Log In
Or create an account ->
Imperial Library
Home
About
News
Upload
Forum
Help
Login/SignUp
Index
Prologue
PART ONE
1 G erin Atreyano moved with an easy stride across the castle’s main practice yard, the toes of his boots kicking up whorls of dust from the bare patches of dirt scattered between clumps of dry brown grass. He carried a wooden sword in his right hand; his left was free. Practice today was with swords alone—shields were not permitted. He wore a leather jerkin under a half-sleeved shirt of chain mail, leaving his lower arms bare. His black, shoulder-length hair was covered by a plain steel helm with flared cheek-guards and an old round dent on the left side, just above the ear. The heat was stifling, like the hot breath from an oven, but Gerin did his best to ignore it. He focused instead on his opponent. Anything else—the boys and soldiers talking and sparring in other parts of the yard, the clacking sound of wood striking wood, or a grunt as someone took a blow—was a distraction he could not afford. Gerin scarcely blinked as he circled his younger brother. Therain panted and wiped swea
2 C laressa watched her twin brother Therain pace his sitting room from a high-backed chair tucked into a corner near the tall windows that looked out over the walled courtyard in the center of the keep. Her hands were folded in her lap, her nails painted a pale red that matched her dress. Her thick black hair was pulled back from her face with three strategically placed combs; tight curls spiraled down around her ears. Her skin was pale and porcelain smooth, with no blemishes or imperfections of any kind, as if it were the ideal to which all other skin strived to reach. Claressa had a natural beauty that took the breath away from most men who saw her for the first time; they could not stop looking at her. Men desired her, and women envied her. In some ways she had a more commanding presence than her father; if they both stood together in a crowded room, most eyes would be on her. “So what is it you wanted to tell me?” she asked. He continued to pace. “Father came to talk to me a littl
3 S till buoyant from her discovery, Reshel ran through the halls of the keep, wondering where Gerin might be. She passed an open door that led onto a narrow terrace that overlooked the western side of the castle. There was a woman outside, standing in the darkness at the parapet with a hooded lamp on the tiles at her feet. Reshel stepped forward and saw that it was Claressa. Her sister, standing with her arms folded across her chest, glanced at her before looking off toward the dark horizon. Her face was stern and angry. “Go away,” she said. “I want to be alone.” Reshel grew angry herself. “I don’t care what you want. You were terribly rude to Hollin. Father’s furious, and he’s going to make you sorry for what you did when he finds you. Sometimes I’m ashamed to be related to you. Are you so blind you couldn’t see he was telling us the truth?” Claressa spun to face her sister, and even in the darkness Reshel could see the tears on her face. The sight startled Reshel, who had rarely see
4 Y ou’re not serious,” said Balandrick Vaules after Gerin had finished telling him about Hollin. “You’re going to be a wizard? And Reshel, too?” “I’m completely serious.” The two young men were riding in the Halbern Hills to the west of the castle, beyond the town of Padesh. It was said that the Bright Folk who had lived in these lands ages before the Pashti came and frightened them away now dwelled beneath these and other hills, and beneath the deep and silent lakes of the westlands, and in the dark forest of Haranwaith to the south. Gerin had never seen one of the Bright Folk, and did not know if they truly existed outside of legend. But it was fun to think about them, and when he was younger, he and Therain and Balandrick had come here to look for the hidden doors in the hills that would lead to their great halls and secret treasures. Gerin glanced into the trees on the left and right of the narrow switchback path that cut up the side of Twin Oaks Hill, wondering if any of the Brig
5 H e awoke very late in the morning. He rubbed his sticky eyes and sat up slowly. Memories of the day before rushed back all at once. He looked at the cut on his leg and was stunned to see that it was now little more than a red welt; it appeared to have been healing for at least a week rather than a single night. The bruise on his side was a small splotch of yellow skin with a faint purplish center, and was no longer tender to the touch. His ears and nose also seemed fine. Grinning, he got out of bed and poured himself a cup of water from the ewer on the basin. His grin faded when he remembered the Neddari attack and Hollin’s confirmation that some spell had been planted in him that could not be removed. He rubbed his hand across his chest, as if there were some way he could feel or sense the alien power within him and perhaps yank it out. But he felt nothing. He felt fine. But I’m not fine, he thought. That Neddari came to me for a purpose. There’s something he means me to do, and he
6 A fter their father’s departure, Gerin and Reshel began training with Hollin. The wizard had dispatched a message to Hethnost informing the Archmage that the amber wizard had been discovered and describing the terms of his agreement with the Atreyanos for their training. Gerin would not be ready to leave for Hethnost for at least a month—the oathtaking of his vassals would occur in a few weeks, and he could not leave before then—but Hollin told them he could begin teaching them before their powers were Awakened. “You won’t be able to perform spells, of course,” he said, “but I will tell you more about how magic works and teach you the words of some of the more basic incantations. Give you a taste of the more rigorous training to follow.” They sat in the study in the chambers Hollin had been granted in Blackstone Keep, around a small square-topped table upon which sat a magefire lamp. The soft glow from the small crystal sphere fascinated Gerin. The lamp had a rosewood pedestal and sl
7 O ver the next few weeks Gerin spent as much time as he could with Reshel and Hollin, learning Osirin and memorizing the more basic spells. They could not as yet actually work any of the spells—that would have to wait until after their powers were Awakened at Hethnost—but Hollin wanted them to be prepared to practice them soon after the Ritual of Awakening. They learned the incantations for creating magefire, both within a lamp and as a floating spark when no lamp was available to contain the flame; for Seeings, which would allow them to view harm to a body or pierce veils of illusions; for Farseeings, to send their gaze many miles into the distance; for a dozen different healing spells to remedy various degrees of injuries; for Closings, to lock doors or seal windows; and for Warding, Barrier, Binding, and Illusion spells to confound an enemy. They would not learn more powerful magic for several years, until they’d become proficient with simpler spells and comfortable with their pow
8 G erin propelled himself backward. Had he been a second slower, the knife would have sunk into his abdomen just below his breastbone. He nearly dropped the lamp he was carrying but managed to close his fingers around its handle just before it slipped from his hands, knowing he might be able to use it as a crude shield to deflect the blade, or as a blunt, bludgeoning weapon, since he had no knife or sword of his own with him. He shook his head to clear it but was only partially successful; he’d drunk far too much wine and was far too tired to fight well. He took several more steps back and looked at his attacker. The man was dressed in filthy rags that covered a nearly skeletal frame. Tufts of matted gray hair stuck out from the fringe of his head in every direction. He was old, Gerin realized: at least fifty. Strangely enough, there was no indignation or rage about the man, no anger directed at him for some perceived wrong he’d done, nor was there the grim efficiency of a hired assas
9 A week after the oathtaking, Hollin told them it was time to depart for Hethnost. “It may be that the Awakening will disrupt or impede the Neddari spell within you. At the very least we can consult with the Warden of Healing to see if he can remove the spell or render it harmless.” Gerin summoned Matren to tell him their plans and make arrangements for his absence. They left shortly after dawn two days later. Matren and Claressa took their leave of them at the Genshel Gate. “A safe journey to you all,” said Matren. “Don’t let my vassals bully you while I’m gone,” said Gerin. “Especially Lord Russen. He’ll steal the linens from the tables the moment you turn your back. If he shows up at the castle, make sure you lock the gates before he gets in.” Matren smiled; Lord Russen’s petty pilfering was the subject of many jokes. “Yes, my lord. I’ll do as you say.” “Please behave yourselves,” said Claressa with a playful smirk. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything to tarnish the good Atreyano n
10 R eshel galloped ahead to the turn in the path, then disappeared behind the edge of the rock. Gerin, too, was eager to catch his first glimpse of Hethnost, but felt he should show restraint in front of the soldiers. “How much longer until we get there?” he asked Hollin. “Soon. It’s not far now.” “What are the defenses like?” asked Balandrick. “Best you survey the place for yourself when we get there, and ask the captain of the Sunrise Guard. Wizards do not concern themselves overmuch with ordinary weapons. For us, it has long been tradition that magic alone suffices to defend our persons, which is why you will never see a wizard with sword or spear or shield.” Gerin gave him a sidelong glance and his hand dropped to the hilt of his weapon. “That will change with me. I’ll not give up Glaros, an heirloom of my house, simply because I’ve become a wizard.” “That is of course for you to decide. As I said, it is a custom, not a law.” “Don’t wizards have weapons of magic?” asked Balandrick
11 G erin found that the kind of knowledge he was seeking was not easy to locate. He had to be careful. No one could know what he was doing. He could not ask any of the archivists for guidance for fear they would ask questions he could not answer. He said nothing to Reshel, though he longed to ask her advice. But the obsessive desire that drove him demanded that this be done in secrecy or not at all. Each floor of the library contained an index of the materials stored there. But many subterranean levels beneath the library were not as easily accessed as the upper floors, and he spent long hours every night on each floor searching for the catalogs and the indexes to the lower levels. He did not know if the kind of spell he was looking for even existed, but he was not going to give up until he exhausted every possibility. There were three floors of circular galleries beneath the Varsae Sandrova’s gilded dome, with a gathering area at the lowest level, beneath the dome’s peak. One night h
12 I t was nearly dawn when Gerin finally made it back to his rooms. A short while after falling asleep, he slipped into a dream he’d had before. Once again he stood in the place of bones, a cold, dead land beneath a starless sky. As before, a faint red light brightened the air some distance in front of him, soon resolving itself into the shape of a door floating in the air. The stench of rotting meat filled his nostrils and made his gorge rise. “You, Summoner, must open the Door of Night for me.” Gerin staggered and clapped his hands to his ears to protect them from the thundering voice; he imagined that if it had shouted, the power would have shattered his eardrums. “It is you who will release me from my bondage. Hear me! I must be freed to carry out my vengeance. You will open the Door so that I may at last return. The hour of doom approaches. Do not fail me.” The apparition with the silvery eyes appeared above him, a mountain of shadow against the dark sky. It reached down for him
13 T o his great relief, Gerin discovered that his senses were adapting to their heightened awareness, though he had several nearly sleepless nights while it was happening. There was an owl nesting in one of the trees near the Apprentices Hall, and its hooting was so loud and annoying he considered doing something to it with his magic, like shaking the tree to get it to fly away. He fought the urge, though, deciding it would be better for him to get used to the distractions and learn to ignore them. “It happens to all wizards,” Hollin told them both. “Don’t fret about it. Your bodies will adjust.” After the initial furor over their Awakenings had died down and Gerin could move about again in relative anonymity, he decided it was time to obtain the key amulet. Well after midnight, he crept into the Varsae Sandrova and made his way to the archivists’ offices and the room containing the reliquaries. He carried a magefire lamp but had not yet lit it; his sensitive eyes could see well enoug
14 H ere he is!” called out Balandrick. “I’ve found him!” Gerin lay convulsing on the ground near the edge of a glade, a thin froth of foam on his lips and chin. Balandrick rushed to his side, taking in the scene in an instant: the golden horn upon the ground, the book of spells and weirstones close by, a lamp dangling from a tree limb. Gods above us, Gerin, he thought as he knelt beside him, placing his own magefire lamp on the damp grass. What have you done here? He’d been awakened in the middle of the night by a female wizard who asked if he would help them search for Gerin. When he asked what happened, her expression had darkened. “Did you not sense it?” “Sense what?” “A little while ago. A feeling of terror, or death.” His blood had chilled. “I had a nightmare. I thought I heard someone screaming, and smelled something cloying, like blood…are you saying that has something to do with Gerin?” “We don’t know. But you had no ordinary nightmare. It was a thing of black magic, and the a
15 G erin dreamed that the black Hounds of Shayphim chased him through a dark and tangled forest. He tried to run as fast as he could but stumbled over rocks and fallen limbs and the gnarled roots of trees. The baying Hounds drew closer. He tripped again and fell, his hands sliding across the leaf-strewn path. He rolled over just as two black shapes with eyes blazing like red hellfire leaped, their fangs flashing— He came awake with a gasp of breath. Though dimmed by the curtains drawn across the window, the light in the room made his sensitive eyes squint. His face was slick with sweat. He was famished, but his stomach felt so queasy he doubted whether he could keep any food in it. “Thank the gods you’re awake.” Reshel was at his bedside. She wiped his face with a cold cloth. He shivered and let out a deep sigh. Balandrick was there, too, his cheeks sunken and dark. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “How do you feel?” Gerin tried to swallow, his throat terribly dry. “Water?” h
16 I’ m ready to go home,” Gerin said. “I feel like a criminal here, that everyone’s looking at me and judging me for what I did.” He, Reshel, and Balandrick were in Gerin’s rooms, seated around a small table with a surface of glazed tiles. A platter of bread, cheese, wine, and grapes sat upon the table, mostly untouched. “I can understand you feeling that way, but that’s not what people are thinking,” said Reshel. “Mostly they’re talking about this Neddari compulsion and wondering about its purpose. It has them worried. It doesn’t make sense that the Neddari would be interested in finding the Varsae Estrikavis—it’s not like their kamichis could use the magic it contains, even if they somehow found it before wizards did. So what was the point of the compulsion? The return of this Slain God? No one here knows anything about a Slain God, and they haven’t found any references to it in the Varsae Sandrova. It’s all quite a mystery, but no one is blaming you for anything.” He had not told h
17 T he day after the attack, Hollin spoke to Gerin about how he’d fought with magic. “Bindings and Wardings are contradictory spells, which is why you had trouble casting both at once,” he said. “One of the things I will teach you is how to know which spells work better with others, and which work at counterpurposes.” “The Binding seemed to do the trick all right,” Gerin said defensively. “And you did well in holding both together for as long as you did. But you were fortunate that the spells did not mingle; if that had happened, they might have disrupted one another, collapsing both with a sudden backflow of magic. You weren’t using enough power to have that backflow harm you seriously, but it would probably have stunned you and left you defenseless. “I’ll show you how to recognize the different kinds of magic that spells use. It’s one of those things you have to experience to understand. It’s a little like cooking and knowing which ingredients work best with others; you can be told
PART TWO
18 A sleep in his chambers in the keep of Agdenor, Therain dreamed. He stood in a dark place, enveloped in a swirling gray fog. He did not know where he was, whether indoors or out; he saw no walls or floor, no arches or doorways, no grass or trees or landscape of any kind. The mist was the only thing visible, illuminated from some diffuse source deep within its heart, beyond the range of his sight. He heard a deep drumming noise, the sound of mountains falling into ruin. He wanted to run, but his body would not obey him and he remained rooted in place, unable even to close his eyes when he realized the thunderous noise was caused by the footfalls of something immense coming toward him. He looked up and saw a vast shadowy figure moving through the mist. It wore a crown upon its head, and its eyes glowed with a pale silvery light. Its face was shrouded by both the mist and darkness. He feared that the mist would lift and his eyes would fall on its dreadful countenance, and that the sigh
19 T hree days after Therain sent his message to Reshel, Esedraen was executed. The two guards who had helped him enter the castle were executed with him and their heads staked above the castle gate, as Therain had promised. Mercifully, there had been no more murders committed by the Heralds of Truth, and he hoped their deaths would act as a deterrent. If they believe the Storm King will grant them eternal life, let’s see what the other members think after the heads have been rotting there for a while, he thought as he gazed out his study window toward the Angle. He told Captain Hiremar to make sure no one got near the heads. He did not want them stolen so the Heralds could claim they’d been revived. Toward evening a soldier arrived from the southwest borderlands with an urgent message for Therain. He was brought to the council chamber on the third floor of the Thorn, where Therain and his counselors were gathered. Forty feet long and half as wide, the table occupying the center of the
20 G erin trudged through the halls of Blackstone Keep, bleary-eyed and miserable. He stopped to sneeze, then continued on his way, rubbing his eyes. His head felt as if it were stuffed with feathers; his nose would not stop dripping and his throat was sore. According to Reshel, there were no spells to treat such a simple ailment. He could use his magic to help him sleep and perhaps numb the pain in his throat a little, but other than that he would simply have to endure the cold like anyone else. He had enough to worry about already without having a cold to make him miserable on top of it. A cult of murderers had recently appeared in Ailethon and the surrounding lands. So far they had killed six people. The killings were brutal and utterly senseless. The victims had not even been robbed, just stabbed and left for dead. But they were not the only ones who had died. There were two more—a farrier from Padesh and a chambermaid in the castle—who were found dead of no apparent cause. It migh
21 F ive days had passed since Gerin had sent his messages, with no word yet from Therain. If no reply came soon, he would send a mounted messenger to Agdenor. He was growing increasingly anxious about the situation with the Neddari. He told himself that an army that large could not take Agdenor by surprise—there was no need to worry that the castle was already under siege or had fallen. Therain certainly would have sent word if the army had begun to move. Still, without firm information about the situation, Gerin’s imagination filled in the void, and at the moment his imagination was overly active and increasingly gloomy. Two days later, on the fourth of January, the Heralds of Truth—as he now thought of them, though there was no evidence that the killers here used that name—murdered a serving girl in the castle. The castle guards cornered the killer in a fifth-floor hallway, but he hurled himself through an outside window before he could be taken. “He was in this castle right under y
22 R iding hard, Therain and his men reached Ag- denor at mid-morning two days after leaving Ailethon. The Heralds of Truth had struck again, setting a fire in Rengel that killed seven people. The smoke was still drifting across the river when they emerged from a steep-sided cut in a hillside. At first Therain thought the smoke was coming from the castle and his heart froze. It was not until they drew closer that they realized the smoke was coming from the nearby town. One of the Heralds had died in the fire, and another had fallen on his knife rather than be captured by the townsmen who had cornered him. His body had been beaten beyond recognition, then hanged from a gibbet at the entrance to the town and burned; after the flames went out, they hung a sign on him that read, DEATH TO THE HERALDS! There had also been another unexplained death in the castle, and fears of plague were becoming more widespread. Therain could do little to combat it since he could not say it was not a plague—
23 I don’t know how she died,” said the Warden of Healing, staring down at the body of Viramele Dreithes. She lay where she was found, crumpled in the doorway to her apartments, her arms flung out over her head as if she’d died grasping for something just beyond her reach. “She was not murdered. There is no wound or trace of poison that I can find. She shows no signs of the sudden aging that befall us before our lives end. There is no damage to her heart or brain.” “Then why is she dead, Kirin?” demanded the Archmage. “I cannot say.” “How can that be?” The First Siege glowered down at the body as if it were a personal affront. “Are you certain magic was not used against her?” “I’m certain no wizard’s magic was used against her. That, I would have found. And I know of no other power that could kill a wizard like this.” “I’ve heard that two people from the townlands have died mysteriously over the past few days,” said Marandra. “Is this the same thing? Do we have a plague on our hands?”
24 R eshel sought out Kirin and found him in one of the study rooms. He had several leather-bound volumes open on the table before him and several unrolled scrolls, a few of which were so old and brittle they seemed ready to crumble to dust at the merest touch. He was taking notes in a slender book, writing very fast, reading and then scribbling something down, only to cross it out moments later. The magefire lamp suspended above his head cast a cone of warm yellow light upon the table. Gloom settled heavily in the corners of the room, as if his mood had seeped out of him and into the very air of the chamber. “Hello, Warden,” she said quietly. Startled, Kirin looked up at her. “Oh, hello, Reshel. What can I do for you?” “I want to help,” she said, taking a step into the room. “I know I’m not finished with my training—in fact, I’ve scarcely begun—but that doesn’t mean I have nothing to contribute. I can’t see why it would hurt to have another set of eyes looking over other spells to see
25 A cold rain fell the night before the Neddari army arrived at Agdenor, a sad silver curtain that dampened the already dark moods of the Khedeshians. The rain turned to a drizzle, then a faint mist, then ceased altogether an hour before dawn, when a thick fog rose from the rivers and drifted across the land. In full armor, Therain walked the battlements near the gate towers, with Captain Hiremar and his personal guards close to him. Therain’s stomach was in knots as he waited for news. His outriders had been shadowing the vanguard of the enemy for days as it crossed Calad-Ethil. Villagers and townfolk had fled before the enemy, taking with them what they could and burning any food they had to leave behind. Many had come to Agdenor seeking refuge, but the castle’s population had already swollen with the arrival of the vassals and their soldiers, and he was forced to turn nearly all of them away, sending them across the rivers into the holds and keeps of the very lords now camped at Ag
26 B alandrick was on his way to his rooms from a meeting with Gerin and several company commanders when he nearly crashed into Claressa. She jumped back, startled, her eyes wide, her hands pressed against her chest. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I did not see you. I’m surprised you’re not carrying a lamp. I’d have seen you otherwise.” “This is my home, Balandrick, and it’s not yet dark in here. It’s nice to know I’m not invisible, though. There’s so much going on in the castle, and I’ve been so thoroughly ignored for the past few days that I feared I’d become a ghost.” It’s hard to imagine anyone ignoring you, Claressa, he thought. What he said was, “Not at all. There’s just a lot for us to do that demands our attention.” “By us and our you obviously mean men, since what demands your attention is your preparation for war, which is a thing for men, and men alone. The fighting part, at least. The killing and the dying. The women are left behind, mothers and daughters and wives, to ke
27 T herain stood transfixed by the sight of the twister descending from the maelstrom of clouds. The sound of it was deafening, a roar that seemed to drive the air from his lungs, and the wind was unbelievably strong. There was a pull at his arm. “My lord, we must hurry!” shouted Elmen. Therain could barely hear him, though the captain’s mouth was almost pressed against his helm. “We have to get into the castle!” Therain allowed himself to be led through the postern door. He did not take his eyes from the descending whirlwind or the incredible sight of Asankaru feeding the storm with his powers. The door shut and the wind ceased with a suddenness that Therain found almost startling, though he could hear the roar of it beyond the door, like a wild animal stalking them, rabid and deadly, trying to find a way to reach its prey. “The gods preserve and protect us,” said Elmen, panting heavily. “My lord, what are we to do?” Therain did not answer. Instead he pushed past the captain and ran
28 A bran was standing at the window of his study, staring out across the northern expanse of the city. Its towers caught the fading golden rays of the setting sun, while the streets below filled with deepening pools of gloomy darkness. At a crisp knock on his door, he called out, “Enter!” then turned away from the frosty glass. Yurente Praithas opened the door and stepped aside to admit Arilek Levkorail, the Lord Commander and Governor General of the Taeratens of the Naege, the immense, double-ringed fortress where the supreme warriors of Khedesh were forged. Arilek was in his fifties but muscled like a man twenty years younger, a soldier who strove to keep his body as lean and hard as the armor he wore to protect it. His head, like all Taeratens, was shaved, though his mouth was rimmed with a trim beard like a ring of reddish fire flecked with strands of gray. He wore black trousers tucked into tall boots, a black tunic trimmed with gold beneath a wool jacket with gold buttons, and b
29 T he Neddari sent their heavy cavalry first. The horsemen charged in close ranks, with foot soldiers behind them. The cavalry shifted into a wedge-shaped formation as they neared the rampart. The stake-filled ditch and earthen wall still held across most of the hill, leaving only the relatively narrow opening where the timber gate had stood as their means of reaching the castle. Therain’s men prepared their defenses. They loaded trebuchets with buckets and pots soaked in a resinous compound called Fierel’s Fire, which would burn anything it touched. Even the surface of a river could be set aflame, and would burn until the compound had consumed itself. Men who were struck with it would perish, and any matériel hit would be destroyed. Soldiers with torches stood near the trebuchets, waiting to ignite the missiles moments before they were hurled upon the Neddari. Archers stood with bows in hand, clothyard arrows nocked, with full quivers upon their backs. Therain looked to the north an
30 T herain listened to his men cheer and felt him- self grinning despite the horrors of the night. By the gods, they had held. Even after the madness of Asankaru’s whirlwind and the damage it had caused, his men had kept the invaders at bay. But his relief was tempered by the knowledge that this was just the beginning of what they would face. The gates were smashed to rubble. Fires burned beyond the wall and in the courtyard, and the stench of blood and burned flesh filled the air. Severed limbs were strewn across the bloody earth like discarded refuse; dying and wounded men screamed in agony and cried out for the gods and their mothers to help them. Horses with broken backs or hacked-off legs writhed in torment on the ground, their own cries in some ways more piteous because they did not know the reason for their suffering. And this is just the first night of the siege, he thought as he stared at the wreckage around him. Before tonight he’d believed they could have held out for month
31 T herain was back upon the wall well before dawn. The night had grown bitterly cold. A freezing rain had fallen toward morning, and a thick mist rose from the rivers and drifted across the hill. We won’t be able to see them until they’re upon us. He ordered men with horns to stand watch down the road and signal at the first sign of a Neddari attack. At least the fog will help Urthailes and Stehlwen cross the rivers unseen. A thick column of black greasy smoke still rose from the mound of dead Neddari and swirled amid the gray mist. Therain thanked the gods for the faint east wind that carried most of the smoke and stench down the hill rather than into the castle. “My lord, here is some mulled wine,” said Elmen, appearing out of the fog. “It will help warm you.” Therain took the cup in his gloved hands and took a long swallow of the hot liquid. “Thank you, Captain.” As Therain pondered the heavy fog, an idea came to him. “Summon Vailes and his horsemen and the field captains. We need
32 A bran made his way down the cobblestoned surface of Nathrad Road upon his brown and black destrier Marhil, past Tanners Way and the Street of Kings, lined with massive marble statues of the previous rulers of Khedesh and the cleared spot waiting for his father’s statue, past stoop-shouldered men and shawled women standing beside barrows and carts filled with vegetables and fruits, past guild houses and inns, blacksmiths’ forges and cobblers’ shops, fish markets and merchants dealing in wool, silk, leather, and linen, on his way to the Okoro Gate. He was surrounded by a phalanx of Kotireon Guards—charged with protecting members of the royal household—who would escort him to the wall of the city, where he would meet the Taeratens responsible for his safety outside of Almaris. By law, the Kotireons had jurisdiction only in the capital and its surrounding environs; this campaign would take the king across the breadth of Khedesh, and so his safety would be entrusted to Taeratens who had
33 A fter sending his message to Gerin, Therain returned to the battlements. He was pleased with the outcome of their attack, but his satisfaction was tempered by the knowledge that when Asankaru sent another storm at them, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew it was only a matter of time before they fell. Maybe hours or days, or weeks if they were very lucky, but at some point another twister would follow the first. He knew that the Storm King was not a god; that was a deception that had allowed him to gather and control the Neddari army now camped on Therain’s lands. Was there some way to turn that deception to his use? Some way to show the Neddari that their god was false? Nothing is so hard as to show a man he has been played for a fool, Master Aslon had told him once. Many will deny they have been tricked no matter if the proof of the lie is waved before their noses. A man’s pride can be a strangely delicate and stubborn thing when challenged. Some would rather die th
34 L ate one night, restless and unable to sleep, Gerin left his rooms and made his way through the maze of corridors and stairways that riddled Blackstone Keep. Four guards fell in step with him when he left his chambers. He said nothing to them of his destination, and they did not ask him, though it was plain from his apparel—wool surcoat, hooded fur-lined cloak, and gloves—that they were going outside. He descended to the main floor, his boots echoing loudly as he crossed the nearly deserted entrance hall to a side door where a single soldier stood at attention. “My lord,” the man said with a bow of his head as Gerin approached. He unlocked the door and held it open as Gerin and his guards passed through. On the other side of the door a narrow set of stairs descended steeply to a flagstone path about fifteen feet long that intersected a larger path running parallel to the wall of the keep. Gerin turned left on the larger path, making his way across the inner bailey toward a lone str
35 T he castle was quickly falling to the invaders. Neddari soldiers shattered windows and then hurled oil-soaked torches into the buildings. Drogasaars loped through the shadows, their scimitars killing anyone they saw. Fires sprouted throughout the castle and black smoke billowed up into the sky. Men were fighting everywhere. The sounds of screaming and ringing steel and the roar of growing flames were all about them. Therain and his men were attacked again on the steps of the Thorn, where Randel died with a spear in his belly. Estram Kint fell from the steps, screaming, after his arm had been hacked off at the shoulder by an enormous Neddari wielding a double-bladed axe. Donael slashed at the axe-wielder just behind the knee and sent him sprawling across the steps, then drove the point of his sword down through the back of his neck. Therain himself took a glancing blow on his thigh that his mail only partially deflected. The swordsman lunged at him again, but Therain jumped up and s
36 B aron Eljon Sheridel spluttered awake when icy water splashed into his face. “Wake up, now,” he heard a gruff voice say. “You’ll be gettin’ visitors soon, and I was tol’ to get you awake.” Eljon shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and immediately regretted it. He groaned as pain shot up his neck and into his skull. His arms were secured above his head: his shoulders burned and his wrists ached from the ropes that bound them. At least his feet were flat on the floor. He opened his eyes. His vision took a moment to focus. He could see fires burning in the night and shadowy shapes moving through the darkness. He blinked several times to clear the water from his lashes, careful not to shake his head too much. As best he could tell, he was in the bailey of the castle, somewhere to the north of the gate. He did not know Agdenor well and his view was mostly blocked by two buildings that stood between him and the outer wall of the castle. It doesn’t matter. I am where I am, and
37 R eshel and the wizards had ridden hard toward Ailethon. It seemed to her that she’d been gone forever. So much could have happened by now, she thought. Had Gerin managed to put an end to the killing? What was the Neddari army doing? Was Therain all right? She could not wait to speak to her brother. Another day, two at most, and I’ll be home. She had loved her time at Hethnost despite the urgent reason for her being there, but now she wanted to be home, to help Gerin and Therain and then, perhaps, marry Balandrick and have children. She did not know what her father would think of that, but the more she pondered it, the more determined she was to marry him. Let Gerin and Claressa and Therain be married for political gain. They did not seem to mind the prospect of an arranged marriage. She wanted to choose her own path. Her wizardry set her apart. Balandrick, at least, accepted that. He was kind and caring—qualities she found surprising in a soldier—and adored her, though she still di
38 M y lord,” said a male servant who had appeared in the doorway of the Sunlight Hall, “your brother has arrived.” Gerin and five of his vassals were in his study, examining maps one last time before they marched forth with their army. Mid-morning had come and gone. He’d hoped to set out by noon, but he would be lucky now if the van took to the road before the mid-afternoon bells sounded. “Prince Therain is here?” asked Nuven Kelais, the Earl of Carmethos. Gerin despised the earl, a hot-tempered braggart who was rumored to have slain three mistresses who displeased him in some trivial way. But he had brought the largest contingent of men, so his demands for a high seat on the war council could not easily be refused. His small dark eyes were set close together; his upturned nose gave Gerin the impression of looking at a boar’s snout. “In person?” “Where is he now?” Gerin said. “Right here,” said Therain, entering the room. A large hulking soldier came in behind him. “I thought it best
39 W hen Ailethon at last came into view, Reshel nearly wept. Even surrounded by thousands upon thousands of soldiers, their many-colored tents and banners forming neat rows that extended from Ailethon’s walls down Ireon’s Hill and into the rolling lands beyond like some mystical woods that had sprung magically from the earth, it still seemed to be calling her home. She felt she would be safe once she got there, that within its old, strong walls the horrible things that had happened to her would be reduced to little more than bad dreams. But they’re not bad dreams, she thought wearily as they neared Padesh. They’re real, they happened, and they can’t be undone. When she’d awoken after the attack by the Red Robes, dawn was just arriving, like a red omen growing to the east. Kirin was sitting close to her. A bright fire blazed nearby, but there was no warmth or cheer in it. She could tell from Kirin’s expression that her foggy memory of the events of the previous night were not the produ
40 H e has less than an hour’s head start, Reshel thought as she stood at the postern door, trying to determine what course of action to take. Should she rouse the guards to go after him? Wake the wizards? But what if she were wrong about his destination? What if he actually were going to visit one of the lords at the edge of his army’s encampment? In the dead of night, with enough provisions to last a fortnight? And no escort? No, he was definitely going to the Sundering to confront Asankaru. That was the only reasonable explanation. But what to do? If she called his own men to go after him, she risked not only humiliating him but creating the impression that he was fleeing out of cowardice or some other base reason. She knew that word would spread through the camp, and with each telling it would be worse for Gerin. What will they think if he succeeds in getting away and awake to find their commander and prince has deserted them? Had Gerin even considered that? She decided it would be
41 T hey reached the Samaro River early the next morning. The hilly country ended in an abrupt line a mile or so from the northern bank to form a flood plain of tall grasses and wind-bent trees. The river plain narrowed until the hills to their right loomed above them, sloping down toward the water in long narrow ridges. The Samaro itself was wide and deep, the current fast and muddy from a brief but strong rain that had fallen during the night. The fourth day came and passed. The hills bent away from the river once more, leaving a swath of forested earth between the water’s edge and the rise of the land to the north. Dawn of the fifth day arrived, cold but bright. They spoke little; they were close now to the Sundering, and there was nothing more to say until they found the bridge or its ruins. They’d only been traveling a short while when a ridge rose across their path. It was divided in two by a deep cleft, like a dam with its center cut away. The river flowed through the cleft with
42 P endrel Yevan Hirgrolei was troubled. The Slain God had vanished from the castle. He had appeared before Hirgrolei in the Great Hall and said, “I go to complete the summoning. I will return when I am whole once more.” Then he’d vanished before Hirgrolei could even open his mouth to voice a question. Was he to take the war to the unbelievers or wait for them to attack? Now he was left to guess what the Slain God wanted and risk the God’s displeasure if his guess were wrong. The Slain God’s war priests had not returned from their journey to recover the horn; neither had any of the warriors Hirgrolei sent with them, handpicked by Odan Iktoret Perochan himself. He could only assume they had succeeded, otherwise why would the God have left them? Hirgrolei longed to have but a tenth part of the Slain God’s powers. What a wonder it would be to know, in an instant, what had happened many miles away! When he gained more of the Slain God’s trust and confidence, after showing his worth by con
43 G erin prepared a death spell but did not release it. The being before them was alone and unarmed and had not yet made any threatening moves or gestures. He regarded them curiously, with a slight tilt of his head, his large silvery eyes reflecting the light of Reshel’s magefire. “I’ve come, Asankaru,” said Gerin. “But if you think—” The being threw back his head and laughed. The sound was strange—harsh and shrill, like the cawing of some wild bird. “You know nothing, Summoner. I am not Asankaru.” Gerin faltered. “How can you not be Asankaru?” “Because I am his brother, Teluko. Fear not, I mean you no harm.” “How is it that you know our speech?” asked Reshel. “Your race died out thousands of years before Kelarin was fashioned.” “I speak your tongue because I drew knowledge of it from those you name the Neddari. The power to touch the minds of others is one shared by all of the People of Theros. It allowed us to know other races, to learn not only their languages but also their custom
44 R eshel collapsed to her hands and knees, weeping uncontrollably. She vomited on the stone, then retched dryly after her stomach had emptied itself. Gerin knelt and held her head, gently pulling her hair back from her face. “That is the crime you have forgotten,” said Teluko. His face was terrible to see, grim and sad and accusing all at once. “That is why my brother is maddened with thoughts of revenge. He knows what was done here, how our people—the mothers and wives and children we had left behind—were butchered until none were left. Though he perished at the last battle, as did I, his spirit returned to this place. It is the way of my people. At death our spirits return to our families to watch them and at times guide them, if the spirit is strong enough to make itself known. But we could do nothing, since our race was killed. Only watch as you now did, with impotent, helpless rage.” Reshel was still crying. “How could anyone be so cruel?” “War is always cruel,” said Teluko. “An
45 W here is the thrice-bloody Storm King or his bloody Red Robes?” asked Baron Velton Reiches, staring down from the summit of the Tower of Cregael, which straddled the castle’s urtain wall and anchored Sarod’s High Fence into the western castle with its Tower of Thelakor. The baron was a vassal of Gerin’s, the lord of Castle Vallaser. He had not yet witnessed the power of Asankaru or his servants but had heard plenty about them from those who had retreated from Agdenor. Baron Velton was a natural skeptic and eager to see these “spirits” for himself. “I don’t know where they are,” said Therain. “If my brother has drawn their attention, we can consider ourselves lucky.” Velton snorted. “Spirits who can call twisters,” he muttered, half to himself. “Sounds a lot of rubbish to me.” “I assure you it’s not,” said Therain. The baron jumped a little; apparently he had not expected to be heard above the din of battle. “I can easily show you the ruins of Agdenor’s gates when the opportunity pr
46 T he sound of the horn echoed across the face of the cliff, a sad, mournful note that lingered long past the point where it should have faded. At the foot of the Sundering, where Dian’s Stair began its long climb, Hollin, Kirin, and Balandrick looked up in alarm. “Venegreh preserve us,” whispered Hollin. He bounded onto the Stair. Kirin, Balandrick, and the soldiers of the Sunrise Guard followed. “Can we still stop it?” asked Balandrick. “It will take hours to reach the summit,” said Hollin. “I fear that whatever is happening with Gerin will be finished long before we can reach him.” His heart black with despair, Balandrick followed. Stay safe, Reshel. Whatever happens, stay safe until I get there. Gerin still held the horn to his mouth. The Red Robes had not commanded him to lower it, and he was powerless to move otherwise. He continued to struggle, but the only sign of it was a sheen of sweat that sprang from his forehead. Asankaru spoke to the only Red Robe not holding Gerin an
47 I n the autumn of that year, eight months after the fall of the Storm King, Gerin returned to Almaris. There was to be an Assembly of Lords to discuss Gerin’s involvement in the Neddari War, as well as his wizardry. His role in the release of Asankaru had become widely known, and though it was explained that he had not acted of his own free will but from the influence of a spell placed upon him by the Neddari, there was nevertheless a great deal of grumbling among the nobles for explanations and remunerations. The Council of Barons had finally demanded that the king call an Assembly for their concerns and grievances to be aired. After mobilizing so many of his vassals to engage the Neddari, Abran was left with little choice but to agree. Gerin sat on the balcony of his rooms in the Tirthaig, drinking wine and watching the shadows lengthen. It had taken months to drive the last of the Neddari out of Khedesh, but the invaders had lost the moment the Storm King was cast from the world.
← Prev
Back
Next →
← Prev
Back
Next →