardly be considered fortified, the wall would gain our defenders some measure of advantage.
“I tried, your eminence, but—”
The Prime’s words were cut off by a sudden roar that erupted from the gathered Riftspawn. The sound vibrated in my skull. Beside me, Savra gasped.
“They were waiting for you,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, and her delicate brows drew together. “Their auras are different… I don’t know what’s changed.”
“Get those people safe, Prime!” I yelled as I dashed for the stairs. We could talk about Savra’s perceptions later. “And send word to our soldiers. Tell them to retreat as soon as the citizens are clear.”
I ran for the Heartstone, shoving aside a pair of argent mages who had the gall to look offended.
As I had in the battle for Jaliss, I fell to my knees upon the Heartstone. The slick agate was warm beneath my palms. Before, it had taken me a long time to form the connection Savra had claimed I could forge. Now, I knew what to search for. Dangling from the chain around my neck, the Heartshard seemed to throb in time with my pulse. Warmth spread through my hands as a cavern opened around me.
The scene duplicated what I’d experienced during the battle for Jaliss. I stood in a vast, echoing chamber carved from gray stone. The ceiling, if there was one, hid so far above that the flickering torchlight couldn’t touch it. The tor
ches were fixed to thick pillars that stretched up into the darkness like the trunks of stone trees, a forest that hid the chamber’s walls. Veins of colorful stone webbed the pillars, oranges, reds, and purples like the banding in the Heartstone and my pendant. Beneath my feet, the veins grew thicker and redder, smaller tributaries joining into frozen rivers of agate the color of blood. As before, I followed the thickening flow to the pool in the center. There, surrounded by pillars as wide as I was tall, a glossy Heartstone the size of a lake lay beneath the warmth of the torches.
I knew what I had to do.
As I strode onto the stone, a sword appeared in my hand. Its balance resembled the scimitar I’d trained with, but the hilt was cold and ridged. I twisted my grip and glanced down at the weapon. It was the same as before, a style of blade I didn’t recognize. Fire opals studded the hilt, and between the stones, leather wrapping added grip. The guard wrapped comfortably over my knuckles, providing security. The blade itself was curved with a deep belly around halfway from hilt to tip.
As I raised the weapon, I dropped into a combat crouch. The sword felt heavy in my hand. Heavier than before.
At first, the Riftspawn were shadows at the edges of my perception. I glimpsed them flitting between pillars deep within the forest of stone. Their voices were whispers, the rasps of blades against whetstones, the gorboling of blackbirds speaking quietly among themselves.
A drop of sweat trickled in front of my ear. Already, my sword arm had begun to tremble with fatigue. It hadn’t been like this before. I blinked in an attempt to clear my head and focus my attention.
In the recesses of the cavern, the hiss of the Spawn grew louder. A thud shook the floor as something shrieked.
More sweat beaded on my brow, tickling as it soaked through my eyebrows, stinging when the first drops fell into my eyes. I swallowed and raised my blade higher.
“Hello, Kostan.” The cavern played tricks with the deep voice, splitting it into many fragments that echoed and clashed.
Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3) Page 6
