In Solitude's Shadow: Empire of Ruin Book One

by David Green

  “Sparkers across the Empire unburden themselves of the Laws even as we argue, fighting with all their might against the ravenous elves who seek to destroy them!” Garet cried, desperation in his features. “Would you not allow us to do the same?”

  “We are not them,” Zanna said, releasing the magic from her throat. “Many here believe in the old ways, we won’t abandon them on the Emperor’s whim,”

  The Sparkers turned to Garet and waited. Solitude’s leader took a ragged breath and smoothed the front of his robes.

  “Very well,” he muttered. “This time tomorrow. Your gods have mercy on us until then.”

  As he finished, the hall’s doors bounced open. Horns sounded from the ramparts and a guard sprinted into the dining hall.

  “Masters!” he cried, out of breath. “A party of Banished are approaching the gates!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A DAY FOR THE UNEXPECTED

  ‘The only good elf, is a dead elf.’ - A popular saying from soldiers in the Empire’s army.

  “Vettigan, is it my imagination or did you use the Spark to find the most rickety, splinter-riddled, dung-spattered cart in the whole of Colton duchy?”

  Calene’s mood could have been better. A smattering of rain fell on occasion this far south, but the heavens had hammered down, unceasing, since they’d hit the road. Vettigan had contacted his former apprentice at Spring Haven, told him of the mysterious Banished. They’d been instructed to reach the capital ‘with all haste’, and in complete secrecy.

  So they’d swapped their fine steeds for a cart and mule, their bright Sparker robes for rough, Haltveldtian travel cloaks—dark, sturdy, nondescript and fragrant, especially when damp. Their passenger still hadn’t woken, even with the rain. They’d constructed a makeshift canopy to keep the rain off his face and he wore a relaxed smile on his lips, though the cart bounced off every rock and pothole on the road.

  Calene watched him as she sat in the back, desperate for him to wake but not looking forward to what came next. She held a scrap of paper with the drawing her mother had projected to her—the strange rock with the tree growing from its centre. She’d get answers from the Banished. Somehow.

  Calene eyed his broadsword, strapped behind the seats of the cart. It looked in excellent condition, but the fresh nicks in the metal hinted at recent use. Who had he been fighting? And had they lived to tell anyone there was a Banished south of Solitude?

  Calene and Vettigan wore their weapons, concealed by their rough spun cloaks. Anything could happen on the road, but they’d only call on their Spark in extreme circumstances. The University trained Sparkers in the art of melee combat because the Laws demanded extreme caution. She enjoyed swordplay but Vettigan accused her of using her blade like a woodcutter used an axe—matchsticks out of pine trees, he said. She returned the favour and called him ‘the old dance master’. His flowery fighting style carried too much flourish and pizazz for her tastes, though she acknowledged that not many could best him.

  “I’d think you were falling in love with the man if I didn’t know better,” Vettigan said, glancing over his shoulder, “the way you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, I suppose.”

  “More beautiful. There’s an innocence about him.”

  Calene ignored the bait. She kept her love life private, and for an excellent reason. The last time drunken discussion had turned to the topic of romance, she’d made the mistake of mentioning her year-long drought to him. He’d done as friends did and tried to convince every woman in the tavern of her eligibility, including the innkeeper’s wife and the bard, who’d been in the middle of her set. They had all asked her why her grandfather arranged her courting for her. Calene had never been so embarrassed, before or since.

  “Looking at him, it’s hard to believe these are the monsters of old. Grandparents used to say the Banished would steal you away if you didn’t behave.”

  “They’ll say the same of the elves,” Vettigan grumbled. “We humans say they’re inferior to us. Scum. A blight on Haltveldt, and the rest of the world. All they want is the freedom to live their lives. Our children’s children will call them monsters to justify our actions.”

  Calene climbed over the seats and sat next to Vettigan. She lay her head on his shoulder.

  “Perhaps that’s all the Banished were. Different. Or maybe they were the evil drokers history says, and they’ve changed their ways. Two thousand years is a long time.”

  Her head rose as he shrugged.

  The road carried them through the Forest of Mists. Tall trees, ancient and proud, reached into the sky and plunged them into twilight, odd for the afternoon. Fog lingered above the ground, thicker in the morning and night, and gave the forest its name. The rain drowned out any other noise, save their creaking cart, but Calene imagined the woods would be alive with birdsong and animal sounds. Water dripped from her hood and caught her nose, and she felt tempted to draw on the Spark and shield their cart from the elements, though that would give them away as magi to any travellers on the road.

  Gods’ teeth, a breeze wouldn’t go amiss either, she thought. A wet heat settled over them like a sodden blanket, making her cloak heavy and her skin sticky.

  The intermittent contact with her mother unsettled her, too. Zanna stayed respectful of her boundaries, but Calene felt her brush her mind every so often. A part of her wanted to tell Zanna to back off and leave her alone. Another part craved the comfort her mother provided, the way it used to be.

  “Why’s it so droking hot?” she complained. “I could cope with rain or the heat on their own, but together? Drok this, I’m not standing for it.”

  “Beggar, up ahead,” Vettigan whispered, laying a hand on her forearm before she could draw on the Spark. “I’ve no idea how far we are from anywhere in this forest. Let me do the talking.”

  A figure in a stained, leaf-coloured cloak sat with their back against a tree, a staff lying across their knees. Head bowed, they appeared oblivious to their surroundings. They’d seen several beggars on the road and exchanged food or water for local news and the like. War left many poor and desperate, and Calene hated to see folk go hungry.

  “Stranger!” Vettigan called, drawing the cart to a halt, the mule braying. “How far is the nearest village?”

  Calene noticed they moved their head away, as if attempting to keep their face hidden. Taken one too many beatings from travellers I reckon, she thought, hopping down into the squelching mud.

  “We’ve spare food and water,” Calene said, kneeling in front of the stranger. She saw a flash of bright red hair curling under the hood. “We only seek news of the road ahead.”

  The traveller raised their head a little.

  A woman?

  The beggar’s eyes flicked to the sleeping Banished. Calene noticed the shape of a sword hilt beneath their cloak. She shuffled backwards as the stranger turned their hard stare on her.

  “Colton village is another three hours ride from here. Road’s bad in places.” The woman waited a moment, then asked, “The food?”

  “Vettigan?” Calene called, not taking her eye from the slumped figure in front of her. She heard the cart creak and the splat of mud as her companion jumped down and approached. He passed her a package with a small amount of cheese and bread, along with a filled water skin.

  “What is he?” the beggar whispered, voice hoarse. Calene couldn’t make out her features, but she knew she spoke of the Banished.

  She glanced at Vettigan, who shook his head and pointed to the road.

  She asks too many questions. His voice bloomed in Calene’s mind. Leave now or we’ll have to take steps.

  “Friend of ours,” Calene said. “Too much to drink last night. Nasty fall. You know how it is.”

  “Aye,” the stranger replied. “I know how it is.”

  Calene held the food out in her hands, not wanting to lea
ve the package in the mud. The beggar remained still as rain hammered down around them.

  Then her calloused hands snapped out with surprising speed and took the items from Calene.

  “Thank you,” she said, tucking the food under her cloak and unfastening the water skin.

  Calene climbed back into the cart, and turned to watch the beggar as they pulled away, a weight twisting in her stomach. The stranger stood and watched until the forest swallowed them.

  ###

  They travelled in silence after their meeting with the beggar. The road turned to mud in places, making their progress slow, and daylight faded into dusk.

  “I reckon we’re an hour from Colton,” Vettigan said. “Do we push on, or find somewhere to make camp off-road?”

  Calene glanced around, slapping at bugs landing on her face. Since the meeting with the stranger, the Forest of Mists had grown oppressive; the looming trees seemed diseased, their branches reaching out like fingers ready to tear and scratch, the fog thicker.

  “Teeth of the gods, push on, man.”

  “Thought you’d say that,” Vettigan grinned, urging the mule forward.

  Calene turned, the sound of a soft singing voice catching her attention. The Banished lay awake, gazing at the fading light flickering through the foliage. She couldn’t understand the words, but the melody and tone comforted her. Her muscles relaxed at the lilting tune, and the tension she held in her shoulders lessened as she stared into the coiling mist. Memories of happier times with her mother and father, of warmth, comfort and joy flooded her mind. Calene shook her head, bringing herself back into the present.

  “Vettigan,” she whispered. “When did he wake?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied, eyes distant, “but leave him be. Until he stops singing, anyway.”

  Calene nodded and fought back the urge to leap into the back of the cart and shove the drawing under the Banished’s nose. He continued to sing, voice rising and falling like the ocean beyond Sea’s Keep on a cool summer’s morning.

  “Perhaps it’s a lullaby?” Vettigan said, voice hushed. “It sounds…familiar. The melody reminds me of something I wish I remembered. A feeling, maybe.”

  “It’s a long journey to Spring Haven. You’ll have time for questions…assuming you can figure out his language.”

  The Banished fell silent, and Calene pulled the picture from her cloak.

  “Wait,” Vettigan said. “I hear horses.”

  He steered the cart to the roadside, making space for the approaching travellers. Within seconds, Calene saw them. Two men in bright cloaks riding impressive, strong-looking steeds—Sparkers.

  Behind them, a figure draped all in black that drew Calene’s eye. The black rider’s mount stamped and snorted, agitated. The air appeared darker around the figure, like the forest light seemed afraid to approach, and the thick mist swirled around its hooded head. Whoever lurked beneath the cowl, Calene felt them glaring back.

  “Vettigan, well met!” the leader called. Calene squinted at him and recognised his owlish, greying features from Spring Haven.

  Ganton, she recalled. So the other is Zal, his apprentice. And the third?

  Zal drew up alongside his master—blond, with a short beard and superior look on his bold features. Calene knew him by reputation. Wealthy stock, he’d passed in the same childhood circles as Emperor Locke and often sat in on conclave meetings to the impotent outrage of many.

  “Ganton, Zal.” Vettigan nodded. And he smiled, but Calene picked up a sudden tenseness. “What brings you to the middle of nowhere? And who’s your friend back there?”

  “A fellow Sparker. We were on our way to the front, when we received word of your discovery. A Banished, a long way south of Solitude.” Ganton glanced back at the rider in black, who sat unmoving. Not even the wind stirred its cloak. “High Sparker Balz has instructed us to take the Banished off your hands, and then you’re to take the nearest boat to Solitude. The Banished are stirring, and they require reinforcements.”

  This isn’t right, Calene said, Linking to Vettigan. The one in black… There’s hate pouring from beneath that cloak.

  I feel it, too, Vettigan replied.

  Zal dismounted and walked towards the back of the cart, ignoring them as if they didn’t exist. Calene jumped down and stood in his way.

  “You’re taking him to Spring Haven?” she asked. He towered over her, sneering down his long nose. Calene glanced behind him, at the rider. “Vettigan asked who your friend is. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Didn’t you hear High Sparker Balz’s orders?” Zal demanded. “We’re taking the Banished. We don’t have time for uppity foot soldiers.”

  Calene, her mother spoke into her mind, the sudden Link knocking all other thoughts from Calene’s mind, it’s urgent. The Sparkers—

  Bad timing, Mother.

  She blocked the connection, and felt her mother’s frustration spike before cutting off as she fortified the walls of her mind, keeping it her own.

  “Yes, I heard,” Calene said, taking a step toward Zal and baring her teeth. “I heard what you said his orders were. But how do I know you’re telling the truth? It’s not like you’re being forthcoming, is it?”

  The rider in black slid from its horse, hood falling with the movement. Calene gasped at the sight. A pale, bald woman glared back at her with black eyes. Angry, red cracks ran across her skin. The woman’s thin lips curled back into a snarl and Calene felt her draw on her Spark. Zal took advantage of the distraction and grabbed Calene by the hair. She yelled in outrage as he pulled her face into a rising knee. Her nose exploded on impact and she fell, head ringing. Her vision dimmed as she sank into the cold, wet mud.

  “The drok is this?” Vettigan roared.

  She looked up at the shout, confused, blood dripping down her face, into her mouth. Her friend leapt from the cart, but froze, sinking to his knees. The Sparker in black moved like a viper, void eyes fixed on Vettigan, a look of deranged glee—no, desire—etched into her ruined face. Vettigan shook, eyes wide with fear, shock and disbelief plain in his features.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Ganton said, licking his lips. He hadn’t even dismounted. “Change is in the air. Allow our Shadow Sparker to show you the future.”

  Calene shook away the pain. Opening the second sight, she gasped. A scream swelled in her throat. Black tendrils oozed from the Shadow Sparker, pulsating as they slithered into Vettigan. They entered his mouth, ears and eyes, and he howled in agony. The Sparker grinned, pulsating as she drained his light. His essence, his energy, seeped into her pores. Calene had seen Evisceration on the battlefield, had seen its after-effects on her father, but nothing like this. The dark energy invading her friend’s body seemed a living thing, twisted by the will of this thing, this ‘Shadow Sparker’.

  Vettigan’s skin withered, hair shedding from his scalp. Seconds had passed, just seconds, but already he looked a decade older.

  “Evisceration?” Calene screamed, wiping the blood from her nose as she struggled to her knees. “You can’t do this. Teeth of the gods, are you insane?”

  She wouldn’t watch this happen again. Not to Vettigan. Not to anyone.

  Calene reached deep inside her, knowing she needed to act, that every second counted. She pushed past the pain, used it, sucked her hate, her rage, her fear into a pulsing fist inside her. Fed on Vettigan’s life, the abomination’s Spark grew. If she tried to attack, it would overpower her. Deep down, she knew, her instincts screamed at her. Calene’s Spark would only nourish the Shadow Sparker. So she didn’t attack it. She improvised. Zanna had always said she had a razor-sharp mind.

  She clasped the air, channelling it into a whip, and struck the Shadow Sparker’s fussing stallion on the hindquarters. It broke with an outraged whinny and shot past Zal, who had the wherewithal to stagger aside. The Shadow Sparker, lost in the raptur
e of Evisceration, didn’t. The horse trampled the woman into the muddy ground with the sickening crunch of breaking bones.

  Vettigan slumped onto his face, body still.

  Ganton struck her with the back of his hand, sending her spinning. She hadn’t even seen him coming. “You’ve cost the Empire one of its most powerful weapons, girl. That woman was worth a hundred of you.”

  Disorientated, Calene crawled in the mud. She watched as Zal climbed into the cart. The Banished stared at her, yellow eyes narrowed and focused, innocence gone. She glanced at Vettigan. He’d flopped onto his front, skin grey, eyes hollow pits staring into the sky. She saw the shallow rise of his chest, but knew he needed immediate healing. Even failed Evisceration could kill. Victims never lasted long, and this had been an Evisceration like no other.

  I have to act. Now. The Banished? Or Vettigan?

  Calene snarled, forcing herself up. Ganton’s boot knocked the air from her as it connected with her stomach, throwing her into the mud once more. He grabbed her by the hair, seized her around her throat, and pulled her to her knees. Calene felt his breath by her ear.

  “Watch! After Zal’s done with your Banished friend, we’ll finish off Vettigan. Then it’s your turn.”

  Zal raised a hand, a black tendril, neither as ravenous nor as insidious as the one the Shadow Sparker commanded, shot out towards the Banished.

  It disintegrated.

  Ganton echoed Calene’s gasp as the Evisceration didn’t even make contact, melting away into the air. Zal staggered, the unexpected failure of his magic causing him to flounder. The Banished flowed like water to his feet, a warrior acting with purpose after waiting for his perfect moment to strike. He slammed into Zal and drove him out of the cart and onto the ground. He pulled a dagger from his furs and slammed it into Zal’s throat, crimson spurting across their faces.

  Calene, Ganton’s fist still wrapped around her throat, watched, dumbfounded by the exchange. Evisceration could be cut off if you disturbed the wielder, like all magic, but it never just failed. Not like that. To her, it had looked as though the magic refused to enter the Banished’s body, like something inside protected him.