by David Green
Approaching the Emperor, still consumed by his research, Nexes’ eyes flicked to one of the dioramas on the wall. The final one. It depicted Solitude, an army beyond it, shifting and changing to show the invaders breaking through. As the horde pushed on, a lone figure waited for them. Words appeared, separating the single shape from the onrushing enemy. Nexes didn’t need to read them; they were etched in his soul.
“With the Fair Ones on their knees, the First shall return, and ruin with them,” Nexes murmured, his voice carrying through the silence, his stare flicking to the stone door that still kept its secrets. “One nation, one Haltveldt. He born apart, shall be its salvation. Protect him.”
“Nexes,” Emperor Locke said, without looking around. “You know I love it when you talk about me.”
“Or your son,” Nexes replied, coming to a halt at a respectable distance.
Nexes held no doubt the prophecy referred to one of them. Nothing set someone apart more than royal blood.
After viewing the words for the first time, and seeing that those events were the only ones yet to occur, their triumvirate had become convinced that the time of the Banished’s return drew near.
Their predecessors had spent years playing down the Banished threat. After all, the final prophecy would never be their concern. They were happy to live out their lives safe in the knowledge that the events would be after their time. Before Emperor Locke, Haltveldt’s rulers had lost faith in the Cradle’s warnings; or maybe they’d just been too comfortable, too bloated from luxury and excess, too lazy. The people of Haltveldt had believed them because ignorance came easier. Only they three understood and they had studied the Cradle’s every offering to find a way to make Haltveldt whole. The first step would be ending the war with the elves—the Fair Ones—for good.
The Cradle’s archives claimed humans and elves had once been allies against the First, but Emperor Locke had ruled out a truce. Elves were subhuman scum, untrustworthy, and they would accept peace only until the Empire turned its back. Their hatred for the humans of Haltveldt ran deep. They had to be destroyed, wiped out, before Haltveldt could face the threat from the north. They couldn’t afford to leave the Banished potential allies. They’d run back to their old masters in a heartbeat if they thought it would save them from extinction.
Nexes, as Master of War, agreed. He’d supported Emperor Locke’s propaganda against the elves, fomenting hatred and distrust so that Haltveldt’s citizens would meet the elves genocide with celebration. The army’s ranks swelled and the Sparkers embraced the full extent of their powers, all to end the ancient enemy. Together with the Emperor, Nexes redoubled Haltveldt’s war efforts and they had broken the seemingly endless deadlock. The days of elves on their continent were numbered.
The sudden return of the Banished—the First People—came as no surprise. Now, they had to make the rest of Haltveldt believe in the danger after centuries of thinking them nothing but simple shepherds and bogeymen of legend, and nothing did that better than a tragedy.
The fall of Solitude and two hundred Sparkers is a small price to pay, Nexes told himself. A sacrifice for the greater good. And, if Adhraas falls soon after, then it’s an even greater tragedy to light vengeful fury in Haltveldt’s heart.
“Yes,” Emperor Locke muttered, looking up from the parchment in his hands. “My son. He’s a little young to be a saviour, no?”
“Unless this war lasts decades,” Nexes replied, with a tight smile.
The Empress had given birth to their heir two months previous. High Sparker Balz had presided over his naming. Locke II, next of the Locke Dynasty, a brave new tradition.
The two men clasped hands. “Let’s hope not.” The Emperor grinned. “But war has been good for us. The trouble with peace is that it makes people soft. It gives them time to think about their rights, what they’re entitled to. War keeps everyone pliable. Ready. Strong. It speeds progress and that’s what Haltveldt needs. We couldn’t have abolished the Laws without the elven war as an excuse, and we’ll need that power in the battles to come.”
“And once news of the massacre at Solitude reaches the cities, the people will beg for us to do whatever’s necessary. As will any dissenting Sparkers. And, if they disagree, I’m sure the Shadow Sparkers will change their minds.”
“What of these ‘dissenters’? Did you discover their names?”
“Yes, my Emperor,” Nexes said. He scowled inwardly at the thought of Kade Besem’s escape at the port. “Our very own Master of Ceremonies, Bertrand, and his friend, Kade Besem, rallied around fifty names to their cause. Bertrand is dead, and the rest will follow before too long. Kade escaped on a vessel heading towards Adhraas. It’s in hand.”
The Emperor nodded, his over-large features growing solemn. He rolled up the parchment he held.
“This scroll interests me, Nexes. Do you recognise it?”
Nexes inclined his head. He’d seen the Emperor reading it often, but he could see his friend wanted to talk about it, and Nexes served his Emperor’s will.
“A Sparker named Trell wrote it, about two thousand years ago. She fought the First People. She wrote about their depravity and helped create this place so we wouldn’t forget. But we did! We fought against other human cities and lost sight of the real enemy. The First People, and their helpers, the elves. Slaves, yes? But we both know slaves serve a master.”
Something in that gave Nexes pause. Emperor Locke was his master. So what did that make him?
“If our ancestors hadn’t lost this place, if they’d united Haltveldt sooner, if they’d obliterated the elven scourge as they should have from the beginning, we could have marched beyond Solitude and put an end to the First People before they returned. Hope for peace has sickened and softened our Empire. War is what Haltveldt requires, and we have so many enemies. Fighting amongst ourselves makes us weak. Dissent makes us weak. I worry, Nexes. I do.”
“About what, my Emperor?” Nexes asked, though he knew, and shared, those same concerns.
“When Solitude falls, our enemies overseas will strike. Halting trade with them won’t stop them hearing word of the invasion. They’ll see us as weak, ripe for the taking. We must strike the Banished hard, without mercy and with haste. To that end, I require you to travel south. See that the elves are dealt with, once and for all. You’re the Master of War, after all. Inspire our brave soldiers. Unleash our Shadow Sparkers, and let the others follow their lead. Make sure they know that not a single elf can remain. Then, take our armies north and do the same to the Banished when they cross the Peaks of Eternity. Show them our might. Let the other nations tremble when they see the fate that awaits our enemies.”
“Your word is law, my Emperor,” Nexes replied. He saluted and spun on his heel.
“Nexes? My friend?”
“Yes, my Emperor?”
“Don’t fail me now. For Haltveldt.”
“Always.”
Nexes strode through the library, his thoughts already turning to the elves. Soon, only the Cradle would remember them and Haltveldt would be a nation whole. As prophesied. The one born apart would lead them to salvation, and Nexes would do everything in his power to aid him, his Emperor.
Walking past the diorama, Nexes glanced at it and smiled.
“The First People will regret leaving their mountains,” he said, gazing at the lone figure standing in their way. “I’ll make certain of that.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOLITUDE’S SHADOW
‘Give someone with power a bit more, and you’ll create a tyrant.’ - An ancient proverb, one Haltveldt’s noble families place little stock in.
“The Banished sure like waiting.” Arlo said, peering over the battlements.
Zanna nodded, a frown etched into her forehead. Their army waited, same as ever, except that now a party of twelve Banished lingered outside the walls, staring up at the ramparts. It se
emed they’d marched all the way from the Peaks of Eternity just to wait.
The sentry’s warning had stirred the Sparkers into a panic but the storm had blown itself out before it even started. It hadn’t been the attack Garet wanted. The stalemate remained.
She peered through her telescope at the dozen who’d approached. A mixture of male and female, the pale Banished watched back. Studying them, she noticed that they deferred to one who stood at the head of the group. He wore an uncomplicated bronze crown atop his white hair, though the mighty broadsword strapped to his back suggested the Banished leader could fight. She doubted she could have wielded a weapon that size without her Spark.
Zanna swept her gaze across the plains; stragglers trickled over the foothills and joined the ranks of the assembled Banished.
“Perhaps they won’t act until the rest join them. Are you scared, Arlo? It’s okay if you are. Natural.”
The boy bit his lip and placed his own telescope to his eye.
“At first. I thought they’d kill us all. But I listen to them sing at night, and it soothes me when I wake from my nightmares.”
“It is beautiful,” Zanna agreed, ruffling her apprentice’s hair and eyeing him with concern.
The boy had spoken of nightmares since arriving at Solitude, but never wanted to talk about them. He even grew angry when Zanna pressed him. She decided to let him talk when he felt ready. She’d learned her lesson with Calene.
Each night, the Banished’s songs filled the air, melodies that broke her heart, then mended it even as she wept. They reminded her of Calene. Her daughter enjoyed singing, or had. They’d played instruments together, when she’d been a child, though Zanna always preferred listening to Calene sing from her heart.
I don’t know what she likes anymore, Zanna thought. My daughter’s a stranger to me.
She pushed against the connection they shared again, but hit upon the barrier her daughter had erected. Zanna had contacted her the day before—right after Garet had told them of the Conclave’s ruling on the Laws of Engagement—but Calene had cut her off. There could have been myriad reasons but the lingering silence fed her fears. She pushed at the barrier one more time, found it impassable, and sighed.
At least she’s alive, Zanna told herself. There wouldn’t be a barrier to touch otherwise. Though I doubt the Banished she healed will survive long in Spring Haven.
The capital’s appetite for war sickened her. Their willingness—no, eagerness—to use the most terrible part of the Spark as a weapon signalled a descent into wickedness. Her husband had wanted it too. Ricken had taken an evil path. He’d seen the Spark as a tool to dominate and rule. He’d experimented on others, pushing their limits and his own.
Zanna hadn’t noticed his descent until too late. Their duties as Sparkers had kept them apart for months at a time. The depths he’d sunk to only became clear the day he’d turned his attention to their daughter. Calene’s power blazed like a bonfire on a dark night. Or the fire of a burning city.
“Will I see my father again?” Arlo asked.
He stared up at Zanna, tears in his eyes. She forgot his young age at times. It pleased her that she could talk to him about Kade. Only she and Garet knew where Arlo had come from, and the Protector didn’t seem to notice the boy’s presence most of the time.
“I’m certain,” she said, smiling back. “He’ll change the Conclave’s mind. An army will arrive, and we’ll survive until they do.”
She put a brave face on it for his sake. In truth, she worried. Kade Besem’s past haunted him, just as Zanna’s did. Rumours swirled about his son’s origin—tales of sordid affairs, incest and murder. As she watched Arlo scan the horizon, Zanna knew the truth. Kade and his son would suffer if people discovered his mother had been of elven descent. Only execution awaited an elf with the Spark. Kade’s plan to send him to Solitude with her made sense, though she worried it just delayed the inevitable.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning danced across the cloudless sky. Zanna draped her arm across Arlo’s shoulders and drew him close.
“I suppose I should go vote,” Zanna murmured, as Arlo pressed his head against her side. “They won’t let you, I’m afraid. Too young.”
Not that it seemed to matter. Arlo’s life hung in the balance, just the same as every other Sparker in Solitude. Why not let him decide his own fate?
The boy remained silent.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Why did you Eviscerate someone, Master? What happened? I mean, you told me someone attacked your daughter, but… You can use the Spark in so many ways. Why that way?”
Zanna didn’t answer at first. Campfires began to bloom among the Banished in the dying of the light. Their singing began, mixing with the thunder. The air cloyed, and she thought she smelled rain in the air.
“Calene hadn’t fulfilled her potential yet, even though she’d turned twenty-two. I’m still not sure she’s reached her limit, even now. Her Spark is vast. Greater than any I’ve seen other than… Well, that doesn’t matter. My husband, Ricken, wanted to see how far he could push her. He thought like Garet, and too many others, that our power meant we should rule. He grew cruel but I didn’t notice until it was already too late. He attacked me—his wife, his friend—left me for dead.
“I awoke as he experimented on Calene. I don’t know what happened, I just…lashed out. Part of me wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. Not until I’d devoured everything that made him. I felt him fade. His soul, his essence… I fed on it. Drew it inside me. Fear drove me on. Fear that he’d never stop unless I stopped him. And something else. Hatred. Every ill-feeling, every tiny resentment, I’d ever felt towards him, towards myself, magnified in that moment.
“I watched him melt before my eyes, but I’d given in, and the darkness that lives in all of us… It wouldn’t let me stop until it had eaten its fill.”
She remembered that night, so clear. Calene, helpless. Ricken, ravenous. She’d have burned the world to a cinder if it meant saving her daughter and using Evisceration on her own husband, on Calene’s father, had only fed her lust for destruction. She hadn’t intended it to happen that way, but when she woke, when she saw him standing over her…
She wondered if Arlo’s father felt the same way about his son.
Zanna knelt down and met Arlo’s eyes. “This is why we need to be vigilant. Why we need to find a better way. Evil tempts us. Power whispers to us, begs us to give in and take the easy path. Only there is no easy path. Just a price to be paid, sooner or later. We Sparkers have this inside us always, because the gods didn’t give us a gift. They gave us a responsibility. Arlo, in that moment, my hatred, that darkness, felt alive, like I’d birthed it into the world. I fed it, made it strong, and in return it nearly consumed me. Do you understand?”
He nodded as tears ran down his cheeks. Zanna hugged him, her neck wet as he sobbed against her.
“How could someone experiment on their own child?” he whispered. “I understand why you did what you did, but…is it really that easy to fall? It just sounds so…wrong. Will they vote no, do you think?”
Zanna pulled away and wiped his face. “I don’t know anymore,” she admitted, getting to her feet. “Years ago, it wouldn’t be a discussion. Now, it is and that scares me. Come on.”
As they left the ramparts, colourful lights appeared in the skies above the Peaks of Eternity—shimmering greens and blues and reds, cascading and changing. The air shifted, just a touch, a stirring of the wind. Those watching on Solitude’s walls Linked to tell those inside of the strange sight.
The Banished wailed and sank to their knees.
###
As they approached the dining hall, Zanna spotted Garet waiting by the doors. He gazed at the floor but looked up as they drew close.
“Zanna. A word.”
“Go inside, Arlo,” she told her apprentic
e. “I’ll join you soon.”
The boy scowled and slunk away into the hall, hands thrust inside his robes.
“Children,” Garet said, shaking his head. “Full of wonder one second, a black mood the next.”
“Some adults aren’t so different, Garet,” Zanna said. She walked across the corridor and took a seat in the reading area, signalling for the Protector to do the same. “Well? Talk.”
Garet took a seat, expression dark, no doubt put out from her taking the lead. His chair screeched as he edged it closer. Their knees almost touched. She fought the urge to pull away.
“You must see what’s at stake here,” he said. Zanna could smell wine on his breath, saw it on his reddened cheeks. “We can hold them, funnel them in by altering the landscape so we can focus our defence in one area, but it’ll only last so long. If we don’t act, we grant them the initiative. Even if the vote goes my way, we can’t afford to sit and do nothing. They could find a way to defeat us before we make our move. Who says they haven’t already found it? We should have forced them away the moment they arrived. Our options are few now.”
“Have you tried talking to them?” Zanna asked, tone placid.
“Pah!” Garet spat. “Have you lost your senses?”
“No. Actually, my senses are in agreement. The Banished are waiting for something. If they wanted to attack us, they’d do it. A small group waits near our walls. Their leader waits. It’s a diplomatic party, Garet. They want to parley. Ride out to meet them.”
Garet opened his mouth then closed it with a snap. He reminded Zanna of a fish. One with teeth and a nasty disposition.
“Impossible,” he muttered. “Out of the question.”
“Why?”
“We don’t meet with the Banished,” Garet snapped, the red in his cheeks turning purple. “Even if we did, I’d get more sense out of a droking elf. The last Sparker who made contact with them stated communication proved futile. Our languages are too different. Besides, why should our reaction be peaceful? Theirs is an act of aggression and should be met in kind. Solitude is mine to defend as I see fit. I won’t yield, to you or them.”