by Ryan Kirk
Ever since she first learned about those that came before, a single question with no answer plagued her: What had happened? Their affinities and skills were clearly so much more advanced than those of her people. She couldn’t comprehend their disappearance.
She had come up with countless possibilities on her long journeys. A few seemed more reasonable than the others. Perhaps they had decided to leave this world behind. She couldn’t guess how they left, or to what destination they traveled, but some part of her found the idea of a whole people moving to more fertile grounds appealing. It reminded her of the Etari, always traveling from one location to the next, just on a different scale.
That explanation still didn’t answer the question of why.
Ultimately, the answer had to be one of two possibilities. Either the ones who came before had been driven away, or they had been destroyed.
Both implied that some force stronger than those that came before existed. Perhaps it had been a natural force, but Alena doubted it. The ones who came before had at least some control over the natural world. They would not have left everything due to forces of nature.
Which left the final possibility. They had been destroyed or run off by a foe far stronger than them. Just like the scene depicted in this artwork. Though it hardly served as solid evidence, it was all that Alena needed. The ones who’d come before had been destroyed by this creature. The Etari had told of a threat from the skies, but she hadn’t paid it much mind. It had been a story. But perhaps it was much more.
Jace brought her back to the present. “Studying that painting isn’t going to stop Regar,” he pointed out.
Alena understood, but still she tarried, memorizing every curve and detail of the drawing. Perhaps this wouldn’t matter today, but someday it would.
Finally, and with a reluctant sigh, she allowed herself to be pulled away from the painting. They continued deeper into the mountain, walking an endless smooth tunnel that traveled straight through the heart of a mountain. Every footstep reminded her of the powers of those who came before.
Darkness squeezed in on them from every side, held at bay only by Sheren’s torches.
Eventually the light at the other end of the tunnel began to grow. Alena practically ran the last hundred paces. She wasn’t afraid of tight spaces, but all the same, the fresh breeze blowing in from the mouth of the tunnel drew her like a moth toward a candle.
She passed by another cart identical in construction to the one she had seen at the other end of the tunnel, then came out into the fading sunlight of the end of the day. She basked in the last light of the sun, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin.
The rest of the party followed shortly thereafter. Alena glanced over and saw that Toren was smiling at her. “I guess I’m just built for open spaces,” she admitted.
Toren nodded, the imperial gesture catching Alena by surprise. “Me too.”
She felt guilty then. She’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts, especially after seeing the painting, that she hadn’t even thought about the others.
They stood together on the ledge and admired the scenery below.
Toren’s sharp eyes caught the movement below first. “There’s a war party moving down there.”
Jace pointed in another direction. “And there’s one there, too.”
The two parties were in different valleys, and Alena smiled at the thought of the two groups not even knowing that they were next to one another. It was unlikely, though. Sheren had told them all war parties on the move sent scouts ranging out far and wide. If the parties could be spotted from this distance, they were making no effort to hide. In all likelihood, the parties were well aware of one another.
“They’re going the same direction we are,” Jace realized out loud.
“I agree,” Sheren said. “Their destination appears to be Faldun.”
“That’s less than ideal,” Jace observed.
Sheren turned to Alena for guidance. “Your brother is right. It doesn’t bode well that war parties are converging upon the capital. Only a conflict of great import would draw so many.”
“Like a foreign prince stealing control of the gate?” Alena asked.
“That would suffice,” Sheren conceded.
Alena closed her eyes. The temptation to throw up her hands in surrender and return home was greater than ever.
But it wouldn’t solve anything. The problem would only be worse, somehow, later. “Then our task is all the more important. Will you continue to guide us?”
Sheren looked offended at the question. “I said that I would.”
Alena watched the war parties for a few moments. If they knew more of the war parties and their intentions, it would influence their choices. She asked Sheren, “How far until we find a suitable campsite for the night?”
“Not far. We shall arrive well before sundown.”
Not far at all, then, given as the sun was almost down. She had time to try and still reach their campsite before night fell.
“I’m going to soulwalk,” Alena said.
Sheren looked dubious, but nodded.
Alena shared their guide’s doubt. Despite Zolene saying that distance didn’t matter in a soulwalk, Alena’s own experiences indicated otherwise. The web of life was intricate beyond imagining, and while she could travel it at will now, finding a single soul was nearly impossible unless they were close. When Alena tied herself to another in the soulwalk, she could follow the thread, brighter than others. But without such a guide, she found herself lost after a few dozen paces.
It was still worth a try, though. Alena stepped back from the ledge and sat down in a cross-legged position. Then she closed her eyes and dropped into a soulwalk.
Her first impressions were those of her friends. Sheren, Jace, and Toren were all easily distinguishable and Alena felt the threads that ran between them all.
She pushed those aside, questing for the war parties.
The web of life expanded before her and she followed it in the direction of the closer of the two parties. She followed and followed, seeking a cluster of humans.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she sought the party. For all their achievements, humans were not as unique in the web of life as they often thought they were. Her mind grew tired as she ran along the threads, seeking that small difference that indicated a human life.
She was just about to admit defeat when she thought she felt something. She latched onto the connection with all the focus she could muster. Grimacing against the effort, she attempted to bring the other mind into focus. She channeled her efforts through her gatestone, though it seemed to have little effect.
For as close as she got to the other soul, she couldn’t quite connect with it. She felt as though she was running as fast as she could, but the one in front of her still pulled slightly ahead.
Refusing to surrender after coming so close, Alena pushed even harder. For a single heartbeat, the warrior’s mind came into focus and she saw an image of a city built into a mountain. She saw the war that would soon take place there, at least how the warrior imagined it.
Then it was gone. Her mind, stretched to its limit, finally broke. Alena gasped as she snapped back into her own body, the transition as jarring as stepping in an unseen hole.
When she opened her eyes and glanced at the position of the sun it looked like almost no time had passed. The others gazed at her expectantly, but she shook her head. “I was close. I found one of them. It is as you suspected,” she said to Sheren. “They march on Faldun. But I could tell no more.”
It wasn’t enough. They would need to know more. If Alena was going to be of service to this group, she needed to get stronger. She needed more power.
If war was coming, she meant to be prepared.
41
They had only advanced three levels up Faldun when Brandt made himself a promise. He swore that he would never again fight the Falari in this city.
Never again.
Even flat citie
s were a nightmare to fight within. That was a fact well known by military strategists. In Brandt’s career the closest he’d ever come was fighting a skirmish in an outpost town near the Falari border, and that had been an experience he never wished to repeat.
Cities had too many corners, too many dark shadows that easily hid enemies.
It was bad enough when the attacks were made by warriors attacking with swords, but there were ways of protecting oneself then. Staying away from corners and shadows, as well as clearing spaces completely, guaranteed a warrior would at least have a warning when an attack came. A footstep or a yell, at least.
It was worse against archers like the Falari, who hid in buildings and on rooftops. Fighting against such enemies allowed for no warning. One moment, you’d be walking along the street, the next you’d have an arrow through the chest. That fate had already felled more than a few of Ren’s allies.
To make the situation worse again, put the archers in a place like Faldun, which was more vertical than horizontal. Archers loosed arrows from dozens of paces above them, or even from below. Brandt and his sword were nearly useless. But he’d be even more useless with a bow in his hands.
Brandt quickly realized that this wasn’t just a test of physical skill, but a test of awareness. Those Falari who best understood their environment were most likely to survive. It was in this battle Ren’s true skills became apparent. Weylen’s Senki was a very strong sword and excellent bow, but his awareness was preternatural.
Brandt considered himself hard to surprise, but he couldn’t keep track of this fight. If not for Ren, he’d be dead a dozen times over.
Never again, Brandt swore.
Their objectives didn’t make their task any easier, either. This was a battle that favored the ambush, the stationary archer with a wide field of view and protection at their back. But Ren and the others couldn’t afford to lie in wait. They needed to move. They needed to join with Weylen and the others, then fight their way to Regar.
They followed intelligence Weylen had received earlier, that Regar was sheltered near the mouth of the entrance to the gate, about twenty levels above where they currently fought. Weylen and a handful of other warleaders hoped to assemble and send Regar straight to an early grave.
As they fought, though, Brandt worried they were already too late. They weren’t fighting through an isolated pocket of resistance. They were fighting through a well-armed and organized defense. Somehow, this had been planned for some time.
Ana tugged at Brandt’s arm and pulled him to cover just a moment before another arrow sliced through the spot he had just been standing. She glared at him. “Focus.”
Brandt nodded. He and Ana both ran for the door of the building that housed their hopeful assassin. Brandt dodged another arrow just as he saw the archer release, then kicked open the flimsy wood door.
Ana led the way, running up the steps with her nearly impossible lightness. Brandt didn’t bother to follow, instead ensuring the ground floor was clear. By the time he reached the top of the stairs the work would already be done.
The sound of the body thumping to the floor above him confirmed his prediction. A heartbeat later Ana reappeared, wiping the blood from her sword.
He had already lost track of the number of times they had repeated this process. And they still had a long way to go.
He would never again fight in Faldun.
They advanced through another bloody level, and then the resistance suddenly evaporated. Although they remained cautious, they were able to advance the next ten levels without a single attack. Brandt became cautiously optimistic. Perhaps they had a chance.
Ren didn’t share his confidence. “They’re gathering at choke points in the city.” He gestured to the multitude of paths and stairs currently surrounding them. “There are too many ways up here, but the city is designed so that at some levels there are only one or two ways up. That is where we’ll find more resistance.”
Ren’s gloomy prediction proved uncannily accurate.
They found the next pocket of resistance five levels below the entrance to the tunnels. A wall of junk had been erected across their path, and archers behind the barricade stood shoulder to shoulder three ranks deep.
They found Weylen and the other warleaders, too. It wasn’t the planned rendezvous point, but the barricade had stymied them all.
Ren and his party were among the last to arrive. They all took cover while the warleaders discussed their options. Curious, Brandt risked crawling forward, and he poked his head around an exposed corner. The barricade of tables and chairs appeared thick and sturdy, more than sufficient to halt any advance for a crucial few moments. And it was far enough away from any cover than any advance would be sure to meet a wall of arrows before it even reached the barricade.
Brandt couldn’t see any easy way through the defenders. This fight was going to be bloody.
Brandt returned to cover, unwilling to risk his head any longer.
Ana stuck her head around next, then laughed. “Well, that will be easy.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him as though he was one of the densest humans that had ever lived. “They’re behind a wooden barricade.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You have one of the strongest fire affinities I’ve ever seen,” she said.
Apparently he was one of the densest human beings that had ever lived. He blamed the Falari. He’d gotten so used to people not using affinities he’d forgotten his own. He approached the warleaders. “If you wish, I can destroy that barricade.”
Weylen looked uncertain. “With your affinity?”
Brandt nodded.
The warleaders shared nervous glances. In the past, they would have been honor bound to refuse such assistance, but the world had changed and Regar had stolen their gate. It was actually Merek, the once-uncertain warleader, who nodded. “Do it.”
“You might get a little chilly,” Brandt warned.
He returned to the corner and began to gather heat. He took it from the air and from the bodies around him. Then he reached out and took even more from those on the other side of the barricade. Confused shouts rose in response to his efforts.
He condensed the heat to two points within the barricade, causing both to catch fire. He continued stealing heat from the surroundings and funneled the power into the flames, spreading them faster than any natural fire.
The warriors on the other side of the barricade barely had time to realize what was happening. By the time they saw the smoke, the fire was already unquenchable. Flames consumed wood with the anger of a starved beast.
When the flames burned well on their own, Brandt shifted his focus. He pushed the fire from the barricade into the soldiers beyond. The rows of archers were engulfed in flame. Those who could ran, but the fire caught most of the enemy archers. Their screams filled Brandt’s ears.
Behind him, Weylen and the other warleaders needed no further encouragement. They came around the corner with bows drawn, putting a merciful end to the screams of their opponents.
Brandt breathed in deeply. As a physical effort, the flames had cost him little. He had served mostly as a conduit.
The emotional toll, though, was a weightier burden to bear. Fire was a horrible way to die, and certainly not befitting of a warrior. Brandt much preferred the blade, expertly wielded to bring about a quick end. But war didn’t always allow for honorable deaths.
Brandt swallowed deeply and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He would pay for these moments later, but for now he needed to keep pushing ahead.
When the last of the screams faded away, Brandt collected the heat from the burning wood and directed it harmlessly away.
Weylen and the others stepped through the smoldering ruins of the barricade, and Brandt followed them. He forced himself to look upon what he had done. He refused to hide from the suffering he caused. The Falari pulled arrows from the corpses, unwilling to waste the precious resource.
Then the barricade and the bodies were behind them and Brandt moved on to the next challenge.
The next challenge came in the shape of the youngest prince of the empire.
Regar himself stood in front of a line of troops, but this time there was no barricade. Brandt wasn’t fooled, though. Regar would serve as the barricade and more.
Weylen and their allies took cover, but no arrows came for them.
Instead, Regar spoke loudly. “Brandt. Ana. Will you join me?”
Brandt knew he risked his own death, but some part of him still trusted Regar, as unlikely as that seemed. He broke from cover and faced the prince. “Why?”
“This is needed, Brandt. The queen is not our enemy. She has shown me the future, and although you might not see it yet, this is what needs to happen. The only reason it is a betrayal is because my father has refused to see the truth.”
Brandt didn’t see it. Regar’s words hinted at madness, and he’d as much admitted to being under the queen’s influence.
He couldn’t be allowed the gate.
Brandt felt the power radiating off Regar. He didn’t know what chance he had, and yet he felt as though he had no choice but to at least try. Brandt pulled heat, not from the surrounding area, but from the prince himself.
Against most people, the technique was fatal. Without heat, the body froze. But Regar was connected to the gate, to an endless source of power. No matter how much Brandt pulled, he wouldn’t harm the prince.
It wasn’t as good as being connected to a gate, but it was an excellent second option.
Brandt attacked, and a thin line of flame no thicker than a rope erupted from his palm.
That flame would have burned through stone and barely slowed.
Regar slapped it away as though batting away a child’s plaything.
“Come now, Brandt. Be reasonable.”
The buildup of power happened so quickly Brandt almost didn’t have time to react. A wall of flame appeared between the two of them, the heat from it searing his skin even from dozens of paces away.
Brandt swore.
