In the next moment he watched two of the hideous shapes burst through the windows of a nearby house. Glad that he could not see what happened inside, the disturbance got his brain moving forward again.
“All right,” he said, turning to the room. “We’re going now, but not to the Archives. There’s a light near the shrine. We run for it as fast as we can.” Seeing the scared eyes staring back at him, he added, “It’s not far. We’ll make it.”
Henrik opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it again without speaking. He gripped Calla tighter once more, then released her with a wide grin that faded as soon as she looked away, replaced by a look of immeasurable sadness. Then the man met Jak’s eyes and nodded.
In turn, Jak nodded at Riff, who opened the door and led the way out. Calla and Kleo went next, then Kluber behind them. Apparently, the thought of hiding alone in the house no longer appealed. Jak nodded to Henrik as the two of them brought up the rear.
Dozens of bodies filled the streets, with dozens more shadowy shapes moving amongst them, and hundreds in the sunless sky. Jak could only hope they were too busy feeding to bother with the small group running by.
In front, Riff was fast and had nearly reached the circle of light. But the girls were not, and Jak was catching up to them. He slowed down a fraction, preferring to stay behind in case one should stumble. He decided he would let Kluber fall, if it came to that.
Without losing speed, Jak leapt over the pipes—still clutched in lifeless fingers, tightly, as a rich man might cling to his money. There would be no Darleaux, after all. Just as there would be no more music in Everdawn. No more revelry, or happiness.
He could now see the source of the light was not near the shrine—it was the shrine. From inside, the flicker of flames was visible in shadow on the structure’s gray stone, but the light those flames generated went far beyond the ordinary. Something unnatural was at work, that much was certain. He had never particularly believed in the supernatural, so often had he witnessed mundane explanations for miraculous events, but now accepted as obvious that they needed some good magic to counter this calamitous evil.
There was movement all around, coming from even more demons in the street than he expected, and countless more circling above. Far too many, and Jak knew they would not all reach safety.
He saw a blur of wings from the corner of his eyes, then heard a crashing sound followed by a grunt of pain. Jak sped up, grabbing Calla’s hand and pulling her faster, not allowing her to look back.
They reached the perimeter of light, and he continued to tug her toward the shrine itself and whatever sorcerous miracle was happening within. Riff was already inside, the others just behind—Jak and Calla, then Kleo, then Kluber.
The Shrine of Tempus—the benevolent protector to the faithless villagers of Everdawn—was a simple square chamber of stone with the smooth polished statue of a blacksmith in the center. In one hand, the blacksmith wielded a hammer, and in the other a torch. This last blazed with the brightness of a funeral pyre, casting the light of sanctuary on Jak and his companions. At the statue’s feet, Disciple Lukas knelt with head bowed in supplication, his lips repeating an incantation in a language Jak did not understand.
Jak instantly reevaluated the low esteem he had for the stuttering young man. Clearly, the strange piety mocked by so many had now saved their lives. Jak was eager to pass any further decision-making over to this new and unlikely authority.
“Lukas,” he said, relief filling his body. There was no response. The acolyte continued praying, the flow of words increasing in speed and desperation.
“Lukas,” Jak repeated, stepping forward and reaching out to get the young man’s attention. The head turned to look at Jak, the entreaty to his deity finally stopping—but the tears continued to pour down Lukas’ overwhelmed face. He wore a look of strain and defeat as powerful as any Jak had ever seen.
Confused, Jak looked downward to the disciple’s heaving chest, then further to his hands. Or rather, hand. His right clutched a spent torch, now nothing but embers and a wisping trail of smoke. Where the left hand should have been, nothing but a stump remained.
Although there had been no cries, no smell of burnt flesh, the implication was clear. Jak’s astonished stare returned to Lukas’ pleading gaze.
“I don’t know how long I can keep them back,” he said through the tears. Then the head bowed again, and the incantations resumed.
The effort was unmistakable, and it was destroying the young man—in body and spirit. Yet Jak dared not stop him again.
There were stairs behind the statue, leading down to a basement Jak had not known existed. This was their new best hope. He wished they had gone to the Archives, after all. At least that building had a door to barricade. But it was too late to turn back now.
“Where’s Da?” Calla said. She looked around, then at Jak. “He’s not here.” A hint of horrified understanding crept into her tone, then into her face.
Jak shook his head. He went to Calla, intending to put his arms around her, but she pushed him back as she began to cry. Instead, Kleo wrapped her in a sympathetic embrace, shushing her and patting the shaking shoulders.
Feeling helpless and inadequate, Jak focused on the larger picture. “Everyone downstairs,” he said. “Riff, you first. Look for a source of light down there.” The boy nodded and jumped down the stairs three at a time.
“I’ll help him,” Kluber said. He was looking at Jak, seeking permission. Jak nodded. “See if there is anything we can block the stairs with,” he suggested.
He turned to the girls. “Kleo, Calla. We need to keep moving.” Kleo nodded and brushed long strands of Calla’s hair back from wet cheeks, then guided her trembling body down the stairs.
Jak looked at Lukas. The lips moved silently now, the body rocking forward and back nervously. Jak wanted to thank him for what he had done already, even though their lives might not last much longer. The boy deserved better than this end. But Jak did not know what to say, nor did he wish to interrupt the acolyte’s devotions. Instead, he took the first step down.
“So many souls.”
Jak stopped and looked back.
“So many souls, Jak. So many souls.” Then Lukas regained his composure, stopped rocking, and resumed his prayers.
At the base of the stairs, Jak was pleased to see that Riff was already holding a lit torch. In fact, the boy was smiling. “I found one, Jak.”
“More than one,” Kluber said, motioning to a second room adjoining the one they were in. Jak saw an entire rack of unlit torches—dozens, at least. For the funeral ceremonies, he realized. Perhaps the first good luck they had all night.
“There’s more.” Kluber led him toward another adjoining chamber. This one appeared to be a different sort of stockroom, with unopened barrels. They looked like the type that held mead and ale, but he could not imagine what these contained. The writing on their lids was of no use to Jak.
“Oil,” Kluber said. “But that isn’t what I wanted to show you.” He led the way to a corner of the room, and Riff held the torch up. The corner contained three barrels—one stacked on the other two—and beneath them was the visible outline of a trap door.
“Where does that lead?”
“No idea. Away from those things, at least.” He pointed up.
“Riff, up for a little exploring?” Jak asked. The younger boy nodded eagerly. Nerves clearly had a different effect on him than others.
“I’ll go with him,” Kluber offered.
Jak nodded. “Not too long. We don’t want to split up.”
He helped them move the barrels and open the heavy stone panel. Its markings were visible once the barrels were off, but not even Kluber could read them. One more mystery for Jak to ponder. He returned to the girls, having no idea what to say to them. To her.
Jak stepped into the first room and stopped, gauging Calla’s reaction. She was sitting beside Kleo with her knees pulled up. When she saw Jak, she got to her fee
t. He waited nervously. She walked toward him, lowered her head into his chest, and put her arms around him. He hugged her back and closed his eyes. Praise Theus, he thought. He would not have been able to go on much further thinking that she blamed him. Just like that, the danger above felt less insurmountable, although he could not explain why.
Kleo got up and wandered into another room, giving him and Calla a moment of privacy. He did not care. There was nothing to say, and nothing to do but wait. Just holding her was enough.
“Jak!” Riff called. The voice sounded excited. He and Kluber had not been gone for more than five minutes, and Jak wondered what they had found in so short a time.
“One moment,” he called back. He let go of Calla and looked into her face. “We’ll get through this, okay?” Their eyes remained locked for a moment, then Jak straightened the circlet of wildflowers in her tousled hair. She nodded and forced the slimmest of smiles, and Jak knew that was the best she could do for now.
He met Riff at the trap door. The boy was standing on the top step, his posture indicating an eagerness to go back down as soon as he could. “What did you find?” Jak asked.
“You won’t believe it. It’s like a whole new world down there.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight. Despite all that had happened, Riff seemed to be on an adventure—not fleeing a nightmare reality like the rest of them.
Jak frowned. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
A terrible shrieking noise sounded above, loud enough to echo through the lower chambers, like a dozen howling beasts celebrating victory at once. And there was no barrier between the shrine and where Jak’s group now stood.
The others knew it, too. He saw Calla and Kleo hurry into the room, the latter with arms wrapped around a dozen more torches. “Smart girl,” he said. “All right, everyone down. Calla, take the lit torch and lead the way. Kleo, pass those around, three per person. Riff, help me close this trap door behind us.”
As they dropped it in place, it sounded to Jak like the bell tolling on his life. Or at least his former life. In the darkness below, perhaps he would start a new one.
Epilogue
Neverdawn
Kevin stared at the body of his father until the screams of a village pulled him out of his trance.
He stepped away, unaware of the bootprints in blood he left behind, his mind focused entirely on a single objective. Vengeance. A feeling that he had become steadily more familiar with in recent times, although never quite so powerful as this.
There was no question who had done the murdering. The bed where Rufus had lain was empty. Remembering Jak’s description of the man’s disturbance, Kevik had no doubt that something remarkable was happening. As if the shouts and shrieks all around were not sufficient evidence on their own.
He knew where to go. He sensed the presence of the sword, was drawn to it as a bug to light. But Kevik was no bug, as his father’s killer would soon learn.
He found the villain in the rear gardens, near the brook. The man’s back was turned to Kevik, his three arms raised to the dark sky, communing with the winged shapes circling above. One of the hands held the blade of stone that Kevik had admired for so long. Only fear had prevented him from taking the sword as his own. But fear was for weaklings, he understood now. The strong sensed weakness, and rightfully punished it. Fear had caused his father’s death, and could no longer be tolerated.
Kevik paused to pick up a heavy rock, perfect for the task. Then he ran forward, silently until the end, and leapt. The rock came down hard on the man’s head, crushing the skull. They came down together, the other unmoving.
Kevik’s second murder was far less upsetting than the first. This was…satisfying.
He let go of the rock and crawled over to the fallen sword, fearing the artifact no more. Its blade was wedged into the ground, as if the weapon were no more than a shovel some thrall had carelessly placed there. Kevik’s hands closed around the hilt, and he felt a moment of hesitation. Of indecision. Something told him he could never go back.
Go back to what? To a backwater village of the most ignorant and contemptible people in the empire? That village was being devoured anyway, and good riddance. To an academy where he was despised and shunned in equal measure? There was no point. He was already the better of them in every way but bloodline, yet that was the one thing they valued most highly.
Then he thought of Calla, and Jak, and felt real sorrow. Back to true love and friendship—commodities not easily cast aside, worth almost as much as power. It was a shame he had to choose. But if there was one thing he had learned at the academy, it was that a man had to fight for himself. Sentimentality, like fear, was for weaklings.
He pulled the sword from the earth. The grip fit his hands perfectly, proof that it belonged. Its weight was significant—formidable—yet the blade was easily controllable as he sliced the air with a practice swing.
He caught sight of movement above. One of the shapes—much larger than the rest—descended upon the garden and landed on two powerful legs, not ten feet away. Its enormous wings folded in, bestowing a roughly humanoid appearance to the shape. But there was no mistaking it for human. Standing nearly ten feet tall, its skin was the blackish hue of charcoal, and its face had more than a touch of reptilian. But by far its strangest characteristic was that it looked to be made from stone. A shifting, living stone that simultaneously awed and terrified Kevik. He was in the presence of divinity, though not of the type he had ever desired to see.
The thing looked down upon him with unblinking eyes, and he found himself bowing to it. Supplicating already, hoping to lessen its displeasure. Wishing it had never taken notice of him, he would now do anything to keep it pacified.
—I owe you my thanks. You are the one that freed me, as I now free my children.
Speaking inhuman words, its voice rumbled like an earthquake, yet Kevik understood it all clearly.
—I am Nagnuaqua. And you, hratham, serve me.
Aye.
—Our imprisonment—our enslavement—is unfair. You understand this, and would aid us.
Aye.
He would have willingly agreed to each statement, simply to please. But these simple truths it spoke were self-evident, if only he had opened his eyes sooner. This being asked nothing unreasonable.
—Your eyes have been opened to the corruption in your Empire.
Aye.
—You wish to strike back at those who abused you.
Aye.
—You desire the power to do so.
Aye.
—The power is in your hands.
Kevik looked down at the sword. Aye.
The devil-god was not done commanding. That which seems pure is corrupt. That which seems good, evil. You have learned this already. Now take my children. Deliver more souls unto me, and all will be set right.
Wings opened, and Kevik hugged the ground again, eyes clenched shut, afraid his new master would engulf him. He heard the wings flap, then nothing more.
He opened his eyes. Alone, he remained kneeling long after it was gone. At last, he took a deep breath and stood.
Nagnuaqua was right. There were a lot of scores to settle, and it was time to get started.
HEARTS OF FIRE
Empire Asunder Book II
Glossary
(Space restrictions require this to be a partial list. A full description of terms and culture is found in Empire Unveiled, the fourth part of this box set.)
Nobility
Emperor - the highest authority in the Empire, dominion over all twelve kings
King - ruler of a kingdom/province, swears fealty to the Emperor
Duke - ruler of a duchy within a kingdom, swears fealty to a king
Baron (Hern in some provinces) - ruler of a barony within a kingdom, swears fealty to a duke or king
Count (Landgrave in some provinces) - ruler over two or more lords, swears fealty to a baron, duke, or king
Lord - landed gentry with Imperial hol
dings
Military
Soldiers are divided between recruit ranks, drawn from the commoners, and officers, generally drawn from nobility or esteemed veterans of the recruit ranks.
A standard squad (squadron for cavalry) is 10 privates plus a corporal.
A standard company is 4 squads (3 for cavalry) led by a captain.
Officer Ranks
General - commands an army, reports to the king
Commander - commands a regiment or detachment, reports to a general
Captain - commands a company, reports to a commander
Recruit Ranks
Corporal - recruit in command of a squad, reports to a captain
Private - recruit, reports to a corporal
Provincial and Town Officials
Chancellor - a position of authority over administrative or financial matters within a province, appointed by king
Retainer - personal follower of a specific member of the nobility, sometimes themselves of lesser nobility
Magistrate - chief judicial and executive official in a city, town, or significant village, usually appointed by lord, count, or baron
Clerk - chief administrative official in a city, town, or significant village, usually appointed by magistrate
Historian - librarian overseeing Archives, usually appointed by magistrate
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 23
