In Solitude's Shadow: Empire of Ruin Book One

by David Green

  “That one’s trouble.” Trell glared at Byar as the battle’s smoke swallowed him. “Problem is, he’s popular. A brave, honoured fighter, and too many share his convictions.”

  “Aye, Trell. You’re more right than wrong, I fear. Tell the Sparkers to prepare. This isn’t over. If our allies don’t believe us, if they fall to fighting amongst themselves or turn against the elves even, then the gods know Spring Haven will see the work done.

  “One day, the First will return and seek revenge. Bal’s words rang true in my heart. Raas help us all if we’re not ready.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SPARK

  ‘Truth is lost in the mists of time. Often, it’s best left forgotten.’ - A saying favoured by Spring Haven’s more errant sailors.

  Zanna threw more wood into the fire, which accepted her offering with a satisfied crackle and pop. She avoided looking into the flames. In her mind, the faces of her past stared back all too often. Memories she’d rather forget.

  Rain hammered against the stone walls of her study, nestled within the warren of rooms that made up Solitude. The enormous structure sat nestled within the Peaks of Eternity—mountains that pierced the heavens—to create a basin of towering stone walls and sheer cliffs. A prison for the Banished, keeping them from the rest of Haltveldt.

  It had stood for aeons, and tradition dictated that the fortress remained manned, even though the Banished kept to themselves. They were little more than shepherds in their land of slate, but appeared content with their lives. Zanna spied them all too seldom these days. For generations—some scholars speculated at least two-thousand-years—they’d accepted their lot, trapped between the Peaks and Solitude.

  Zanna sat back and listened to the wind howling through the arrow-slit windows. She watched her student, Arlo, attempt magic. Guilt rose from the pit of her stomach. He should have been her focus. He reminded Zanna so much of her daughter it hurt. She’d almost turned down his apprenticeship because of it; she felt certain that Arlo’s presence had caused her mind to dwell so much on the past of late.

  I wonder what you’re doing this evening, Calene, wherever you are, she thought, gazing anywhere but the flames and the memories lingering within. Zanna could send her thoughts out, Link minds and ask, but the last time she’d tried her daughter rejected her. She didn’t want to feel that again. She resisted the temptation to prod the pocket of her mind reserved for her Link to Calene. She shared a Link with no one else, and missed the comfort of basking in it.

  “Are you paying attention to me at all?” Arlo asked, one eye held shut and the other open. Sweat dripped from the boy’s forehead. Through concentration, not the heat. Solitude absorbed cold from the mountains all year round—and the rain. Always rain and darkness.

  “Sorry, Arlo,” Zanna muttered. “Rest a second.”

  The boy did as she asked, opening his other eye and smiling back at her. Zanna reckoned elven-blood ran in his family. His bright blue eyes were a little too large for his face, his nose slender and mouth wide. His dirty blonde hair, curling to his shoulders, sat above slightly-pointed ears. Arlo looked awkward. Though most boys did at twelve, Zanna conceded.

  “I think I almost had it!” he cried, making a fist with his hand.

  Arlo had the Spark, innate magical ability, just like Zanna. Her talent ran in her family. Not so with Arlo. His power had manifested a short time ago, a rare occurrence for those without the Spark in their family. Zanna felt she could rule out a magical lineage; she knew his father, Kade Besem, possessed no magic and, if he did have an elven mother, she’d have been a slave. The Empire of Haltveldt exterminated any elven slave capable of the Spark without impunity.

  Zanna surmised Arlo belonged to a sub-group known as ‘Wild Sparkers’, where the Spark occurred through its own will. Most in the Empire could live their entire lives without ever knowing one.

  Spark magic used life-essence, the energy of the surrounding world and its people. Minor spells—feats of flame, spirit and the like—were achievable by pulling energy from within and channelling that force, pushing it into the world. Larger, more impressive acts needed an external source of energy—magic borrowed from elsewhere, drawn into a Sparker and shaped by their will. Pulling too much energy from inside or out could kill them.

  There’s always a balance, Zanna thought, tapping her top lip.

  “We’ll see,” she said, with a wink. “Try again. Focus on the fire, feel its heat on your face, let its warmth penetrate your skin. Draw it in, then direct it at the brazier behind you. Magic is balance.”

  Arlo grinned, closing his eyes again. Then the smile faded, a slight frown furrowing into his forehead. Zanna stifled a laugh—she’d seen so many young Sparkers try to control their magic, force it to give in to them. Calene had figured it out faster than any other Sparker she’d known; you had to surrender to it, allow it to flow into you.

  “Magic is a partnership,” she’d said, the first time she’d borrowed fire from the flames. “It’s so simple once you figure that out!”

  Zanna uttered those words now, coaxing Arlo in the correct direction. Some of her former apprentices didn’t believe, thinking instead that magic followed the same rules as every other aspect of life in Haltveldt. You had to fight. Take what you desired in the grand Spring Haven way. Zanna saw that Arlo possessed a supple mind. In the month they’d spent together since he’d arrived at Solitude, he’d improved at a stunning rate. She thought he might outshine her one day. Calene, too.

  Sparkers could measure each other’s capacity for magic. It wasn’t something they could see. Instead, the energies inside seemed to communicate with each other. The vastness of Arlo’s talent dwarfed that of many mature Sparkers, and Zanna didn’t want to guess at where his potential would end.

  As the rain continued its assault, Zanna felt the flames in the fireplace grow cold, just for a second. She glanced at them as they shrank, then back at Arlo, his frown replaced by a satisfied smile.

  “Oh!” He murmured. “That’s the way.”

  The flames almost disappeared as the young Sparker drew them into himself.

  “Not too much,” Zanna cautioned. “It can overwhelm you. Just draw what you need.”

  Arlo nodded and held out his hand. Flames sprouted from his palm, hot and bright.

  “A Sparker can achieve the same with the life-essence within,” Zanna said, watching. She drew on the wind outside, just in case. “But why spend yourself when you can borrow from the energies surrounding you?”

  Arlo opened his eyes, and the flames disappeared, sucked into his palm. With a sudden rush of sound, the brazier behind him erupted into flames. He sank back into his chair, tired but wearing his ever-present grin.

  “I did it,” he whispered, eyelids drooping.

  “Well done,” Zanna said. She drew the flames into herself, enjoying the bloom of warmth coursing through her body as the energy entered, and directed them back into the fireplace. “I’m proud of you! Few attempt this task as soon as you, let alone complete it.”

  “I could sleep for a week!” Arlo yawned, stretching his arms above his head.

  “You could,” Zanna agreed, getting to her feet and pulling her purple, hooded cloak from the stand. She grabbed Arlo’s green one and tossed it to him. “But you can’t. You need to eat. Come on.”

  She helped him to his feet and into his cloak. Arlo leaned into her as they left her study. Zanna put an arm around his slender shoulders, smiling as she steered him towards the dining hall.

  ###

  “So, you’ve been here for a month, Arlo,” Zanna smiled, ladling more olives, cheese, and ham onto her apprentice’s plate. She’d satisfied her hunger, but knew Arlo needed more. Although small in the grand scheme of things, the boy had performed a great feat of magic for one so inexperienced. “What do you make of your new home?”

  Arlo glanced around, eye
s narrowed. Zanna stifled a laugh. She saw the disappointment written plain on his face. “Well… I’m learning lots. I thought Sparkers were great warriors, but you’re really just monks, aren’t you?”

  Before she had arrived at Solitude, every apprentice Zanna had ever trained had voiced that same complaint. They wanted to become heroic Sparker warriors and serve the Empire. They wanted to battle the wicked elves. Haltveldt’s propaganda machine in full flow.

  “Yes and no,” Zanna replied, throwing the boy a wink. “We’re a religious order, correct. Many of us believe in the laws passed down by Raas and Janna, but just as many think them out-dated. They would see Sparkers used in a different way, the Emperor included, and I fear he’ll get his wish sooner than later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Zanna eyed her apprentice. He deserves to know, even at twelve.

  “The Emperor is not our commander, though we assist him and protect Haltveldt. But Raas and Janna forbid us to use our Spark for violence. For centuries, we Sparkers didn’t fight at all. We healed the sick, we built, we taught the words of the gods. We can defend ourselves—per the Laws of Engagement—but there are loopholes. If the Emperor sends a squadron of regular soldiers into battle in the elven territories with a lone Sparker to protect them, what if the Sparker feels under attack and retaliates when the arrows fly? That is how we come to fight the Empire’s wars for them. Some don’t even think the Laws of Engagement should apply to us anymore. They believe Raas and Janna are myths.”

  Arlo blew out his cheeks. “So what’s the Emperor going to do?”

  “Do?” Zanna laughed. “He already started, not long after he ascended the throne twelve years ago. He replaced most of the Conclave with his own people. And rumour has it our new High Sparker sides with the Emperor. I just hope there’s enough will to resist in the capital…”

  Zanna’s thoughts, unbidden, returned to the past. To Calene, to her husband. She believed in Raas, had prayed long into the night to Janna, but knew many took the gods for granted. Zanna feared for Haltveldt’s future.

  “No offense, Master,” Arlo said, breaking her concentration as he chewed on a mouthful of cheese, “but it’s so boring here. All it does is rain, and it’s dark. That’s why I study and practice so much. I do enjoy that—honest, I do—but I don’t see why anyone would volunteer to live here, except to learn magic.”

  “You’ll learn swordplay. Melee fighting and the like. That’s exciting, right?”

  Arlo gave a glum shrug. “Not as exciting as magic.”

  Zanna chuckled. They sat at the end of one of the long, wooden tables that ran lengthwise through the dining hall. Water dripped from their discarded cloaks. Their brief journey across the exposed battlements had soaked them as though they’d stood in the rain for hours. Glancing around the hall, Zanna tried to see the place from her apprentice’s point-of-view—tired old men and women in colourful clothing ambling around, drinking, eating, playing chess.

  The boy came expecting to learn battle, to become a hero of Haltveldt. Children from as far away as Temek City and Prosper dreamed of defending their beloved Empire but Arlo hailed from Spring Haven, the capital. Of course he was patriotic. The fact every face in the fortress appeared old and weathered didn’t help matters. The fellow Sparkers at Solitude considered her young at forty-nine.

  A fair conclusion, she conceded. The closest in age to me is Akeen, and he’s at least ninety.

  Zanna pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and eyed the grey hairs peppering the brown. “I agree, I’d take magic over swords any day. You know why we’re here though, don’t you? Why we stand guard at Solitude? Few come here to learn. That’s what the University in Spring Haven’s for. You’re the first apprentice Solitude’s welcomed in twenty-five years.”

  Arlo rolled his eyes, then jammed another piece of cheese into his mouth. His depleted magic would make him ravenous, tired and more than a little surly for days. Even though he’d borrowed energy from another source, his inexperienced body would require time to recover.

  “To guard the lands of Haltveldt from the Banished, in case they try to break out,” Arlo said, mouth filled with food. “Only, they never try to escape. Ever. Have you even seen one?”

  Zanna smiled, pouring herself more of the red wine delivered from the vineyards surrounding Spring Haven. She held the cup to her nose and took a deep breath; the rich scent held a hint of chocolate and lavender. It reminded her of home.

  “Yes,” she replied, taking a sip and savouring the taste. She’d allow herself one serving a night on normal occasions, though Zanna surmised two were in order to celebrate Arlo’s success.

  “Honest?” the boy replied, sitting up straight. “Where? How? What’re they like? Are they seven-foot-tall with red glowing eyes and pointed teeth?”

  Zanna laughed, holding her hands up to ward off the flood of questions.

  “Which do you want answered first?” she asked, pouring Arlo a thumb-width of wine. She held her cup up and motioned for Arlo to do the same. “To your amazing success tonight. Now, the Banished. On a cloudless day, you’ll see scouts through a telescope. They range close to the walls and watch us staring back. It’s almost like they’re checking we’re still here, doing our jobs.”

  “And?” Arlo said, grimacing from the taste of his wine. Zanna noted he didn’t put the cup down, though. “What do they look like?”

  “They’re just people, Arlo.” She shrugged. “Sure, they’re different to us in their ways. They’ve lived cut off beyond Solitude for thousands of years after the armies of Haltveldt forced them there. But they’re flesh and blood like you or I. They’re paler than us, maybe a little taller on average; almost all boast fair hair and light coloured eyes—greens, yellows, greys. Whatever they were, and our histories tell us little, they’re just shepherds now.”

  “That’s disappointing,” Arlo muttered, skewering a green olive on his fork and adding a piece of ham to it. “I thought they’d be fierce monsters. I’d love to see where they live.”

  “Me too.” Zanna looked around the dining hall. The room held space for eight hundred people. Not even fifty Sparkers occupied the seats. “We used to, back in the day, when there were more of us. Sparkers would ride out and monitor them, watch their campfires and the like. A few attempted to learn more, but our languages had diverged too much to communicate, if we ever shared a tongue at all.”

  “Why are there so few of us now?” Arlo asked, staring with focused intent at an apple.

  “Because the powers that be in Spring Haven don’t think Solitude is important.”

  Her parents, in the few memories she had of them, told her stories of the Banished—tales to frighten her and she dutifully passed them on to the other children. But their threat had long become a joke to the people of Haltveldt, a fairy-tale to scare infants.

  The Banished will creep from the dark north and steal you away. Zanna smiled, remembering her father’s favourite saying. She knew he’d never meant it, even then.

  “Is it because we’re at war with the elves?” Arlo asked. He still gazed at the apple, as if he dared it to move.

  “Yes, a nasty business,” Zanna replied, her mouth tight. “Haltveldt won’t stop until the elves are wiped off the face of the continent or made slaves.”

  The rulers of Haltveldt, and most of its people, had always seen themselves as worthier beings than the elves, though Emperor Locke took their persecution to new levels. They waged war with the free elves in the south, and any of their kind in the towns and cities of humans found themselves in forced servitude or confined to slums.

  “Did you ever fight on the frontlines?”

  “Most Sparkers have,” Zanna replied, a distant look in her violet eyes. “It’s a time I’d rather forget. We don’t go there to fight. We go there to defend and heal. We cling to that difference but everything changes when you’re there, in the
heat of it. Well, some of us do. Not so many these days.”

  “Do you…?” Arlo shook his head. “No, sorry. I shouldn’t ask.”

  “Ask away, apprentice. Answers and teaching is what I’m to provide.”

  The boy took a deep breath. “Do you know anyone who died in battle? I dreamt of one the night I arrived here, even though I’ve never seen a battle. Humans and elves fighting together, side-by-side? It didn’t seem real.”

  Zanna offered him a tight smile. “I don’t think I’ll live to see the day. Human hatred against elves runs deep and they have no love for us either.” She sighed. “Yes, to answer your question. I’ve known too many who’ve perished in this endless war. My parents, to offer two examples.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arlo said, lowering his head. “My mother died birthing me, I never knew her.”

  Zanna reached out, and lifted Arlo’s chin with gentle fingers.

  “I know,” she murmured. “Life is cruel, but there’s beauty in it, too.”

  “The Empire’s armies are huge,” Arlo muttered, scowling at the apple and changing the subject as the young and curious often do. “You’re saying they can’t spare a few extra Sparkers and soldiers for us? There must be less than a hundred people up here.”

  Zanna chuckled. She remembered discussing the same questions with Protector Garet, Solitude’s leader, many times.

  “There’s two hundred. You’ve not found every nook and cranny of Solitude yet. I’m not sure I have. The place is huge. After the monstrous elves, Haltveldt’s priority is protecting our shores from the nations overseas, who, as the Emperor would tell us, are just waiting for any sign of weakness. Some might say he’s paranoid. Others would say he’s a warmonger. Whoever is up here is either old like Severen over there...” She pointed at a grey-bearded old man slumped in a chair against a wall, hands resting on his heaving stomach as he snored. “...or exiled like me.”

  “Why were you exiled?” Arlo asked, bright eyes fixed on the apple.