Reaver's Wail (The Legion of the Wind, Book One)

by Corey Pemberton

  “Where?” Argus asked. “Where is it?” His face flushed. If the woman was telling the truth, his childhood fantasies—the few that the responsibilities of adulthood hadn't snuffed out—might be fulfilled. There was magic on the Cradle of Eld. Not just the powder versions. Real magic that he could learn and, if the gods were good, master.

  Willow shook her head. “I'll take you there myself.” She eyed the others. “I'll take all of you, if you so wish. But only if you'll agree to kill the Calladonian emperor.”

  They answered with a mixture of curses and laughter.

  “I had my suspicions you were unwell,” said Harun, “and now I know for certain.”

  “All I want is a nice life for myself,” Brenn said. “To bed beautiful women and enjoy fine ale and crush my enemies in battle. If killing the emperor is the price to see the Cradle, I'd rather keep it where it belongs—in a children's tale.”

  Willow whirled. She got up, glaring, and the fire swelled behind her. “Is that all you want, Brenn? Truly? To live no better than a common criminal?”

  He shrugged. “Who are you to say how I should live?”

  “Such a small life! Such a modest, miserable life for a descendant of Setep himself.”

  The Nalavacian's eyes widened.

  “You still worship the gods of Eld?”

  “Aye.”

  “We are family, you and I. Distant cousins. I felt the war god in your veins when we touched you the first time. While your ancestors fled the Kingdom of Eld before the fall and made for the frozen north, mine chose the Cradle. But we are blood kin all the same.”

  Brenn said nothing. He sat on a log with his hands folded across his chest, and in his eyes burned something Argus had never seen: fear.

  “Deny it if you will,” Willow said. “Touch my hand and feel inside me. You know it's true.”

  Brenn reached out and grabbed her slender hand. He held it for a long time, quivering like a defiant child before his mother's switch, until she said, “Close your eyes, Brenn. See what lies in your blood.”

  He did as she'd asked. A moment later he cried out and tried to jerk his hand away, but Willow held him tight. Brenn groaned and laughed and wept until she finally let go of his hand and said, “Open your eyes.”

  “I saw them!” he cried, rising to his feet. “I saw them all. My mother and father and their mothers and fathers, all those who came before them… until a dark-haired lass who laid with Setep himself.”

  “Greatness lies in you,” Willow said, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Your tribe abandoned you because they didn't understand who you really are. Help kill the emperor, and I'll show them what you just saw. I'll make them understand.”

  He shook his head. “I… I don't understand any of this.”

  “The Blight—the endless violence and decay that comes with it—is all we've known. If it's ever going to end, our only choice is to stop the man who lusts to rule the world. The knowledge in the Cradle empowers every man, woman, and child. Even the lowliest beggar can learn to heal themselves and protect themselves and turn fallow lands fertile. Though it will take time for Eld's knowledge to spread—time we won't have if the emperor finds the Cradle.”

  “Why would he destroy it?” asked Nasira.

  “With knowledge comes enlightenment. And with enlightenment comes the desire for peace. Emperor Eamon can't have that seed planted in people's minds. Not when war and death are all they've ever known.”

  “That's not all we know on the Comet Tail Isles,” said Nasira. “There, we value ingenuity and learning and—”

  “Spare me.” Willow's mouth twisted into a wicked smile. “And I suppose scientific advancement explains why you risked your life and traveled halfway across the world just to let everyone know about the first artificer.

  “Her claim is illegitimate! She shouldn't have a say whether my people go to war.”

  “And you wouldn't have felt any differently if you weren't the thirteenth artificer in line? Even if you didn't have the potential of slipping into one of the ruling twelve after a new test at the Ashrun deems you worthy?”

  Nasira's face paled. “I… that has nothing to…” She looked into the dying fire.

  “I don't fault your ambition,” Willow said. “But don't pretend you've done all this out of the goodness of your heart. You'd make a fine ruler. Yet an election won't happen without breaking the bond between the first artificer and the flamewalkers—a bond that the emperor himself has encouraged through generous donations in the first artificer's name. No. He'll never allow it as long as he still lives. Even if a new election is announced and you return to the Comet Tail Isles in good faith, your old friend will arrest you and execute you the moment you step foot ashore.”

  Nasira's eyes brimmed with tears. She looked little older than a girl then, hugging herself in front of the fire. “I've been studying hard,” she said. “Ever since I earned my hammer in the last election ten years ago. I will be in the ruling twelve. By the eternal flame, I'll be first artificer and we'll never go to war again!”

  Willow walked over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I have no doubt. Help me kill the emperor, and you'll have that opportunity.”

  Harun shook the tobacco ash out of his pipe and said, “You impress me with your powers and your stories, woman. But to ask me to kill the emperor? This is something I cannot do.”

  “Where will you go, then? This place is destroyed. You can't go back to hunting bounty in Calladon. You helped Nasira get her message to the Eldwhisper, and many will remember your face. The emperor won't stop until you're found. Nor can you return to Tokat. You could wander the rest of your life without outrunning the guilt that hangs about your neck.”

  He sneered at her, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth, but said nothing.

  “I know exactly what you want, Wayra of Tokat.” Willow pointed to the sheets of rain just outside their shelter. “That. You want that for Tokat. Rain, and forgiveness.”

  “Wait,” Argus said. “Why did you call him Wayra?”

  The Tokati lowered his head. “It was the name my mother gave me, though I haven't used it for many years.”

  “You're Wayra?” Siggi asked. “The king for a year who escaped his own execution?”

  Harun—or was it Wayra, now?—nodded. “That's right. I was young and stupid back then. You cannot fault me for fearing death… but little did I know the consequences it would bring.”

  Argus's eyes widened. He'd spent little time in Tokat, but enough to understand the strange way they ruled. Every year, a ruler was chosen by a fleeting sandstorm. The one around which the sand gathered—man or woman, old or young—enjoyed absolute power for a year. Until…

  “I ate the finest foods,” Harun said. “Drank the finest wines with the finest women and the finest clothes. My wishes were Tokat's will. At the end of the year I was supposed to be sacrificed to the sandshades, who roam the desert surrounding our oasis, in accordance with our customs.”

  “Except you escaped,” Siggi said, shaking his head. “Slippery little bastard.”

  “That's right,” said Harun. “Many had tried, but I was the first one to do it. The sandshades were furious that I ruled without paying my debt. There has been a drought these seven years past. Withering the crops, covering the land in dust and despair. I was a great ruler once… but now everyone in Tokat uses my name as a curse.”

  Willow nodded. “You're tired of running, friend. I see the weariness in your eyes. How much longer will you keep running, keep changing your names to escape those who hunt you? Help me do this, and it will rain again in Tokat. Its fields will grow lush and your people will feast.”

  Harun didn't answer. He stared into the fire, the lines across his forehead drawn taut.

  “And you?” said Willow, turning to Siggi. “How much longer will you scour the corners of the world, when the life you seek is waiting for you back home in Rivanna? Therese can be yours, you know. You can have her—and reclaim your pla
ce in the temples.”

  Siggi laughed. “That would be the day. Therese is my brother's mate now. What I had with her slipped away long ago, during my year-long conscription at Blegga's Shield.”

  “It doesn't have to be that way. Everything would have been different if you hadn't been chosen to man the wall. And it still can be.”

  “How can you know such things” asked Siggi. “You can't claim to change the past.”

  “I can,” she said, “and I will. If only you help kill Eamon before it's too late for this world.” She ran a hand through her hair, whose copper luster drew the Rivannan's eyes. “As for knowing what I do, it's just a matter of seeing what you've seen. The branches of magic reflect the five senses: sight and smell, hearing and taste and touch. I can look into your past, friend, and see the branches where things went wrong.”

  “You speak pretty words,” Argus said. “I'll give you that. But if you're as powerful as you seem, why not kill the emperor yourself?”

  Willow offered him a wan smile. “Would that I could. Not even the most powerful sorceress in the world—assuming I am the most powerful sorceress—could kill a man so heavily guarded. You all might be deceivers and scoundrels—”

  “Hey!” said Siggi. “I resent that—”

  “—but you've seen battle. You know the ways of this world. I'll need your weapons and knowledge of the different kingdoms when the time comes.”

  “And then you'll release me from Reaver's grasp.” His lips tingled where she'd kissed them.

  “Yes.” Willow got up and paced around the fire, studying the faces surrounding it. “What say you? You are rulers without crowns, lovers without mates. You are ridden by guilt. Slaves. You could have everything you dream of—if you agree to rid the world of this evil.”

  The fire dwindled while they deliberated. Finally, when the moon had fled and dawn burst through the clouds, they agreed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The rain moved on, and Argus and the others followed.

  After a few hours of early morning looting, they found enough food to take them to the Cradle. Willow told them the journey wasn't long, though she refused to offer any more details.

  On the northwest edge of the island, they followed her out into the chilly water and climbed aboard the sailboat she'd hidden. The waves rocked violently, making Argus queasy and threatening to toss them overboard if they weren't careful.

  Once they set sail, Willow told them to hang on. They huddled on the deck as she crept behind the mainsail and chanted in a strange tongue.

  “Elar posta ventus,” she said. “Elar posta ventus.” Louder. Louder and louder until her voice echoed off the nearby cliff faces. “Elar posta ventus!”

  She blew air into the sail through her pursed lips. What began as a gentle rustle soon grew into a mighty gale.

  “Hold on!”

  Her passengers lay flat on the deck and clutched ropes and anchors and whatever else they could find. The boat shot forward, bounding into rougher waters away from the cove.

  Argus turned back and watched the island shrink. He made out a few people dotting the shoreline, who jumped up and down and pointed excitedly toward the sailboat. They kept shrinking until the craft rounded the edge of the cove, heading east, and then disappeared.

  Everyone except for Willow took turns vomiting into the sea. All the while, the pocket of wind she'd created kept the sails full.

  When he had nothing left in his stomach to vomit, Argus looked back. Davos was gone. Vanished beyond the horizon along with the people who'd called it home.

  All my fault for killing Belen instead of Eamon, he thought. My burden to bear…

  The clouds cleared away and the waves settled as the day wore on. Finally they were in a condition to do something besides throw up.

  “Remarkable,” said Siggi, watching the sails.

  Harun reached out over the starboard side. “The wind is completely calm over here. All of it settled in our sails.”

  “I don't like this,” Siggi whispered, so only the members of the Legion of the Wind could hear him. “If this woman can defy nature herself, just imagine what else she can do.”

  “Nothing to fear!” Willow called. “I'm not defying nature. I'm only channeling it to our advantage.”

  Siggi's mouth fell open. He covered the shaven half of his face and stared at the deck.

  “Hearing is one of the five branches of magic,” Argus said. “Remember that.”

  The Rivannan nodded. “I will.”

  They broke bread and sailed on. The sorceress had charted a northeasterly course, but refused to answer any questions about where they were headed.

  Argus swore. There was nothing there for him over that way. Not unless he counted one land where he was exiled and another where he was a fugitive.

  “Come on, Nasira,” he said, tapping his scabbard. “You have a lot to learn yet.”

  He spent the rest of the day teaching her how to move and parry, thrust and slash. Nasira was quick on her feet. Overly technical for Argus's taste, but a fast learner.

  Finally the sun went down.

  The sailboat's rapid clip made it impossible to judge how far they'd gone. It usually took three or four or five days to cross the Pyri Sea between Davos and the eastern continent. But then again, he usually didn't travel with sailors who guided the wind.

  “That's enough for today, Nasira,” he said. “We'll pick up where we left off come morning.”

  She put her sword, a decent falchion they'd picked up in Davos, into the belt around her hip. She thanked him for the lesson and added, “I could teach you archery, you know. I know you have a distaste for bows, but if you need to hunt they can be quite handy in a pinch—”

  “Thanks but no thanks. I'll stick to Reaver.”

  “For now. What about after Willow releases you from its clutches?”

  He cocked his head, considering it. “Hopefully by then I won't have to worry about which weapon I have at my side. I'll be out on a farm in beautiful countryside, away from the schemes of men.”

  Nasira offered a sad smile. “Women can scheme too, you know?”

  “Do I ever.”

  “I hope you get what you're looking for,” she said, in a tone that suggested she didn't believe he would.

  “Likewise. If you pick up ruling a realm as quickly as you do swordplay, you'll do just fine.”

  Nasira smiled, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. A range of emotions played across her face. Amusement and good will. Suspicion and distrust. They fought for dominance until she nodded and left him there alone on the bow.

  Gods, Argus thought. I know that look too well.

  That look belonged to maidens and merchants, soldiers and tailors. The look of someone who knew they couldn't trust him, for that was the sure path to betrayal, but couldn't help but be swept away by his charisma.

  It wasn't worth it, he thought. One dead king… for what?

  His mother was still dead and gone, his sister bound to the son she had borne for Belen. And there he was. Still watching the whitecaps roll by. An exile.

  Argus checked the constellations. They were still heading north by northeast; their path never wavered. He wondered how long they'd keep on before they ran aground on Azmar, or even worse, his island homeland.

  At dawn the next day, he had his answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “What are you doing?” Argus called above the roaring breakers.

  “Hold on!” Willow said, rattling off a series of commands. When the others hesitated, their eyes darting toward the large rocks looming before them, she screamed again until they did as she asked.

  “Stop!” Argus shouted. “Kill the wind—there's still time left to turn back.”

  Willow shook her head. Instead, she took a deep breath and blew on the deck again, filling the sails with another gust.

  They were all yelling at her, though she refused to look at them. Willow kept her focus firmly on the clu
ster of rocks that lay ahead.

  “She's mad,” said Siggi, stumbling on deck and nearly falling overboard. “Absolutely mad!” Water doused them from every direction, stinging their eyes, covering them in seaweed and salt.

  So that's how the bitch will grant me my wish, Argus thought. You can't wish for anything once you're dead.

  As Willow blew yet another fresh breath into the sails, he prayed for it to end quickly. He grabbed the mast with a few others—there was too much water to say whom—and held on for dear life while the vessel pitched over the swells.

  “Hold on!” someone screamed.

  Argus ducked just as a monsoon of water battered the deck. It created a miniature sea there, submerging them, surrounding them with algae and slippery fish. The boat rocked violently starboard. He lost his grip on the mast and tried to swear, but his mouth was filled with seawater.

  Argus shut his eyes and splayed his limbs, tried to hook anything on deck before he was tossed overboard. Not that there was much of a distinction. He felt other frigid limbs crashing into his own. Completely disoriented, he slid across the deck along with the rest of the quivering mass of flesh.

  The sailboat surged to the port side.

  Between the swells, Argus opened his eyes and spotted Willow standing in the stern. While the others lay strewn beside him—they'd been lucky no one went overboard—she planted her feet and somehow stayed upright amid the chaos.

  She didn't see him. The only thing she saw was the way ahead. The wheel spun uselessly beside her, unattended. With both hands held high, she adjusted the sails with rapid breaths.

  It was impossible. Yet Argus watched it happen. Willow steered them through the Shipbreakers, tongue out, eyebrows knit in concentration. The water kept pounding them, though it was less forceful than before.

  They sailed straight for a cluster of rocks.

  Willow opened her mouth and inhaled deeply, and the sails began to deflate. No longer moving at such a rapid pace, they watched the frothy waves carry them toward the center of the rocks.