I stood up slowly. Jem’s legs shook with the effort. His entire body was weak from lack of use and lack of food. There was nothing edible in his pack, so it was going to have to wait. I eased his throat with a skin of stale water, stretched his taut muscles, and headed toward a tall archway on the other side of the chamber. There were other rooms beyond. I didn’t know how deep in I was, but there had to be a tunnel or an opening somewhere leading up out of the ruins.
Locating an exit wasn’t necessary, of course. I’d found my father’s hideout. I’d seen enough for Lirih to make a door. Yet, I couldn’t come here without taking a peek at a world few living Shinree had ever seen.
The cavern was huge. My father’s fires, fashioned every so often, lit the way as I walked alongside an old stone road. I passed homes half submerged in the dirt, eroded debris-filled pools, limbless sculptures, toppled shops, and a broken down citadel. Most everything looked seconds from collapsing. A few constructions appeared intact and sturdy enough to go inside. The thought came to me that I might find a library or record hall. Jillyan clearly hadn’t dug this far down. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of artifacts and scrolls waiting to be found. If only I had more time…
After a good twenty minutes of wandering, I came to a chamber that was different than the rest. Green with vegetation and flooded in sunlight; there was not a single ruin or piece of debris in sight. This was how they got in, I thought, feeling the tool marks cut into the stone entryway. Mounds of excess dirt and rock were still piled off to the side. The high walls of the room were riddled with cavities. Water poured out from many of them. The cold streams plunged down, filling several large pools and splashing out to flood the ground beneath my boots.
It was similar to the grotto in Kael. With the exception of the abundance of water, the much smaller hole in the ceiling, and the thick, sturdy rope dangling over the lip of the hole all the way to the floor.
It was one hell of a long climb. My father’s body wasn’t in shape for it. But there was a curious clamor coming from up above. It was loud enough to rival the thunder of the waterfalls. I had to know what was causing it.
I looked at the stones sewn into the cuffs of Jem’s sleeves. All he had for energy was carnelian. It wasn’t the best fit. Carnelian didn’t merely increase stamina, it increased appetite as well. And my father was already famished. My other option was to reach out for other stones. There had to be all manner of them buried in the sand. But I had no idea what channeling an abundance of magic through his altered body might be like, or if it would alert him to my presence. So I used what I had and woke the deep orange-red stone on my father’s shirt.
Pulling a little of the aura inside him, I made my request. The magic burst out and energy bled through his body. Pleasure followed. Overwhelming hunger was on its heels. Ignoring it, I stepped away from the circle of dry, brittle leaves and cracked ground my spell created, and went for the rope.
The functioning of Jem’s hands was unfamiliar to me. Sadly, I thought of Jarryd as I wrestled for a comfortable, solid, grip. Sustaining it was equally tricky. I was grateful the rope was knotted, giving me places to pause and adjust my hold.
As I went higher, climbing above the falls, the noise increased. It rose to the level of deafening as I reached the top and hauled myself out into blazing sunshine. I lay a moment then, on the ground beside the hole, taking a second to catch my breath and shake out his hands. They were sore. Blisters were forming. His thick skin made the discomfort less than it would have been for me. His eyes, on the other hand, hurt. They didn’t like the vibrant, clear blue sky one bit. It made me wonder if Jem was starting to adopt the eldring’s nocturnal vision.
Blinking against the pain, I lifted my head. Haze blurred the horizon. Swirls of dust, roused by an uncomfortably warm wind, danced in circles about the dry, rocky summit. A few stunted bushes dotted the landscape. Otherwise, my current angle showed little but mountains and sand.
Getting to my knees, I stood—then instantly ducked back down. Likely, the figure of Jem Reth, perched high on the ridge (gazing out at the vast, unearthed plains that were once the sprawling lands of the great Shinree Empire) wouldn’t have drawn any undue attention. Still, I felt seriously exposed before the thousands of people filling the landscape below. Soldiers made up the bulk of the crowd. Armored men and women, including an unsettling number of Shinree, stood in perfect rows. Mixed among them were packs of eldring and the entirety of both armies that died at my hands during the war. I’d thought, after disturbing their slumber to capture me, Jem would have let the resurrected go. But here they all were, trying to join in the chant with their moldy jaws hanging half off their dented skulls.
Every single mouth was shouting the same word, over and over: Reth.
Disturbed, I looked closer at the throng. Some were in civilian dress, but the bulk of them were soldiers. All of them were spelled. They had to be. Why else would they allow my father, a Shinree, to command them? If such a large force of compelled soldiers joined Draken’s army, Mirra’kelan didn’t have a chance. Neither did any other land.
I studied the terrain. It wasn’t an empty desert anymore. Neither was it an excavation site. It was the beginnings of a large city enclosed by an immense wall of dark stone. Stretching far and wide, the wall surrounded a vast area filled with dozens of structures in various stages of construction. It was a year’s worth of work, at least. It would have been an amazing accomplishment if my father was building the city for his people, and not his own pride.
I reached out to the black wall, but it had no discernable vibration. Hornblende.
Jem must have learned the trick with water, too, because a moat, twenty feet wide, followed the path of the wall. Standing in it would allow him to cast safely from inside. While any spells cast outside, with nothing but dirt and sand for miles, would be twisted.
There was a tremendous amount of the vile stone.
Jem’s body isn’t that far away. How did the hornblende not affect him?
I thought of the water in the room below and all that I couldn’t see, flowing through the mountain. Maybe I don’t need to be submerged to cast safely, just surrounded. That could be helpful. Yet, as I stared down at the moat, I knew none of the water should be here. The catastrophe I created when I ended the war with the Crown of Stones had left the entire area parched and lifeless. Either this was where Sienn was putting the water she drained from the swamp—hiding it in the mountains, creating underground streams that we could access later—or Jem had stolen it from somewhere else. Or, I thought worriedly, he changed something.
Whatever the culprit, my father had managed to hide his project from the rest of us. He’d given birth to a new Shinree Empire. His empire. I wondered if it had a name.
Scampering back to the edge of the hole, I slid down the rope. I didn’t stop. I didn’t glance at the failed, dusty grandeur of my people’s history. I ran all the way to the room where I woke up and fled his ruined body as fast as I could.
FORTY FIVE
“Malaq!” Shouting as I ran, I stopped an Arullan woman outside her tent. “Have you seen Malaq?” Engulfed in a cloud of smoke billowing up from the pipe in her hand, she gave me a lopsided frown. I finally got a head shake out of her and I jogged on.
It was more of a fast hobble. Not willing to risk repairing the holes in my stomach with magic (and not wanting to waste time being put under by a spell) I’d stitched the wounds myself. The punctures were small. Nothing vital had been hit. But it had only been a couple of days, and by the time I reached Krillos’ tent, I was aching.
Barging in, I panted, “Where’s Malaq?” The light was dim. I barely saw the mug he threw at me in time to dodge it. “Hey!” I hollered.
“Out!” he hollered back.
“I need Malaq,” I insisted.
It wasn’t until Krillos picked himself up from the floor that I spied Kit sitting on the grass with a cup of wine in her grip and a blush on her face. He stepped in front of her
and waved his one hand angrily about the tent. “Do you see him?”
I looked around.
“Troy!” Krillos shouted.
“All right, I’m going. Any idea, though? It’s important.”
Krillos sighed. “Try the healer’s tent.” He nodded at the hand I had pressed to my stomach. “Still being a pigheaded bastard, I see?”
“Yep. And I see you’re still pretending to be a gentleman.”
“Get outta here,” he growled.
I closed the flap on Kit’s laugh and headed for the other side of the camp. The thoroughfares were busy. Everyone I passed nodded and smiled. Some even offered a friendly greeting. Since the circumstances behind Liel’s death became known, I’d noticed a change in the refugees. Their wariness of me had not only waned, it had developed into something akin to approval. Possibly, my own attitude had something to do with it. Despite my scars, and the unwanted magic living in me, I was optimistic. Jarryd was improving. I had the crown. I had a daughter; a revelation that filled me with equal parts curiosity and terror. Lirih and I hadn’t seen each other much, but I planned to rectify that when things calmed down.
What gave me the most hope was that in all the time I’d been here, I’d still seen no sign of discord. A refugee camp, emerging from little more than necessity and fear, had evolved into a full-size community with diverse inhabitants, many of which had been sworn enemies for decades. The idea was so implausible it all but validated Jarryd’s skepticism. But he’s wrong, I thought. This can exist out there.
Entering the healer’s tent, I spotted Malaq right away. He was at a table near the back wall, talking quietly with Jarryd. A bottle sat between them. Malaq laughed, and I flashed back to the long ago trek the three of us made together from Kael. It was a terrible time for me. My father’s dream spell had taken a fierce hold. I’d worried daily over keeping them alive. Yet there were moments of camaraderie and laughter that interrupted the chaos; meaningless, lighthearted conversations that didn’t involve deciding the fate of the realms.
Back then there had been no permanent lines of responsibility and tension on Malaq’s face. No torment in Jarryd’s eyes. Malaq had been focused on his pursuit of Langor’s throne. Jarryd had been determined to free Rella. Two years later, they were still fighting for those same goals.
But they aren’t the same men.
Malaq left the table. He approached me quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Noticing a hint of anxiety about him, I asked, “What is it?”
Malaq’s tone was hushed. “I haven’t told Jarryd about Neela. He has no idea she’s locked up, or that she’s been spelled. He’s doing better. I don’t want to set him back.”
“Then don’t lie to him. He’s going to hear about it eventually. If nothing else, he’ll know when the Kayn’l wears off and our connection returns. He’ll know about Elayna, too. I’m guessing you haven’t told him about her, either.”
“I don’t know if he’s ready for that.”
“He’s not? Or you’re not?”
Malaq stiffened. “I don’t love Elayna Arcana. If I could dissolve our marriage without repercussions I would. But I don’t take a vow lightly. As long as Elayna is my wife I will care for her and our child as much as I am able.”
“Your—” I lowered my voice. “Your child? When the hell did that happen?”
“The babe was born shortly after we were wed. He bears my name. But the boy…” Malaq glanced back at Jarryd. “He isn’t mine.”
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed. “Did Jarryd even know Elayna was pregnant?”
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t mentioned her. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t.”
I followed Malaq back to the table. He pulled up a chair for me. Jarryd glanced up, and he looked significantly more aware than the last time I’d seen him. I put a brief hand on his bony shoulder as I took my seat. “We have a problem.”
“Just one?” Jarryd flashed his crooked grinned.
I grinned back; the expression was refreshing. “I found my father’s body. And he’s been real busy.”
“As we expected,” Malaq said. “Where?”
“Out west in the ruins. Draken may have called off the excavation of the old empire, but Jem has made unbelievable headway. He’s found an intact portion of the city underground, inside the mountains. Roads, buildings, statues. Some of the structures are huge. It’s like the ground gave way and swallowed the streets whole. It was incredible.”
“Sounds like it.” There was something in his eyes. “How was it? Being him?”
Malaq knew me too well. “I considered suicide.”
“I thought you might. I imagine you’ve been considering a lot of things lately with all your trips to the past.”
“I suppose.” I grabbed an extra mug on the stand behind me. “So what do you think, then? Go back? Do things different?” Filling my mug from their bottle, I glanced at Malaq. “Would you, if the choice was yours? Would you wipe this all out, all that’s happened since the war? A lot of people might thank you for it.”
Malaq leaned back, tipping his chair. “If such a thing could be achieved then why hasn’t it been done? Why hasn’t one of your kind gone back and destroyed the formula for Kayn’l? All it would take is a few, simple tweaks and the Shinree are still in charge.”
“Maybe no one’s thought of it. Could be, no matter what, the outcome would always be the same. I’m sure Fate wouldn’t take kindly to our meddling, anyway.”
“More likely,” Jarryd spoke up, “no one’s been bold enough to try.”
“Well, if you’re looking for permission to be bold,” Malaq said, “you won’t get it from me. No one should have that much responsibility, or that much power.”
I frowned into my mug as I drank; wondering when I stopped feeling the same way. When my father carried the full weight of the Crown of Stones inside him, plotting to mold the future to his design, I’d called him a monster. Now the crown was in me. So was the temptation. The burden of knowing your capabilities were being held back by nothing but conscience. The realization that the rules of men felt flimsy when breaking them was for their own good. “It might not seem so clear cut if you’d seen the scope of what he’s doing, the city he’s building.” I looked Malaq straight in the eyes. “The force he’s gathered.”
“I have scouts in the area, Ian. There’s no city. And there’s certainly no army.”
“Just like there’s not a huge camp of refugees in the middle of the swamp?”
He acknowledged my jab with an unhappy nod. “We continue with the plan. If Jem’s followers are spelled, his death might alleviate their urge to attack.”
“Possibly,” I conceded. “But if the working is strong enough, the persuasion might live on without him.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” Jarryd put in. “Your father isn’t training his soldiers to fight for Draken. He’s sending them after Draken. Why else would Jem cut himself off? Building numbers in secret, isolated from his only ally?”
Malaq and I looked at each other. “My father did vow Langor would one day cower at his feet,” I said. “And Draken himself implied they were at odds.”
“Son of a bitch,” Malaq hissed.
“Let it happen,” Jarryd said. “Let them tear each other apart.”
“I have missed your way of thinking, my friend,” I said honestly. “You see through the gray better than most. But we can’t let Jem and Draken war with such numbers. Mirra’kelan would never survive.”
“It’s barely surviving now,” Jarryd argued. “Stuck in this damn tent, day and night, listening to these people talk. I know what’s going on, Ian. Rella and Kael may be Langorian territories, but there’s no equality out there. There’s barely tolerance. Draken’s men still terrorize the cities and villages. Bodies fall with every eldring sighting. People are starving and afraid. If we let the bastards feed on each other for once, there may be more civilian casualties, but a good number of them will
die anyway if Draken’s reign continues. And if he fights Jem, then both military forces will be depleted. We’ll also have one less mad man to deal with when it’s over.”
Saying nothing, I took a drink. Jarryd wasn’t ready to be reasoned with. The clarity he’d regained was encouraging, but prison had dangerously amplified his yearning for vengeance. It was going to take more than a few persuasive words to even him out.
“This isn’t a decision that needs to be made now,” Malaq broke in. “We don’t even know what Reth’s plan truly is. And there are other concerns.” Draining his mug, he sat it down. He stared at the cup in silence a while; spinning it, wearing a vacant gaze that fooled neither of us. “After your debacle in Langor, Ian,” he said, at last speaking his mind, “Draken called me home for questioning.” Malaq spun his mug a couple more times. “He was very interested in how much I knew of your escape from prison, and of Liel’s involvement in your breach of Darkhorne.”
Knowing how Draken questions people, I looked him over. “Are you all right?”
“It was nothing Sienn couldn’t fix.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“It was bound to happen sooner or later. Frankly, I’m surprised I’ve escaped my brother’s scrutiny this long.”
“Obviously, he let you go. So what happened?”
“Unpleasant things, I assure you. Considering Krillos was spotted with Jarryd in Langor. And there’s a rumor that you and Jillyan were together in Kael.”
“Damn,” I breathed.
“In the end I managed to maintain my innocence. Draken believes me simply too trusting. That I put too much faith in those I employ. He claimed my affection for our sister, my desire to reclaim the family I was denied, blinded me to her treachery. Draken also determined the Rellan blood in my veins has flawed me beyond measure. My defects are inherited and, therefore, irreversible. Consequently, he’s been forced to reevaluate my ability to rule.”
Pouring more wine in my mug, I glanced at him. “Meaning?”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 38
