by Lucy Hounsom
General Hagdon greeted them with a stiff inclination of the head. ‘The circumstances have changed somewhat since I saw you last,’ he said. His voice was husky, roughened perhaps by years of shouted orders. ‘I am General James Hagdon of the Sartyan Fist.’
‘My name is Kyndra Vale,’ she said and for a moment it seemed as if all this were some bizarre dream. She surely couldn’t be here, in Acre, talking to the general of the greatest army history had ever seen. She’d barely had time to rehearse what she wanted to say. ‘These are my companions, Nediah, Irilin, Kait and Medavle.’ She paused. ‘We know why you’re here.’
If Hagdon was surprised to hear her do the talking, he didn’t show it. His expression remained perfectly neutral, as he studied each of her friends in turn. His gaze lingered on Irilin, who returned it inimically. Hagdon’s cheek still bore the scratches left by the young woman’s nails.
‘You claim to come from Rairam,’ he said.
‘Is it the truth?’ ‘It is,’ Nediah answered. ‘We wouldn’t have been so forthright with the villager if we’d known it would land us in chains.’
Hagdon’s mouth twitched, just briefly. ‘It’s no surprise that the Defiant chose to shelter Wielders. They make it their business to keep as many aberrations out of Parakat as possible.’
‘And that’s a bad thing?’ Irilin said.
Kyndra had tensed at his mention of Wielders. ‘The only people who knew the truth were Ségin and those he most trusted,’ she said. ‘How do you know?’
‘Sartya’s arm is long,’ a woman behind Hagdon said. She wore the same greathawk pauldrons as Iresonté: stealth force, then. ‘Few things are hidden from us.’
‘Except for Khronosta,’ Medavle said.
It was as if he’d spat at their feet. Faces darkened and Kyndra silently cursed the Yadin. They were already on perilous ground. It still looked as if they were allied with the Defiant; the last thing they needed was for General Hagdon to believe they were also involved with Sartya’s greatest enemy.
‘How do you—?’ the woman began, but stopped at a look from Hagdon.
‘Ségin has clearly filled you in,’ he said in a mild tone that raised the hairs on Kyndra’s neck. Here was a man who felt entirely unthreatened, and she realized she was being allowed to talk on sufferance only. Everything from his posture to his choice of words told Kyndra that all he had to do was give the order and they’d be overpowered, trussed up and shipped to the emperor as gifts. That arrogance made her angry. It also made her feel small and terribly unprepared.
‘The Defiant are gone,’ Nediah said. ‘Ségin’s not foolish enough to think he can win this fight. You wanted us and we’re here, as requested.’
‘You cleared the blocked passage, then,’ Hagdon said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Impressive. I was informed it was quite substantial.’
Kyndra stared at him. ‘You … you knew about the cave-in. Did you arrange it?’
‘Our little agent’s quite resourceful,’ the woman from the stealth force said. ‘He’s been doing our work for some time. Without your interference, Ségin would be holed up like the rat he is, nowhere to go but through us.’
‘Only someone with Wielder abilities could have brought down that much rock,’ Kait said shrewdly. She paused. ‘It’s a shame Tava disappeared so suddenly or we might have asked him.’
‘Captain Iresonté casts her net wide,’ the woman answered.
Tava … Surely that wasn’t right. Kyndra felt sick at the thought. He and his sister hated Sartya. Soldiers had killed their parents, carted them off to a life of servitude. How could someone like Tava agree to work for the people who’d taken so much from him? Unless he’d had no choice.
‘The Davaratch desires your presence in New Sartya,’ General Hagdon said. ‘With or without your consent.’
‘I won’t go before your emperor in chains,’ Kyndra replied, her heart beginning to race. ‘None of us will. We came to seek a truce, to broker peace for Rairam.’
There was silence. Then one of the officers began to laugh. ‘Peace?’ he repeated. ‘You think to broker peace? Your land is once again free for the taking. The Davaratch will stop at nothing to succeed where every emperor before him has failed. He will be the man who finally brings Rairam under the banner of Sartya.’
General Hagdon did not laugh. His expression was sober, almost sad, but he didn’t refute the argument. Kyndra stared at the officer who’d mocked her, wondering whether she had her answer. Was a truce with Sartya so utterly unrealistic? Had she been a fool for even trying to make overtures?
The mood was changing. Hands were edging towards hilts, feet were shifting for better purchase on the rocky ground. Kyndra darted a look at Irilin and Medavle. She had no doubt that they’d take out dozens of soldiers before they tired, but Hagdon had thousands. She’d seen them stretching back to the plain. If they fought, they’d be overwhelmed. If they didn’t fight, they’d be captured. Kyndra wasn’t sure what Sartyans did to restrain aberrations … unless they had those like Tava working for them.
It left her one option, but the thought of using her power to kill again horrified her. ‘Don’t do this, General,’ she said. ‘If you think there’s no chance of compromise, at least allow us to go free.’
‘I am under orders,’ Hagdon said.
‘As am I,’ she replied, thinking of Brégenne, of Naris and Mariar and the responsibility she had to them all. ‘I can’t allow you to capture me or my friends.’
Perhaps Hagdon heard the threat buried in her words because he hesitated, his eyes sweeping her face. And in that moment of uncertainty, before either of them had a chance to speak further, the air hummed and something white sped past her ear, so close that Kyndra felt the wind of its passage. The crossbow bolt struck Hagdon in the shoulder, missing his neck by inches. It punched through the red plate he wore and hurled him to the ground.
Kyndra and the Sartyans stared at the fallen general and then at each other. Kyndra read the intent in their faces, watched as they unsheathed weapons. ‘No!’ she cried, backing up a few steps. But the sight of Hagdon on the ground was like a spark to tinder and it roared back through the ranks of his army. The general moved feebly; he was still alive, though no doubt gravely injured and a dozen soldiers shielded him while their fellows bore him to safety.
It all happened in the space of a few heartbeats. Kyndra looked behind her and saw a shadow crouched on a low ledge. Metal glinted in moonlight: a weapon held in both hands. Another whistle and a second bolt hit the officer who’d laughed before he’d even fully drawn his blade. It was a good shot, taking him right through the eye. He toppled to earth and his comrades leapt over him, advancing on Kyndra’s group.
More bolts flew from the darkness and more Sartyans fell, but then there came a cry from the ledge and a clatter as the would-be assassin dropped his weapon. Kyndra’s group was surrounded now, though the Sartyans simply held them at sword-point. Another two dragged the figure into the light of the torches and Kyndra saw Tava, his face bloodless, hands clamped around the arrow embedded in his thigh.
‘Shown your true colours, aberration,’ the woman with the greathawks said, as he was dumped at her feet. ‘Captain Iresonté will be disappointed. Especially after such sterling work.’
‘I won’t … I won’t be your puppet any more,’ Tava said through clenched teeth. ‘Ségin is a good man, a better man.’ He twisted round to look at Kyndra’s group. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and Kyndra thought he spoke to Nediah. ‘I’m sorry.’
Nediah shook his head, his face pained and unable to speak.
‘What Ségin does to inspire such loyalty, I’ll never know,’ the woman said and she casually slit Tava’s throat.
For just a moment, the boy looked as shocked as Kyndra felt. Then the thin red line on his skin gaped open and blood spurted from the wound. Tava choked and spasmed, his blood pooling on the bare rock, running in rivulets into its dips and troughs.
‘Take them,’ the woman said.
/> It was different this time. Need drove her. There was no tentative feeling her way into the void, no calling out, no waiting to be granted power. As Tava’s blood reached the rock on which Kyndra stood, flowing around her boots, she knew she had no time to summon Sigel; she had to be Sigel.
With that she was the star, a thing of terrible heat and force and light, unfeeling, uncompromising, resolute. Her body was gone, her flesh consumed instantly. She became it and threw out searing hands that retained their human shape only through long familiarity.
‘Stand your ground, men,’ one of the humans screamed – the female who’d killed the boy. ‘You’ve seen aberration illusions before.’ Her lips peeled back to show her teeth and Sigel saw itself reflected in her burnished armour: a figure of white heat with eyes as soulless and dark as the void. The human wielded a dagger in each fist, as if ordinary metal could stand to be thrust into the heart of a star. She attacked anyway, driving her blade into Sigel’s neck, as if hoping to find flesh beneath the flames. When the dagger melted without meeting resistance and ran in molten streams over her gauntlet, her eyes widened and she flung herself back, but Sigel caught her by the throat and squeezed until her face blistered and burned.
Throwing her corpse aside, it seized the nearest Sartyans and incinerated them. The plate armour they wore was hardly less frail than their bodies, which crisped to nothing. Others came – foolishly – and Sigel destroyed those too, flames dripping from its arms.
A shout went up, as the humans began to retreat. Sigel gestured and the earth cracked at its command, opening a trench several metres wide. Another gesture and fire roared out of the chasm, climbing high over its lip. At least a hundred soldiers skidded to a halt, caught on this side of it, and Sigel set about them, revelling in the destruction, the clean chaos of death.
A growling reached it, even over the spit and crackle of fire. A moment later, a flaming boulder flew across the trench and struck Sigel in the chest. It was like tossing a white-hot coal into a sun. Other missiles came and the star absorbed them all until, with a wave of its hand, the trench-fire sank down to reveal the glowing siege engines on the other side. Little manipulations of metal, full of an unusual, blue energy, whose origin was not the sky. A volatile energy. Sigel heated them further until they exploded, catching the humans in the blast. Screams rose to join the fire’s roar and the groans of shifting rock.
No more attacks. No more missiles. Already the humans were fleeing the field. But why stop now, Sigel thought. These soldiers would live to kill another day. Others would fight them and death would scythe through them all. If mortals desired an end to life, let them have it now.
Sigel lifted both arms and thrust them out, dragging up the ground into a wave. It towered higher and higher, rock dripping like foam from the crest, the soldiers beneath it mice under the shadow of a predator’s wing. With a roar, the wave of earth crashed down, throwing up stone and tree and bodies.
It wasn’t enough. This world was so fragile, it begged to be broken, so that all could return to the void. Sigel would burn the oceans, wither the forests, rip the mountains up by their roots. The earth was temporary, useless. Only the void was eternal. Nothing else had any meaning.
All will be ash. All will be ended.
As Sigel gathered its strength, a voice shouted and it looked down. Humans, hidden behind a Lunar shield. That its feeble sibling had power enough to shield them was surprising – reflected power too, for the moon still shone. One human edged forward, a male that Sigel recognized, an ally from another time.
‘Kyndra, stop! Please listen to me.’
The man’s companions were backing away. One, a female, tried to pull him away too, but the man shook her off and continued to call that name Sigel recognized: Kyndra.
But Kyndra wasn’t its name, merely an avatar, an empty mortal shell it had once inhabited.
Something trembled within Sigel then, something that fought with all her tiny might. For a moment they were two, not one, and then she was one and she was pulling her atoms out of Sigel, reforming them into skin and blood and bone, until she stood naked and human once more.
Her eyes full of the devastation she had wrought, Kyndra took one faltering step towards Nediah. And then her legs crumpled beneath her and she fell.
PART TWO
15
Market Primus, Rairam
Brégenne
Brégenne,
I don’t know how long it will take this to reach you, but the Council knows of your absence and they’ve dispatched Wielders to bring you in. Veeta and Gend wish to keep your disappearance hidden, but I was one of those called to the meeting and it is commonly believed that you will be in Market Primus. If that is where this envoi finds you, get out while you can. They sent Barrar and Elois and two Solars – Yve and Magnus. If they catch you during the daytime when you’ve only Gareth to rely on, you would be wise to give yourself up. I urge you to reconsider your position. Send me word.
Your friend,
Alandred.
The envoi was dated almost two weeks ago and Brégenne cursed as she tried to work out how close the Wielders were behind her.
‘From Alandred,’ she said to Gareth, who was watching curiously. ‘Veeta and Gend have sent some Wielders to track me down.’
His eyes widened. ‘What? How many?’
‘Four – two Solars, two Lunars. I get the impression we’ll be dragged back to Naris in chains.’
‘That’s only a couple at a time. We can take them.’ Gareth gave her a grin and she stared at him, perturbed by its sharp edge.
‘These are full masters, Gareth. If they find me in daylight …’ She gestured to the knife in her belt. ‘I have no idea how to use this. Even if I did, how would I fight off two Solar Wielders?’
‘You forget – you’ve got me.’ Gareth raised his arm. ‘And this.’ Where normal metal would glint in the rising sun, the gauntlet seemed to absorb the light and Gareth hastily slipped his glove back on, hiding it from view.
They’d stopped at the well-to-do town of Penion, not far from the capital, but found it in ruins, its streets clogged with debris. A few people sorted listlessly through the rubble of their homes, searching for anything of use. Although Kierik’s death had ended the Breaking forever, it could not reverse the destruction the terrible storm had wrought. Brégenne had made their stop a brief one, unwilling to venture further into the town. They and their horses drew a few greedy-eyed gazes, but most of the displaced people had already left for the capital, hoping to find shelter behind its walls.
Now she frowned as they rode on, leaving the town behind. ‘We don’t know the extent of the gauntlet’s power. It might be dangerous.’
‘I don’t think I’m a match for masters without it,’ Gareth admitted. ‘Maybe they’ll come at us in the night and you can fight them off.’
‘They’d be foolish to do that and you’ve a great deal of confidence in my abilities. I haven’t been in many fights.’
‘I saw you that morning in the atrium,’ Gareth replied, ‘when you stopped the creature from killing Kyndra.’
‘That was a defensive ward,’ Brégenne said, remembering the effort it had cost her to keep the Executis at bay. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘But you could use it to stop them while we escape.’
She was silent. Gareth was right – the last thing she wanted to do was harm her fellow Wielders when all hands might be needed to repel an invasion from Acre. Damn Nediah! Why hadn’t he sent another envoi? She had to know what was going on. Anxiety squeezed her insides. What if something had happened to him – what if the six of them had been captured and separated?
No. Brégenne stopped the fear before it could run away with her. She needed to concentrate on the matter at hand. If Wielders were coming, she had to complete her business in the capital and get out quickly.
They reached Market Primus that afternoon, where signs of the Breaking were readily apparent. The city walls were cracked, their c
renellated tops sliced off as if by a great knife. Gareth’s eyes were wide as they approached and even Brégenne was shocked at the violence levelled at the city. The main gates were closed, their ivy stripped away. She could see the scuff marks where they had been forced over the cobbles. A few bleak-faced people were camped outside and one man looked at her beseechingly, a child curled up at his side, pinched and weary with hunger.
‘State your business,’ a voice called from above. Brégenne tore her eyes away from the child and looked up to see a guard perched on a makeshift lookout.
‘There are people at your gates,’ she called back. ‘Why won’t you let them in?’
‘City’s full.’ An older guard joined the first. ‘There isn’t room.’
‘You can’t leave them here without shelter or food – they’re starving.’
‘They can starve just as well out there as in here, lady. There isn’t any food to be had.’
Gareth wore a strange expression as he looked at the people slumped against the gates. Without taking his eyes off them, he reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the last of their bread. Before Brégenne could say anything, he’d slipped from Rain’s back, divided the loaf into pieces and begun handing it out to the twenty or so refugees, making sure the children had food first. Wide-eyed, they snatched at it hungrily.
‘Why has the Trade Assembly recalled the airships?’ Brégenne shouted up at the guards. ‘Surely they are the fastest means of bringing food and supplies to the city?’
The young guard opened his mouth to reply, but his colleague shot him a hard glance and he closed it. ‘What the Assembly does is their business,’ he said stolidly. ‘But you and your generous friend are another matter. State your names and purpose here.’
‘I am Brégenne of Naris and this is Gareth. We seek an audience with the Assembly.’
