Prologue

Master Brogal

The Sanctuary bursts with children this time of year, untrained pups bounding through the halls, chasing their tails. They arrive full of hope, and why wouldn’t they? ’Tis no small feat to be marked by the Bone Throwers as having potential. The question is, how many among them will actually succeed?

I look over the training ground and sigh, knowing it will be far too few.

My group, for example, not a savant among them. “Enough!” I clap. “Break for lunch.”

They jump and cheer like a festival riot, and all I can do to remain calm is pinch the bridge of my nose. “Quiet. Midday silence will be observed.”

I’m about to wave them to the dining hall when shouting rings out from the other end of the field. A flash of light shoots as high as the watchtower. Dirt pummels down like rain. The ground cleaves apart, fracturing in tremors that echo up through my feet. A brilliant, cresting form, ever shifting, pushes free, its mouth open in an earsplitting screech. I stumble and cover my ears as the sheer power of it hits me.

“Stay here!”

I drop one knee to the ground and raise my phantom before taking off toward the chaos. From the earth bursts my phantom, C’sen, red sparks trailing from blue wings as it soars overhead. “Go!”

From phantom’s-eye view, I don’t believe what I see. Huge. Writhing. A swarm of tendrils, claws, and limbs. But the mountainous phantom melts back into the ground before I can identify more, returning to its savant as quickly as it rose.

Left behind is a crater, deep as a man is tall and twice as wide. Around it, tiny red flowers bloom, spreading like spilled blood.

“Rune bands!” I call out to the black-robe Bone Thrower racing to meet me.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Never in all my years have I had to ask for them, but whatever has risen, it must be contained.

The child responsible sits at the far side of the crater, hunched. Cowl up. Unidentifiable. “Is it the Heir?” I whisper to the Bone Thrower. Please, don’t let it be the Heir.

The black-robe shakes her head and hands me bone bracelets from her bag. “A girl from the harbor district. Raised it on the first try.”

I trod over the fresh flowers to reach her, the scent of sweet lilac filling the air. “Show me your arms.” She does and I cuff her thin wrists, my own hands trembling. “Where’s her instructor?”

The Bone Thrower points at the crater, and I peer over the edge. There’s a scrap of orange cloth at the bottom, all that’s left of their savant robes.

“What is your name?” I ask the girl.

She doesn’t answer. Just lifts tearstained eyes to mine. “Did I do it, Master? Did I raise my phantom?”

She’s not even sure? “Stand up, child. Don’t move.” I wave to the savants converging on us. “Begin the guardian’s chant.” They form a semicircle behind her, robes swaying over the ground, voices rising in harmony.

I know what must be done, but still, I hesitate. The thought of what this might do to the girl—to all those around her—and by my own hand, no less…

“There’s no alternative,” the Bone Thrower says. “Bind it and call their memories. It must happen now.”

My chest constricts. “What if the binding fails?”

The Bone Thrower wavers. “Then may the old gods have mercy on us all.”