A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  I desire my family back.

  For a heartbeat, Caldan considered asking to be free of the warlocks and Touched. It seemed Devenish had presented him as still affiliated with those groups, glossing over the choice Caldan had made when he returned Kristof’s body. The warlock had kept Caldan’s “betrayal” to himself, and that meant Caldan would have to say it once more, only this time to the emperor himself.

  A move he’d be sure to regret the moment the words were out of his mouth.

  Because there was no way the emperor would let someone like him get away so easily, if at all. He’d had a hand in murdering Caldan’s parents and didn’t care who knew it. At the thought, once again Caldan had to suppress the rising anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He steadied himself, took a few deep breaths.

  It was one thing to defy Devenish—I can fight Devenish—but the emperor? Caldan could feel the power coming off him, and no matter how afraid he might be of Kelhak, the emperor was certainly not afraid of a young man just learning to harness his talents.

  Which meant he would certainly not brook any impertinence—let alone treason.

  Caldan frowned, taking his time to answer. Because as all that passed through his mind, another thought kept coming to the forefront:

  Why would he ask that? Couldn’t he just command me, or dismiss me, or kill me? It’s obviously a test, but of what? My loyalty? My cleverness?

  Ancestors . . .

  His thoughts raced, off balance. Was the emperor offering him what he wanted most? It hardly seemed likely. And he certainly couldn’t demand revenge for his parents and sister. So what, then?

  Miranda.

  What Caldan wanted was to live in peace. Whatever the outcome of the battle between the empire and the lich, the world would be forever changed. If the lich won, then, according to Quiss, there wouldn’t be much of a world left. If it was defeated, Caldan would still be under the thumb of the warlocks, and the emperor. Which left only one answer.

  “I want,” he began hesitantly, “to go back to my studies. To develop my smith-crafting skills as best I can. To live a peaceful life. But . . . if that means I’m first needed to help defeat the Indryallans, then so be it.”

  “A peaceful warlock and Touched . . .” the emperor said dryly.

  Chuckles rose at the emperor’s comment, and Caldan felt heat rise to his face. He’d given an honest reply. Respect was too much to expect from those used to everyone else bowing down before them, but it still rankled to have their disrespect so casually thrown in his face.

  “Tell me, young Caldan, did your parents have a bone ring in their possession?”

  Caldan almost froze, and was about to keep his face expressionless, but at the last instant—fearing that would give him away—he affected a puzzled frown. Inside his shirt, the bone ring burned against his chest, as if it were on fire. “No,” he managed. “I don’t think so. They . . . died when I was young. I know very little about them.”

  “Except for what you’ve deduced from your trinket ring, of course . . .”

  Caldan held up the hand with the ring. “This? Yes, it’s the only thing of theirs I have. They’d given it to the monks for study, and the monks were kind enough to return it to me before I left.”

  The emperor held Caldan’s gaze, and he struggled to keep his eyes level. Eventually the emperor nodded.

  “What do you know of the lich?”

  Again the question and sudden subject change threw Caldan off balance. But here, at least, he could be completely honest. “Nothing,” he said, “other than what Felice—Lady Shyrise—and Sir Quiss told me. If it’s true, then we need to do something.”

  “And what would you suggest we do?” the emperor asked, an amused look on his face.

  Caldan’s tongue stumbled. “I . . . I don’t know. Kill him? Capture him?”

  “That is the end result, not the process. But no matter—I hardly expect an untrained boy to save the empire.” The room exploded into laughter—and Caldan couldn’t help but feel it was more than a bit forced. “Anyway, we have known about the lich for some time. Devenish has a number of plans in motion. We expect to be victorious soon.”

  Victorious? You could barely take on Bells, let alone Kelhak, whom you cowered away from like a frightened child. Appearances, realized Caldan. The emperor was powerful—Caldan could feel that just standing here—but there was another type of power, such as that Lady Porhilde displayed. And unless he could use coercive sorcery over an entire empire, it was that kind of power that really held sway here. If the emperor showed any signs of weakness, there were those who would take advantage.

  However, it didn’t change the fact that the emperor held considerable control over Caldan’s fate.

  Caldan nodded slowly. “As you say.”

  “Good. Remember, Caldan, you are Touched, and as such, you will use your gifts for me, and for the empire. And as a sorcerer, you will have to work with the warlocks, however much you might dislike the idea.” He looked at Caldan with a sad expression. “I’m afraid a peaceful life isn’t your lot. In times such as these, when conflicts arise, your talents will be made use of. Lady Felicienne knows my thoughts, and she’ll arrange things in my absence.” The emperor waved a ringed hand. “Go now.”

  “But—”

  “Be quiet,” Porhilde snapped.

  She grabbed him by the shoulder and directed him to turn. Caldan followed her directions, and they walked back to the entry door.

  Caldan’s thoughts tumbled inside his head. He was trapped. There was no way out. The emperor, the warlocks, the Touched, they’d all keep track of him, making sure he did what they wanted. No matter how much he rebelled against it, they’d find a way to force him to comply. He could run, but look where that had gotten his family. Dead. He needed a way to stop them from coming after him—if he could extricate himself from this mess and leave it behind.

  This man had no way to destroy Kelhak, so he would destroy Caldan’s life instead.

  Porhilde escorted him out of the mansion. At the front entrance, she paused, giving Caldan a calculating look.

  “Sometimes, what we want in life doesn’t matter.” Her eyes drifted to the side, and an expression of longing and pain crossed her face. “Do what the emperor wants, and you’ll have a good life. Ducats, knowledge, respect. You’ll be taught by gifted sorcerers. All will be yours. Many would be jealous to have your talents. Be content.” Her eyes hardened. “After all, you don’t want to end up like your parents, do you?”

  Porhilde turned on her heel and left Caldan standing alone.

  He felt exhausted and wrung out. Only now did he become aware that his skin was hot, and he was covered with a sheen of sweat. As quickly as he could, he strode along the path and exited the gates. He needed to find Felice and talk to her. And Quiss. And Izak.

  And Miranda.

  CHAPTER 35

  Amerdan followed the vormag, Gamzegul, as they rounded a hillside, following a worn path, until he found himself among the jukari. Snarls and slavering mouths greeted him from mottled gray-skinned faces. Wiry black hair sprouted from the creatures’ heads, thick and stiff. Gamzegul snapped at the jukari, speaking vile-sounding phrases in a base tongue. The creatures backed away, a few howling, some sniffing the air as if Amerdan were the one polluting it with a stench. They were beasts, even worse than the useless vessels Amerdan usually walked among.

  As they passed, Amerdan was conscious of jukari falling into a group behind them. He glanced back, keeping his expression neutral so as not to alarm these animals. It seemed as if those jukari who saw him were all following in a pack. They were a motley bunch of monsters clad in mismatched pieces of armor, all sporting different weapons—spears, swords, daggers and cudgels, axes and staves—an assortment that spoke volumes about their organization, or lack thereof. And they weren’t much for cleanliness, as their equipment was often rust stained and dusty. But their weapon edges were clean and sharp.

  One jukari, bolder than the ot
hers, came close on his left side and walked beside him. A head taller than the rest, it towered over Amerdan. It carried a massive axe in one hand, the haft resting on its shoulder. Gamzegul barked at it, but it didn’t back away.

  Slanted yellow eyes bored into Amerdan’s. He knew it was trying to intimidate him, in a simplistic, vulgar show of physical superiority. He considered a few options, but decided to leave it alone for now.

  The jukari edged closer and nudged Amerdan with its elbow, hard enough to shove him a foot to the right. He didn’t stumble, though, his nimble feet able to cope with the momentum change.

  Gamzegul stopped and shouted at it. The jukari came to a halt, staring silently at the vormag. Hoots and snarls sounded around them.

  Amerdan suppressed a sigh. These beasts understood only one thing: brute force. And Gamzegul was rapidly losing control of the situation. If something wasn’t done soon, it would spiral out of control. The jukari were too stupid to realize there was a greater purpose to Amerdan coming among them. They had simple notions, basic thoughts. They’d treat him as they did all other prey.

  Amerdan snorted, and the bullying jukari turned to face him. He smiled at it, revealing his teeth. More hoots broke out from the jukari—mirth, if Amerdan had to guess. He was unconcerned. And why not? The jukari was so huge, it would crush a normal man. Amerdan snorted again . . . then spat at it.

  His wad of phlegm landed with a splat. Amerdan brushed his hands across the hilts of his knives. Sharpened to razor keenness, their cold hardness was ever comforting.

  Gamzegul stared at him openmouthed. The immense jukari he’d defiled hesitated as the others quieted to a stunned silence. It blinked in surprise, and for the briefest moment, Amerdan thought that might be the end of it.

  Wishful thinking.

  Jerking into action, it roared, yellow fangs protruding between thin black lips, and attacked.

  Amerdan darted to the right, ducking under a swing of the axe. It whistled over his head, barely missing. The jukari was faster than he’d thought. But it still didn’t matter. His knives were free, but Amerdan held them back. As eager as he was to get this over with, as keen as his blades were to taste blood, the jukari—all the jukari—had to be shown he wasn’t to be trifled with.

  He twisted his body to avoid another hack of the axe. It thudded into the ground, and the jukari grunted. Amerdan backed away a few steps, and the jukari kept its eyes on him while it dragged the axe head free, clods of dirt clinging to the steel.

  It came at him again, this time warily. A prod with the haft. A feint with the bladed head. Amerdan let his arms drop, feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart, as if inviting it to attack. A two-handed chop. Amerdan swayed aside and took a step forward—now inside the weapon’s reach. And this time he didn’t hold back. He leaped. Both knives ripped through gray flesh. Once, twice. Hardened steel grated across rib bones. Pointed tips searched for the beast’s heart.

  Amerdan landed lightly on his feet. The jukari uttered a bubbling howl, mouth frothing blackened foam. It staggered, falling to one knee, its face now level with Amerdan’s. He drove a knife into its eye, rupturing the yellow orb. He yanked it free as the jukari toppled.

  It lay there in the dirt, black rivulets of blood trickling from the puncture wounds he’d inflicted. Yelps and growls erupted. Jukari surged forward, then pulled back. Gamzegul shouted at them, pointing at Amerdan.

  But they don’t need the vormag’s explanations, thought Amerdan. They’d seen what he could do. As simple as they were, they knew a greater force than any of them when they saw it. After all, it was in their nature.

  He bent over and wiped his knives on the thing’s ragged shirt, scowling at the result. He’d have to reclean them later. Amerdan sheathed his steel. He met the eyes of as many jukari as he could, unconcerned.

  Gamzegul came up to him. “Unwise,” the creature hissed.

  “Necessary,” Amerdan replied.

  “The Talon will know.”

  Amerdan shrugged. It didn’t matter. Couldn’t this fool of a vormag see that?

  Gamzegul must have taken his silence as some sort of answer. It bade Amerdan follow, then pushed its way through a wall of jukari. As Amerdan approached, the gap widened, enough to show him they were fearful. Good. They might be scared of the vormag’s sorcery, but nothing frightened animals quite so much as bloodied steel and death. It spoke to them on a primal level.

  They left the lifeless jukari behind, where its corpse was rapidly surrounded by others of its kind, bickering over its armor and weapons. Gamzegul quickened their pace until the crowd thinned.

  As they continued, they wound their way around small campfires and sometimes sleeping jukari. Often, morsels of cooked meat were fought over, the largest of the jukari winning most of the food. Although they attempted to cook their meat, it looked charred black on the outside and raw within. Amerdan was surprised to see there were also dirt-covered tubers in piles, spilling from baskets, along with other vegetables, fruits, and nuts. Perhaps not so savage, he thought. Though the food had to have been pillaged from surrounding farms, the fact the jukari found it palatable and worth taking said much about them. It hinted that they might have their own farms somewhere, deep within the Desolate Lands . . .

  Amerdan was still musing on this thought when Gamzegul stopped their progress. Ahead of them were two rows of jukari, all big and mean. Or, rather, bigger and seemingly meaner. All of them wore sets of armor that appeared less patched together than that of the other jukari he’d seen. And they all carried spears, along with long daggers hanging from belted hips.

  “Talon Xarlas,” Gamzegul said breathlessly, “is here. I will talk. The Talon . . . has to listen to me.”

  The vormag didn’t sound certain.

  “Come,” the creature said. “Xarlas will test you. Are you ready?”

  Amerdan nodded. The sooner this was over with, the better. Half-formed plans were all he had; he still wasn’t sure what he should do in this situation—but one thing he was positive of was that he didn’t have to hide who he was, his abilities, here. The jukari and vormag thought he was one of the “Old Ones,” so let them. If it afforded him an edge with the animals, then all the better. If it gave him a way to control them . . . then what could he do? They were nothing, but the situation amused him.

  It might be interesting to have an army of monsters at my beck and call.

  A high-backed wooden chair dominated a cleared circle. A boundary of head-sized stones surrounded the chair, with jukari staying outside the insubstantial border. Inside were vormag, muttering and clutching crafted objects around their necks: medallions and amulets and the like.

  Gamzegul strode forward confidently; all trace of the creature’s uncertainty had vanished.

  One of the vormag, a bald, skinny runt, barked a few harsh words at Gamzegul, who shook its head. The snarls and abrasive chatter of jukari filled the air, along with their rancid stench.

  Gamzegul and the bald vormag exchanged heated words. Gamzegul stomped a foot. The opponent laughed shrilly. It seemed Gamzegul didn’t have much standing with the other vormag. But the beast had practically said as much when they’d first met.

  “Enough!”

  The word boomed across the clearing. There was a powerful edge to it, an abrasiveness Amerdan found almost vicious. It had been voiced by a newcomer, who stood outside the stones. Xarlas, Amerdan presumed. A great hulking figure that somehow also looked like a scarecrow, patched clothes and tattered rags tied together. Its face was obscured by a hood, and yet somehow Amerdan had the feeling it watched his every movement. Hundreds of thin bones and metal objects were attached to the rags. As it moved to the high-backed chair, he could hear them tinkle and clatter.

  Once seated, Xarlas brought up long, slender-fingered hands ending in clawlike nails. The hands reminded him of birds of prey, and Amerdan could see why these creatures were called talons. It pushed its hood back, and cold, deep violet eyes peered out from under eyebrowless socke
ts.

  Amerdan blinked in astonishment. Xarlas’s features had a distinctly feminine appearance to them. Slanted eyes like the jukari and vormag, but the talon’s lips were fuller, cheekbones sharper. Casting his gaze about, Amerdan now saw there were other jukari and vormag with a softer appearance. Slightly longer hair, wider eyes.

  They weren’t remnants of creatures left over from the Shattering. The jukari, vormag, and talons were races in their own right. And with their newly minted craftings and the variety of food they ate . . . Amerdan realized they had to have a civilization deep inside the Desolate Lands, somewhere.

  What is their purpose? What do they want?

  Does it matter?

  “Please,” Xarlas said, waving to Amerdan, “be . . . at ease.”

  Her voice was rasping, like a file dragged across metal.

  Amerdan looked around, unsure how he was supposed to make himself at ease. There were no other chairs or logs to sit on. Deciding to relax anyway, he sat cross-legged on the ground. Let them see I don’t think they’re a threat. Let them see I’m unconcerned with being among creatures such as them.

  The jukari muttered and hooted and snarled, constantly in motion, occupied with doing one thing or another. Twitching, scratching, jostling for position. In stark contrast, the vormag were almost motionless. Their beastlike eyes regarded him with suspicion and awe. Xarlas gestured to the jukari and vormag, and they sat or squatted in the dirt.

  Dotty moved inside his shirt, and Amerdan placed a hand on her to calm her. She was silent, though, which he hated. She was speaking to him less and less these days.

  Amerdan ran his gaze over Xarlas, searching for strengths and weaknesses. He had no idea what she was, why she was so different from the other creatures. But he did sense she was a sorcerer . . . and that troubled him. She wore numerous craftings, whose purpose he couldn’t discern. And there was something around her neck . . . an emptiness . . . no . . . a hot void.

  Xarlas nodded to the vormag around her, who inclined their heads in return. They must have taken her gesture as permission, for they began murmuring among themselves. Gamzegul was the recipient of many a fleeting glance. The vormag stood there, though, unwavering.