A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  “Death.”

  “His own death?”

  The hood moved from side to side—a shake of the head. “Others . . . those he subsumes.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Caldan traveled the short distance into Riversedge, finally able to find the apartment he’d rented days ago and collect the rest of his belongings Quiss had left behind—basically some spare sets of clothes and some odds and ends. The fact was, he didn’t really care about those things, but he needed an excuse to retrieve the bone trinket, and he couldn’t be sure if Gazija would have him followed. To be fair, he also didn’t know if Devenish would be after him, or if Lisanette would track him down and try to get her revenge, but he felt he could make a quick trip and get back without anyone the wiser. He made sure his shield and coercive sorcery craftings were in easy reach. On his way out, the innkeeper offered him a breakfast of honeyed porridge and charred lizards dipped in yogurt—apparently a local specialty. Caldan declined, not feeling particularly hungry, but accepted a cup of steaming tea. It was hot and sweet and good.

  A short way down the street, the gate was already busy with wagons and people carrying baskets passing through both ways. The loud noise of the throng irritated him, and he realized he was in a bad mood. The truth was, he had no real plan at the moment. Making things up as he went along wasn’t his strong suit, especially when the stakes were so high.

  It took Caldan some time to make his way through the gate. The arrival of the emperor’s forces had calmed the population somewhat, even though they still battled with the jukari close by; and now they were making hay while the sun shone, selling as much of their produce and goods as possible before this unexpected source of demand dried up. The press of horses and mules and oxen and wagons clogged the passageway. Many men and women argued with the Quivers guarding the gate and with one another; it made his head ache. He clenched his jaw and pushed through them as best he could.

  Caldan breathed a sigh of relief as the Quivers waved him through, and he joined the exodus leaving Riversedge for the river wharves. He squinted into the bright sun and paused, catching his breath, but in reality he knew he was merely delaying the inevitable.

  He was taking a chance, but the jukari horde had been pushed back enough for the roads to be clear on the way to where he’d hidden his bone ring.

  He sent out a short prayer to the ancestors, not only that the jukari were held at bay, but that he didn’t run into any Quivers or warlocks.

  Luck must have been with Caldan, for he made his way to the abandoned village without incident. Dust rose into the sky nearby, signaling jukari and Quivers fighting, but far enough away that he could hear the battle only as a faint roar. As quickly as he could, he made it to the well, looking around one more time to make sure he was alone. He saw no one—and sensed no nearby sorcery—and felt reasonably confident he was by himself. He hastily climbed over the top and descended into the stone shaft, pressing against the sides, until he reached the bottom. Groping around in the muck, he let his fingers search for the package he’d dropped in.

  There.

  Snatching up the small bundle, Caldan scaled back out and ripped it open. Inside was the trinket, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly hung the bone ring back around his neck, tucking it out of sight underneath his shirt. He looked around once more, waiting to see if anyone came out to challenge him, but he could hear only the muted battle in the distance. With purpose, he left the village, and before long he was back within sight of Riversedge and joining a line of people entering a gate.

  A cloud passed across the sun, leaving him in shadow. At the same time, he could sense something . . . a gossamer thread of threat at the edge of his awareness. Strange. There hadn’t been any clouds before. He looked up to see a dark haze on the horizon. As he stood there watching, the bright spot of the sun was blotted out. It was . . . unnatural. Even at this distance, bright flashes spread across the cloud; except they weren’t silver, like lightning.

  The eruptions were green, mixed with violet.

  Sorcery again. And from the direction of Anasoma. The Indryallans, it had to be. And it was obvious they were no longer content to wait for the Mahruse Empire to come to them—they were lashing out.

  Whatever was coming, it would be powerful and dangerous. Outside was no place for someone unshielded. Ancestors, maybe even a shield wouldn’t be enough.

  “Back!” he yelled to those around him and pointed toward the storm. “There’s more sorcery coming. Get back inside the city and find shelter.”

  Cries of dismay erupted as people noticed the storm for the first time.

  Miranda. His first priority was her safety. Besides, there was almost nothing he could do here. Gazija and Quiss would be better able to fend off whatever virulent sorcery was coming their way. Leaving the spreading panic, Caldan broke into a sprint and left the road, heading for the wharves.

  By the time he reached Gazija’s ship, the storm covered half the sky, and the wind had picked up enough to tear at his clothes. Dust and leaves struck his face, and he shielded his eyes with a forearm.

  The deck was crawling with sailors, bracing themselves against the strengthening gale as they made the ship fast. Sorcerers were huddled in a group, taking orders from a shouting Quiss. Whatever Quiss was saying was lost in the wind. The other sorcerers could hear him, though, and a few nodded. Two broke away and barged past Caldan, back down the gangplank onto the wharf.

  “Quiss!” Caldan shouted over the tumult as he approached. “Where’s Miranda?”

  “Belowdecks” came the reply. Quiss grabbed his arm. “Did you see Gazija?”

  “What? No. Is he missing?”

  Quiss lowered his head. “Yes. Gone somewhere on his own again. I shouldn’t have let him.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m supposed to protect him.”

  “He can protect himself.”

  Quiss shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen this before. It’s . . . not good. Not good at all.”

  “Where have you seen this? What can we do?”

  “There’s no time to explain. We’ll shield as best we can. We should be able to save the ships and protect the mercenaries.”

  It’ll have to do, thought Caldan. To survive another day. That was all that mattered at the moment.

  “I have to find Gazija,” Quiss said. “I can sense there’s more sorcery building somewhere to the north, and more to the west. One of the sources might be Gazija, but I don’t know what he’s doing there.”

  Caldan hesitated, glimpsed images of Miranda, but also of Gazija and Kelhak.

  “Are you certain Miranda will be safe?” he said.

  Quiss nodded, wind whipping his hair. “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll come with you.”

  Maybe one day, I’ll remember I can’t fix everything, he thought ruefully.

  CHAPTER 30

  Felice was both scared and hesitant.

  Her booted feet cracked old, brittle bones with each step. Here, the order of the previous cryptlike tunnels was gone. What were once organized and systematic stacks of human bones were now strewn across the tunnel floor, as if someone—or something—had torn them down in a rage. A thick oak door had been left open, leading into a cavernous room. Light from the sorcerous globe faded to darkness before revealing walls at the side. Tessellated tiles covered the illuminated section of floor, obscured with a thin layer of dust but still showing a primitive scene of men and women hunting fantastical animals and clubbing them to death.

  Rusted, broken hinges had decayed to almost nothing. The wood of the door was ancient, cracks splitting through carved runes and symbols. A few Felice recognized, not from any sorcery she’d been exposed to, but—she was surprised to discover—from Dominion. There, a twisted square surrounding a seven-pointed star, which in turn enclosed a tiny face. And another, a symbol always carved into the robes of the Cybele piece—a woman meant to embody life, which in certain situations could pr
opagate an extra piece during the game. She stopped, pausing to ponder the significance of the carvings. It once had value far greater than a mere door. Why else go to the trouble of decorating it with intricate designs?

  “They thought it would ward off the dead,” she said, answering her own question.

  Cloth rustled as the talon turned at her words. “You see clearly.”

  Felice swallowed. “Did the dead need to be warded against, back then?”

  “Some . . . not here.”

  Superstition, then. But which dead did they feel they needed protection from? Bloody ancestors, Rebecci, why aren’t you here? I’m lost. This was important to you, but I’m walking in blind.

  Her fingers brushed across the carvings as she passed through. The stale air of the tunnels was replaced by a fresher scent. Felice greedily took a few more breaths. She hadn’t realized, but she’d been breathing dead air, devoid of odor except for a whiff of dust. It made sense—it was the kind you’d find inside a coffin or tomb.

  Their light moved to the left as the talon did. Izak sidled up beside her, bones crunching underfoot.

  “Something,” he said, “or someone, scattered those bones across the floor.”

  All she could do was nod. He was confirming her earlier thoughts.

  With hinges rusted to uselessness, the door couldn’t be secured. Something had known. And had used the old bones as a . . . warning? Or as an alarm. But the bones rested atop the dust covering the floor, and they themselves were covered in only a thin layer, as if they’d been moved very recently.

  Felice bit her bottom lip. The creature the talon had killed . . . it was one of many, it had said. And, it appeared, they were aware. After so many years alone down here in the hidden depths of Anasoma, they felt frightened enough to set up a warning system—crude though it was. But frightened of what?

  Part of her wanted to plant her feet and not budge until the talon revealed all it knew. Another part knew that would be folly. She hadn’t known it before, but they were on a timetable. It was something she’d always been good at gauging, and at the moment, urgency tugged at her with insistence. “How long do we have?” she asked the talon.

  “Not long. But we are close.”

  “Close? Close to what?”

  “The end.”

  “You mean Kelhak?”

  “Yes.”

  Once more, though, Felice felt something was off about the talon’s statements. In this case, she doubted not the distance but how long it would take to get to the God-Emperor. They were ancestors knew how far underground, and by all reports, Kelhak would be heavily guarded. Unless the talon knew he wouldn’t be . . .

  “Tell me,” she demanded. “What’s the distraction?”

  Izak frowned, looking puzzled. He hadn’t caught up yet.

  “The lich is performing sorcery.”

  Felice grunted. “A big one, I’ll wager.”

  “Yes . . . he has decided to reveal himself. His followers will be sent away.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Rebecci arranged for it. Her leader will expose himself. The lich will not be able to resist. Kelhak will be drawn, and weakened.”

  So that’s what Rebecci’s plan was. Her leader was Gazija, of course. It was a dangerous path the sorcerers were on. She had to admire their courage.

  And Kelhak would be alone, distracted by a complex and draining crafting. Perfect.

  Except, of course, that no matter how good a plan is, a thousand things could go wrong.

  Izak’s hand rested on her shoulder. It was warm and welcoming. She covered it with her own.

  “We’ll get through this,” he reassured her. “This is Rebecci’s plan, and she wasn’t a fool. She trusted this . . . talon, and whatever this distraction is.”

  Felice gave him a brief smile. He was a good man. But many good people had died so far who shouldn’t have. Rebecci wasn’t a fool.

  Are we?

  “HERE . . .”

  Izak stepped ahead of Felice and poked his head outside the large window. She latched the door behind them.

  The talon stood in corner near a barrel of salted beef marked with two horns and a triangle. The storeroom was small, its contents sparse. She shifted uncomfortably. This close to the talon, she caught a whiff of its rags. Old, rotting cloth. Dust. Age.

  “There’s nothing outside to lower ourselves onto. We’re two stories up.” Izak pulled his head inside. “We’d injure ourselves if we jumped. We have to find another way down.”

  Felice shook her head. “We’re not going down. We need to go up.” Kelhak’s rooms were at the top of the building—having been there before, she knew that much.

  “There’ll be too many guards, though, if we use the corridors and stairs. Not to mention sorcerers.”

  She became aware of the talon standing behind her. Felice’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t heard it move. Slowly, she pivoted to face it. Tilting her head back, she looked into the dark, hooded face.

  “Well? I assume this was also planned for?”

  “Yes. We go up.”

  “How?”

  Rough, musty rags enfolded her, and she yelped. Dimly, she was aware of Izak cursing. She hurtled toward the window, back first. Felice struggled to suppress a scream, knowing it could give them away. But the talon’s arm held her tightly, almost squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her feet scraped against the sill as the talon pushed them both outside the window. Her feet dangled above the courtyard below. With a jerk, it fell beneath her. Wind rushed into her face with the swiftness of their passage, her hair whipping around her.

  The talon ascended the wall with frightening speed, then stopped so suddenly Felice’s stomach lurched upward, and she fought down nausea. They were in front of another window, this one glass. The room inside was dark. Rags pressed against the window frame, and with a crack, the latch broke. The window opened with a faint squeak from its hinges. She jerked forward as the talon entered the room, and she and Izak were unceremoniously deposited on the floor. Luckily, a luxurious rug padded their landing. Felice’s fingers tangled in the long weave as she struggled to control herself.

  Already, the talon was in the corner, as if it had touched them as long as it could bear.

  Well, the feeling is mutual.

  Izak staggered to his feet, muttering.

  “How? Did it use sorcery to hold on to us?” He rubbed his arms, then straightened his shirt, all with sidelong glances at the talon. “It moved so fast . . .” He broke off, shaking his head.

  Felice could still feel the sinewy muscle and bone of the arm that had clutched her tightly during the ascent. By the bloody ancestors . . . She took a breath. It had more than two arms. It couldn’t have held on to them and scaled the wall otherwise. A chill ran through her. What else did the rags conceal?

  Actually . . . I don’t want to know.

  “Yes,” Felice said, mouth dry. “Sorcery.”

  Izak might fall to pieces if she told him the truth. They were both on edge as it was. He was putting on a brave face for what he thought was her sake, but cracks were starting to show. She didn’t know if they needed him for when they confronted Kelhak, but she did know she needed someone besides the talon, lest she lose grip on her own mind. Because what they were doing was crazy. All she was going on was the fact that Rebecci trusted this creature. For there wasn’t any doubt now. It wasn’t just an act put on by someone trying to craft themselves a reputation. The rags, the halting speech, the oddness of the talon were real. It was what it was.

  “Felice?”

  Izak interrupted her thoughts.

  “Yes? I’m sorry, I was thinking.”

  “Hopefully about what to do next?”

  They both turned to the talon.

  The sorcerous globe appeared again from somewhere underneath the talon’s coverings. They were in a bedroom. A massive carved blackwood bed was against one wall, with dressers on either side. Expensive wall hangings surrounded them,
and an exquisite Dominion board stood in a corner.

  Felice couldn’t help herself. She moved to the board and touched a few of the pieces, fingers coming away with a smear of dust. Whoever had furnished this room had a lot of ducats. And they hadn’t been here for a while. Dead. Or imprisoned. Or they’d fled. It didn’t matter.

  “Is Kelhak on this floor?” she asked the assassin.

  “No. The one below.”

  Ah, crafty. No one would expect an assault from above. Not here. Not once they’d cleared the levels and made certain they were empty.

  “Lead the way, then. Izak, are you ready?”

  He fidgeted and ran a hand through his hair. The other strayed to his knife. “Yes. For . . . whatever we’re about to do. For Anasoma.”

  He surprised her. He had more heart than he let on. Good.

  “Yes—for Anasoma.” And I suspect there’s more than Anasoma at stake here. There were wheels within wheels. Machinations within machinations.

  Through the bedroom door was a carpeted corridor with wood-paneled walls. Their footfalls fell soundlessly as they followed the talon, stopping at a wide staircase down.

  “Wait . . .” the talon said.

  Izak brandished the trinket dagger. He looked ill at ease. Felice drew her own. She was certain she knew what it would do—capture Kelhak’s essence. But what would they do with it once they had it confined? It had to be guarded, possibly hidden. Or sunk in the depths of the ocean.

  And this all depended on them not only getting close enough for the daggers to work, but then getting far enough away to not be killed by anyone who was upset by the fact they’d just stolen their God-Emperor.

  She joined Izak, and they sat on the carpet. If they had to wait, they might as well be comfortable.

  “I hope we succeed,” Felice whispered.

  Izak smiled at her. The smile was weak, but he hadn’t given up hope.

  “We will. Then you can go back to spying on everyone, and I can get back to enjoying myself.”

  “I don’t spy on everyone,” she protested.

  “But you would, if you could.”