Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  And so the masters became servants, the servants masters, until the gods knew no rivals but themselves.

  And a new war ensued, an endless battle between elements. The greatest of the forces, earth, fought its nemesis the sky. Soon the gods of earth were close to total domination of all others.

  And so the oceans joined forces with the sky, and the earth was humbled. Fire, fearing the imbalance, allied with light, then earth with shadow.

  And the battle rages on…

  Jak looked up from the tome. “Do you see, Kluber? This is what the mural depicts. A shadow god killed by the alliance of fire and light.”

  “Is that useful?”

  “Well, for one thing, it shows they can die.”

  “We need much more than that.”

  “Aye. We don’t know how to find them, or what element they’re attuned to, or what their vulnerability is. But we do have clues, in legends and folk tales.”

  Calla added her own doubts to Kluber’s. “Even if you knew those things, what then? Fighting a mutant bear is one thing; fighting a devil something else entirely.”

  Jak was hesitant to share that aspect of his plan, such as it was. But they raised important points, and he was counting on their advice.

  “The lore speaks of them working against one another.”

  Calla frowned, but remained silent. It was Kluber who made their disapproval clear in the tone of his response. “You plan to ask one for help.”

  “Only a god can kill a god.”

  “But these aren’t gods, Jak. They’re devils, and they’re evil. To say nothing of treacherous.”

  Jak could not deny the truth of that. But neither was he willing to give up. Instead, he turned back to the books.

  “We can discuss it later. None of it matters until I learn more.”

  “Not today, Jak.” Kluber gripped his arm tightly. “These books will still be here on the morrow.”

  “Aye, let’s leave now,” Calla agreed. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Not so much as you, woman,” Kluber said. “You’re eating for two.”

  She looked down, patting her belly. “He’s getting demanding.”

  Jak found it curious that she seemed to have taken for granted that her child would be a boy. Not that Jak ever pointed the assumption out to her, for he felt the same way.

  He focused on the conflicted smile on her face, lost as she was in one of her frequent reveries. So lovely, but not peaceful, not content. He wished she could feel more joy about the baby.

  “He’s so hungry all the time,” she continued. “I think he’s part wolf.”

  Jak and Kluber instantly looked at one another. Both stepped forward, but too late.

  Realizing what she had said, Calla began to sob. They spent a long time reassuring her, comforting her, promising that a slip of the tongue meant nothing and the babe was sure to be healthy.

  But the walls of this place, the murals of death and woe, the evocative remembrances too fresh to be forgotten all conspired against them. Jak knew it was time to leave, much as he regretted stopping just at the point of breakthrough. Kluber was right; the books would still be there on the morrow.

  The three of them made their way past the endless shelves, along the long hall and up the stairs. Jak thought they might encounter the king along the way, but even the mysterious sunlit chamber was unoccupied.

  Not until they reached the entrance did they find anything amiss. There they stopped. It took a moment for the change to register in his mind, and when it did, he was not as surprised as he ought to be.

  “The statue is gone.” Kluber spoke with the same lack of emotion he used to announce breakfast or supper. “I don’t suppose the king decided he wanted it for his castle.”

  Calla slept deep into the morn, giving Jak and Kluber an opportunity to speak quietly without disturbing her.

  “I think we need to talk about this plan of yours, Jak.”

  “It’s not much of a plan yet. More of an idea.”

  “The idea is what I want to talk about.”

  Jak sensed more disapproval coming, and sighed audibly. “All right.”

  “So, let’s say we kill a devil. What then?”

  A valid question, but not what I was expecting. “We kill another.”

  “And then another, and another?”

  Jak nodded, wondering where his friend was going with this.

  “Do you remember the story you told us, about the hratha—us—overthrowing the Chekiks? And then we adopted the same gods as our own?”

  “Aye. We were fools.”

  “True, but it’s not so simple. Didn’t you ever wonder why they did that?” His volume began to rise, leading Jak to make a downward motion with his hand.

  “Nay, I didn’t,” he whispered.

  “Destroying is always easier than creating, Jak. You want to tear down a misguided belief system, and you’re right to do so. But you need to replace it with something else.”

  This was an angle Jak had never considered before, and he was not sure he wanted the complication. “Can’t others figure that out?”

  “They’ll make the same mistakes our ancestors did. Or that’s the risk, at least.”

  “So, how do you suggest we solve the problem?”

  “I thought this would be obvious. We need to give them new gods to believe in.”

  “Gods are the problem, Kluber. We see what they do, playing with mortals in some twisted game. We expect them to use their power to aid us, but all they do is use it to aid themselves. Maybe the solution is for people to stop relying on the gods, to start helping each other.” The further he went down this line of reasoning, the more he liked it. “We don’t need more gods to worship, we just need great heroes that inspire, that lead by example, that teach us how to avoid the mistakes of the past.”

  Jak smiled, believing he had found the answer.

  But Kluber was still shaking his head. “Nay, Jak. People don’t work that way. We’ve always had heroes, leaders, great women and men. It’s not enough. Most people are ordinary, part good and part bad. Look at me, for example. At how I was.

  “Most can’t rise to greatness. They just need something to believe in, something divine. Something beyond themselves.”

  “Why?”

  “So when the storm destroys their home, the flood their cattle, the pox their child—they can take comfort that there is a reason for it. A reason they don’t need to understand, but can simply accept. They need a god they can worship, pray to, ask for solace or direction. Even if it’s a god on earth, they must believe it’s divine.”

  “And you have someone in mind?”

  “I do. You.”

  This time it was Jak who raised his voice. “What? That’s absurd, Kluber.”

  “You’re already the leader you described, my friend. You’re idolized by every one of those refugees. You have the power to command earth and lightning, and you know more about what’s really going on than anyone else in the empire. At least above ground.”

  Jak could not stop shaking his head. This was not at all a conversation he was prepared for, but he knew he had to stamp out his friend’s misconceptions before they went any further. “I can’t command earth and lightning. I can only ask other forces and hope they listen.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I ask the devils, Kluber—our enemies. I can do nothing by myself.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “I...” Jak stopped. This was another thing he had never let himself consider.

  Now he did. Many times he had touched the beating pulse of the living world, and the more he did so the stronger the connection. I’ve communed with it, he thought. Why did that sound familiar?

  “I’m not a god…”

  “You could be, if you wanted. That family you saved would worship you, without hesitation.”

  “Just because someone worships another does not make them a god.”

  Kluber raised an eyebrow. “
Does it not?”

  “He’s right, Jak,” Calla’s sleepy voice added. She remained reclined, eyes closed, and she might have been speaking from a dream. “You chose this task, remember? If you take away their belief, you owe them a new one.”

  The growing sound of hoofbeats cut short any attempt at a reply. Unsurprisingly, they came to a stop just outside the tent. A moment later, the scowling face of Leny appeared. “Henrikson. The Third wants you, immediately.”

  Instinctively, Jak knew this visit would be less pleasant than the previous. He looked at his companions, Calla slowly pushing herself up from the mat, Kluber nodding reassuringly. “We’ll catch up later. The king needs your advice. Remember, trust in yourself.”

  Jak reluctantly climbed onto the back of Leny’s mount, not really any more comfortable with horses than he had been the last time. Wrapping his arms around her as she galloped away, he asked if she could say what the audience was about.

  By way of reply, she pointed to the dawning skies above the city, where scores of black shapes circled overhead. Shapes too large to be birds.

  He gulped, and asked no further questions, afraid of the answers he might receive.

  She stopped beside Nicolas’ headquarters, and helped him down with more courtesy than he expected. He thought she would ride off then, but instead she leaned down close.

  “I’ve heard talk about you, that you know things. That you saved the refugees from the demons.” She glanced up at the shapes in the sky. “Your friend is right. Trust in yourself.”

  She kicked the horse’s flanks and rode away, leaving him alone to face the next step of his task. He felt stinging sweat run in his eyes, and his belly swam with growing nausea. Yet the worst discomfort came from his hand, which now ached as much as it had when he had put it to flame. He felt lightheaded, and the entrance to the tent began to move in circles before him.

  Jak looked back toward the dark shapes. They still circled, staying high above the range of bolt and arrow. Now he noticed clouds in the distance behind them, to the north and west. Not the sort of clouds that would bring rain and relief, but the sort that brought thunder and lightning, darkness and death.

  The image of a woman being devoured by a velbat flashed through his mind. Screams and yells, a wedding turned nightmare. Calla’s father falling. Pikkel’s flute laying on the street. Terrors Jak thought he had forgotten, or at least put behind him.

  He could not breathe. Ripping his eyes from the sky, he faced the ground, only to find that it, too, moved in circles. He was dizzy, about to faint.

  The tent opened before him, a figure emerging. Lima. She put her hand on his shoulder, but that was not enough. He pushed himself against her, felt her one arm encircle his feeble body. He pressed his face to hard chain and began to cry.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s the strain. It gets to us all.”

  How long he cried, he did not know. A few seconds, he hoped. Less than a minute, for sure. Then he straightened himself and looked into her imperturbable face. “Lead on.”

  The king’s tent was filled with the same visitors as before, plus a few additions. Since the first time he saw them, Jak had asked about the identities of Generals Reikmann and Koblenzar and Captain Anika. Now this group was augmented by General Boisson of the Dauphi army and one of his aides who had been present at the original parley between the armies, several days and countless worries ago.

  And there was one more, a young soldier in Akenberg livery covered in dirt and dust, his cheeks covered in unkempt stubble, exhaustion as visible as the bloodstains on his tunic. From the way he stood before the king’s desk, all eyes upon him, it was clear that his presence carried enormous gravity.

  King Nicolas met Jak’s eyes as he came in, acknowledged him with a faint nod, then returned his attention to this haggard soldier.

  Lima whispered into Jak’s ear. “A messenger from General Cottzer, in Vilnia.”

  Vilnia? What was happening in Vilnia? That was far to the east, as safe from the demons as anywhere in the empire.

  “And when you reached Halfsummit, Private? What then?” The weariness that Jak felt was given voice in the king’s question.

  “We did not reach Halfsummit, Third. The invaders met us on the plains beneath.”

  “They left a fortress to fight in the open? That strikes me as a mistake.”

  “Aye, we thought so, too. General Ariens of the Vilnians was in command, of course. Second Garrett deferred to his judgment. General Cottzer advised attacking before the moment was lost, and the Vilnians agreed. We deployed at the end of the long march, as day turns to eve.

  “Without a night’s rest, then,” the king said, resignedly.

  “We thought the opportunity called for alacrity. Morale was high, for the barbarians are known to be inferior fighters compared to Imperials. They haven’t the skill or discipline we do…

  “Only it was no opportunity at all. The battlefield was chosen for a reason.”

  “Their tactics were different than the generals expected, were they not?”

  “Aye, Third. The tribes have never lacked for courage, but their strength was always individual combat. We did not expect them to function so well as units. Not up to Imperial standards, by any means, but well enough to hold a line against the first direct attack. Well enough to buy time.”

  “Until night?” Nicolas asked, but the soldier shook his head.

  “Nay. Not a true night, anyway. The weather was…unusual. Clouds gathered, the sky darkened prematurely, rain began to fall.

  “Still, the advantage was ours. Both in numbers, and in maneuver. We were pushing them back, and thought we might reach the fortress that eve.”

  Jak noticed the man’s chest heaving, some anxiety inflicting his recollection, though his voice remained calm. A messenger committed to his duty.

  “The mountains had fallen behind cloud and fog by then. Soon the fortress itself became shrouded, as well. The fighting became less organized, and Ariens slowed the advance in order to dress the lines.

  “And then the fire came. And the lightning. The sudden winds, impossibly cold. One moment we were so overheated we thought we might collapse, the next we had ice in our beards.

  “The sounds…and the smells. I’ve never known anything like them.”

  “Sorcery,” Reikmann said.

  “Aye. There was powerful magick all around us.” The messenger looked from face to face, then finally back to the king. “But we fought on, Third. Fought harder, more desperately. Akenbergers and Vilnians, side by side. The call to fall back came down the lines. The tribesmen pressed in on all sides, but we held them at bay. Withdrew as many as could be saved.

  “General Cottzer deployed his companies with the rear guard, covering the main retreat. Thankfully, the barbarians were tired, as well, for they did not pursue. Second Garrett himself joined our brave soldiers, Third. A most spectacular sight—”

  “How many casualties?” Nicolas asked.

  “Of our company? Four wounded, three dead.” The messenger paused. “And six missing.”

  “And the Vilnians?”

  “I…know not, Third. Hundreds.”

  The king betrayed no emotion, but he said aloud, “Theus bless their souls.”

  Don’t say such things, Jak thought. These gods don’t bless anything.

  “At least we know where the main attack is coming,” Koblenzar said. “This cannot simply be a diversion.”

  “So it would appear,” Nicolas agreed. “I know you’re tired, Private, but I must ask you to remain, for the moment. We may have more questions for you while we discuss…events.” He stood and bent down, then folded his chair to lift it over the desk. “Here, why don’t you use this for a while.”

  The soldier was taken aback, but quickly accepted the chair and retreated to a corner of the tent as the others shuffled about in agitation. A circle of the officers began to form around the king, Lima and Pim receding into the background.

&nbs
p; Jak moved to join them, then was stopped by Nicolas. “I want you to join us.” He found himself pulled into the circle.

  The others gave him space, but some of their faces made it clear they were not happy about doing so.

  “Who is this man, My King?” Koblenzar grumbled.

  “He is the wisest person here,” Nicolas replied. “Not that that matters, General. I decide whose advice to heed, not you.”

  He faced Jak. “What can you tell us of these flying creatures?”

  Jak opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was aware that everyone stared at him now instead of the messenger. That soldier had been trained for this, however.

  I don’t belong here. I’m just a thrall.

  The eyes bore down on him. Some expected him to know all the answers, when in fact he knew next to nothing. Others expected him to fail. They were the smart ones.

  I don’t belong here. I’m just a thrall. I don’t…

  Nicolas waited a moment, then frowned. “Are they devils?”

  Jak shook his head.

  You want to tear down their beliefs, but you have to replace them with something else.

  You, Jak. People will worship you, if you ask.

  No one would worship him. That was a nonsensical idea born from sheer desperation.

  “Do they have a weakness?”

  He shook his head again. “I…don’t know.”

  He forced himself to think of the attack on Everdawn, painful though the memory was. He and the others had run, first into Calla’s home, then to the shrine. They had only run, never once fighting back. And they had survived, somehow.

  Not somehow. Because of Disciple Lukas. The image of the tragic young man, a shepherd in way over his head, burning his own hand down to the stump. His final words. So many souls, Jak. So many souls.

  “Fire, I think. Light.”

  “Light,” Reikmann scoffed. “It’s light now.”

  Not for long. The clouds are coming, and with them the darkness.

  Jak looked at Nicolas. Why are you doing this to me? “I need to research,” he said.

  The king nodded. “You have one day. Go.”

  Jak resisted the impulse to run, but he immediately felt relief as soon as he exited the tent. The morn was not yet half over, but the heat was already sweltering.