***
We slept once more before reaching the end of our journey, the Heartstone in the bottom of the city. Here, we would make our last stand.
So deep into the earth, the air was warm enough to pack away our cloaks. Damp settled into the creases of my armor and boots, and the scent of ancient things filled my nose. It smelled of old books and the mortared basements within Steelhold. Of lost wisdom and the crumbling of dreams.
Or maybe I just imagined the scents, the aromas an expression of my yearning for a different destiny. A different life, where human nobility stood strong against the void and never allowed it passage into our realm. Where Savra stood by my side, and we planned a future together.
But this was the existence I’d been granted. And I would fight for whatever life remained for my people.
The Heartstone seemed larger than the other two, perhaps due to the closer confines, or maybe because it had been the final component of the seal and the crafters had wished to make it the strongest. The chamber that contained it was perhaps fifty paces across. A wide entrance opened into the room from the main corridor we had followed from the upper levels of the city. Opposite this entrance, five smaller corridors branched off into the remainder of the cavern system. As the Provs filed into the chamber and carefully stepped around the flawless red dome of the Heartstone, many paused to squat and lay fingers reverently against the agate. This was our final defense. They knew it. And somehow, they still had faith I could hold against the coming onslaught. I felt their belief thrumming in the pendant around my neck.
The hallways in this section of the city had lower ceilings. Chambers held their contents tight, a warren of rooms that lacked the soaring details in the upper city, but that offered a sense of home that the striking architecture lacked. Though it made little sense that furniture would have been preserved in the damp, many chambers had a scattering of wooden chairs and tables and low platform beds where the refugees could unroll their bedding. Within a few hours after we stopped marching, groups of families had taken up residence in the various chambers, and the voices of children echoed through the halls.
Fishel oversaw the settling in, directing people to occupy rooms as far from the Heartstone as possible. When the Spawn came, we would meet them at the single choke point, the entrance to the Heartstone’s chamber. With so little area to defend, I felt we could hold this position for a long time. Possibly even long enough to go hungry before being torn to pieces by the ravaging Riftspawn.
I was crouching at the entrance to one of the smaller corridors gnawing on a piece of hard bread when the Prime approached.
“I have a guard rotation set up,” she said. “Forty soldiers around the Heartstone at all times. Everyone else resting or sleeping nearby. When not on duty, the soldiers will leave their weapons in a rack in the Heartstone chamber to assure they won’t become confused and attack the population. Are you sure you can shield forty at a time?”
I took a swallow of water to wash down the bread. “I’m not sure of anything. But I think I could do more if necessary.” We’d decided to put ten soldiers on the main entrance, another ten arrayed behind, and the remainder guarding the side corridors that led deeper into the city. I would stand on the Heartstone and defend it.
“Falla said that the young geognost wants to speak with you. I know you have reservations about asking him for any more help…”
“If we ask him, it’s forcing him to revisit a painful experience. When he comes to us, he’s ready to forgive himself. Please send him.”
I finished my bread quickly and stood, sucking the crumbs off my hand. Wasted food was a luxury we no longer knew. Following an instinct, I walked out onto the Heartstone and paced there, hands clasped behind my back. The boy needed to feel he was meeting the Emperor, not a young man chained to a throne he’d never wanted.
“Your—your eminence?” Derinow asked as he entered the chamber. Falla trailed behind, hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder.
“Hello, Derinow,” I said, turning to face him.
The child drew himself up straight. “Would it help if we slowed the Spawn down?”
My brows raised as I crouched before him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I watched the soldiers throw chairs down to block the passages. Won’t the monsters just move them out of the way?”
I smirked. “Sometimes, we do things to show we haven’t given up. Even if they won’t help in the end.”
“Well, what if I turned those chairs into something else? Stone isn’t so hard to reshape as long as you know the patterns it wishes to take. I can feel the barricades from here. The water that flows through the walls… I can channel its energy into the stone.”
“You’d manage to turn our small act of defiance into true defenses.”
But did we really wish to slow the Riftspawn’s advance? Our final battle was inevitable. The longer we languished in the bottom of the city, the weaker we became. In a few days, our food would be gone. What if, instead, we used Derinow’s ability to gain an advantage in the actual fight.
I turned eyes to the entrance corridor. It was wide enough for ten men to walk comfortably abreast. A difficult opening to defend. But it didn’t have to remain that way.
“I have another thought, Derinow. If we were to put more furniture out here, could you narrow the opening? Make it so just one or two monsters can come through at a time?”
A smile spilled across the child’s face. “Easy.”
I clapped him on the shoulder as I stood. “Then you have your Empire’s gratitude.” Catching the eye of a sentry, I called out. “Have some of the soldiers collect stone furniture and bring it out.”
Falla brushed her hand over the boy’s hair. “Do you need anything else, Derinow?”
He shook his head. “Just quiet. That was the problem before. The screams. I…” His face twisted, but after a moment, he mastered his emotions and swallowed. “I just need to avoid distractions.”
“I’ll order the soldiers to give you plenty of space,” I said.
With a nod and raised chin, the boy sketched a bow and turned for the entrance corridor. He stopped a few paces outside the chamber and closed his eyes, cocking his head as if exploring the structure of the walls around him.
“Your eminence,” Falla said, “there’s another piece of information you should know. We expected this, of course.”
“The second seal component?” I asked.
She nodded, face grim. “The Body spiritists have lost their abilities. We must assume Parveld has taken control of the domain’s magic like he did Mind’s.”
I clenched my jaw. True, we had expected it the moment we understood the cause of our confusion aboveground. But the confirmation was another blow to my fading hope. For a moment, I regretted giving Derinow permission to channel the Riftspawn’s attack. What use was it to keep fighting? The Riftspawn outnumbered us many times over. Parveld had powers we couldn’t fathom. And the only true victory—sealing the breach at the center of the Maelstrom—lay beyond our grasp.
“It’s always worth resisting,” Falla said quietly. “Always.”
“I thought you couldn’t read minds anymore,” I said.
“I can’t. But it's not hard to imagine what you’re thinking. Stormshard never really believed we’d defeat the Empire. We certainly didn’t think we’d make peace with the throne instead. We fought on anyway. People are stubbornly irrational when it comes to things like hope. But that’s how we end up working miracles.”
“A miracle sure would be nice now,” I said.
“Indeed it would.”
Chapter Forty-One
Savra
Bellows, Guralan Province
TACK JANGLED AND saddle leather creaked in the cold as we mounted up in the lee of the inn. My horse, a bay mare with spirited eyes, tossed her head. I leaned forward and stroked her neck as I whispered soothing words. Few horses could compare to my sturdy li
ttle gelding, Breeze. I wondered if he still lived. If so, he was somewhere in the mountains with Kostan and the refugees.
Along with mounts for each of us, Father had gathered more than two weeks’ worth of food for our saddlebags and blessedly warm clothing for defense against the gale. I pulled my fur-lined cloak over my hair, strands of which whipped in the wind despite the sheltering bulk of the inn. Heavy mitts protected my hands, and the rabbit-fur lining in my boots swaddled my feet in softness.
We were as prepared as any travelers could be, given the circumstances. Father’s short sword hung from his belt. He’d found me a weapon as well, though I’d made little progress in my sword training since our sessions at the ancient keep. He’d even found a black-iron wrist cuff to boost Azar’s skills.
“Now we just hope the reports on the southern road are accurate,” Father said after walking through the group and checking the girth straps on each of our saddles. Most roads in Guralan had disintegrated into stretches of crumpled earth cleaved by gashes too wide to leap. But according to the few, brave travelers who’d made the journey, the track between Bellows and Scorlit Post was almost passable.
Avill had no experience riding; a lead stretched from her mount’s halter to my father’s saddle. The rest of us pressed heels to our horses’ ribs when Father clucked to his mount and led us out onto the street.
My fingers were numb after just a few minutes, and my nose and toes ached. I remembered the ferocious wind from my ride north, but this was something else entirely. Far colder than yesterday when we’d staggered into town. The Maelstrom was even angrier today.
“It will be better once we reach the trees,” Father yelled.
I tucked my arms close, blinked away the tears raised by the stinging wind, and gritted my teeth. Finally, the groaning forest closed around us. As we passed deeper into the trees, I couldn’t help but glance nervously at the swaying giants. Pinecones pelted the road, occasionally smacking a horse or rider. But at least the wind lost some bite.
With Father in the lead and Azar trailing behind the group, Avill, Mother, and I rode abreast. A scarf protected Mother’s mouth and nose, moving over her lips when she turned to us and spoke. “When I gave you the Wind’s Gift, I never expected you’d to grow so strong.” Crows’ feet appeared in the corners of her eyes.
Avill, clinging to the pommel of her saddle nervously, nodded. “You were a good teacher.”
“But you’re far more talented than I ever was. I never imagined someone could use the pendant to carry another person on the wind. If I had known it was possible, I would have used it to free us both from Havialo’s henchmen.”
Avill shrugged. “I guess I never stopped to wonder whether I could do it.”
Her words reminded me of what I’d learned from Nevyn’s daughter. Both Nevyn and I seemed to have powers that didn’t fit within the categories defined by other mages and spiritists. In both our cases, our magic had surfaced before a teacher had a chance to suggest which type of power we might have. Avill had flown away to the Wildsends where she’d learned to master the amulet on her own. And in doing so, she’d discovered abilities that my mother hadn’t believed possible.
Was it true, then? Were human mages limited by the stories told to them by their masters?
“There is another trick,” Mother said, once again smiling beneath her scarf. “I didn’t mention it before because I was so focused on helping you escape. Have you learned to bend the wind?”
Behind us, Azar clucked to her mount to nudge him closer. Her cheeks were bright red from the gale’s scouring. Her eyes shone with hope at my mother’s words.
I nodded. “If you can get this storms-cursed wind off of us, Avill, I’ll tell anyone we meet that you’re the stronger magic user.”
“I wouldn’t stop there,” Avill called over the hiss of the gale. “You should also tell them I’m prettier and far more clever.”
I rolled my eyes. “In seriousness, I’m sure you can do it.” I hesitated, searching for words that encouraged her without mentioning categories or limitations. “It’s got to be easier than carrying around a pod of pregnant whales.”
My mother raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask for clarification.
Avill released one hand from its death grip on the saddle and laid it over her breastbone. I held my breath as she closed her eyes and bowed her head. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened, and then the wind began to slow.
“Yes, keep going!” Azar said.
Avill cocked her head in concentration, but her horse chose that moment to swish her tail, brushing Avill’s thigh. My sister squeaked and slapped her hand back onto the pommel.
“I need a little while first,” she said, voice tight.
It took quite a few tries, but by midday, we rode in blissful stillness. Fifty paces to either side of the road, the trees bent and swayed. But around us, the sun’s warmth clung deliciously. Confused chipmunks stood at the side of the road as we passed. Azar rode with her knee just a hand’s span from Avill’s. She looked almost smitten with my sister.
“Does it tire you?” I asked once I figured Avill had the knack of channeling the gale without too much concentration.
“Not as much is your singing used to,” my sister said with a mischievous smile.
A low branch overhung the road. I stood in my stirrups and plucked a pinecone. I aimed the missile and sent it squarely into the back of my sister’s head.
Azar cast me a glare that could have cut steel.
I shrugged innocently.
Now that Avill seemed secure in the saddle, we nudged our horses to a trot. When Havialo and I had ridden north, it’d taken many days to cover the distance between Bellows and our destination. But my father felt a good pace would see us there with just a couple nights spent out. Occasionally, we were forced to stop while Father hacked the branches from fallen trees so that the mounts could step over the trunks. Before the sun set, we set up camp in the lee of a sheltering hill where Avill could release her control of the wind. We continued through another day and chilly but relatively sheltered night. By evening the next day, we rode out from beneath the horrid gale and drew in sight of Scorlit Post. Or rather, what had been Scorlit Post.
My heart ached at the sight of so many flattened buildings. The road had been largely free of chasms, and those we’d encountered had been narrow enough to step across. But here, a gash as wide as a house split the outpost in two. Just one building still stood, and it leaned heavily to the side. The settlement was deserted.
Shaking his head, my father turned aside before we reached the town’s perimeter.
We set camp at the base of the Cosmal Crease. Once our tents were up and the supplies sorted, Avill sat before the campfire looking far more tired than the previous evening. With the Crease looming behind us, the lightness had vanished from her mood. Once again, I saw the memories of the Lethin reflected in her face.
My parents and Azar watched the flames with similar somber expressions. This was a fool’s quest. We had no plans for confronting the Maelstrom much less the rift at its core. Maybe, in the end, we only wished to look upon our doom.
Futile or not, though, tomorrow would bring the end of our journey south. After eating a dinner of potatoes cooked over the fire, I slipped into the tent and crawled into my bedroll. In my dreams, an army of nightmares surrounded Kostan. I screamed as the dark tide pulled him down.
***
After a couple hours of hiking, we stood in the morning sun on the crest of the Cosmal Crease. A few hundred paces ahead, waves slammed the shore, an erratic pummeling that shook the earth. Father hitched a coil of rope onto his shoulder and shook his head. We’d used the line to navigate difficult sections of the ascent, but looking at the wild currents and froth-crowned waves, we now knew with certainty that the work had been for nothing. Even if we journeyed to one of Guralan’s coastal settlements, we’d never find a boat capable of navigating seas like this. Any vessel that tri
ed would sink under the battering of the first wave.
Did Parveld ever say how far into the Maelstrom the actual rift sat? I asked Lilik. Maybe we’re close enough.
We didn’t speak of it. Far, though.
The Lethin sealed the breach from all the way inside the Icethorns, I said, trying to find a reason to hope.
But they had thousands of mages.
I sighed. Not to mention, they used all three domains of spiritism and sealed it with geognosty.
Regarding that, didn’t Nevyn claim a true seal would use a different kind of magic, anyway? Lilik said.
Yeah… a magic no one believed in. What am I supposed to make of that?
A wave of consternation flowed across our bond. I have no idea.
“So what now?” Father asked. His fists were clenched at his sides, the only outward sign of his frustration with the circumstances.
I stared out at the roiling waves—I should try something before we gave up, but I just didn’t know what. Magic that no one believed in… The Hunger’s devastation seemed unbelievable, but aside from that, I had no ideas. Parveld had spoken a few times of the unification of magic. Had Nevyn’s theory on how to close the breach been similar? I did have abilities from both the Mind and Essence domains, and I’d harnessed Havialo’s geognosty once. If I concentrated, I might be able to add Body magic to my repertoire. Even then, I didn’t know what I’d do with those abilities.
I pulled my aura-sight forward, focusing on the Maelstrom’s currents. A few fish swam in the tainted waters, their auras silvery and quick. No doubt if I watched long enough, I’d glimpse a few Riftspawn. The monsters had been washing up on Numintown’s shores for years, long before the Hunger began to tear at the continent in earnest. Like a shadow glimpsed at the edge of my vision, I caught hints of the corruption that pervaded the waters. It was a shapeless thing. Fetid. Hungry.
Cautiously, I extended a thread of aura and brushed the crests of the waves. I imagined slicing through that formless evil. But my spirit tendril slid through the water like a knife through snow. The substance offered only the barest resistance, and in my physical sight, nothing happened.
Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3) Page 29
