A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  “I told her to bring them, like you asked,” Caldan said. “Let’s hope she listened.”

  Gazija snorted but said no more.

  “Are you sure this meeting will be safe?” said Miranda.

  Caldan shrugged, though she might not catch the movement in the shadowy light. “I trust Felice to do what she thinks is right. And the truth is, they want to use me now. If the warlocks or the emperor wanted me dead, then I would be. Thenna underestimated me before. She had no idea what I was capable of, though . . . neither did I. The warlocks won’t make the same mistake a second time.”

  “Felice has to have a plan,” Miranda said as they skirted another group of tents. “Or the beginnings of one. But it’s obvious she needs more information, or she wants her own card up her sleeve.”

  “An extra move . . . just like any good Dominion player. She’s right to do all she can. And perhaps we’ll be able to take advantage of that. I have a few ideas.”

  “Then perhaps together we’ll be able to think of something. I don’t particularly like the emperor’s plan of a full-on assault.”

  Caldan barely held back a snort. “Me either. But strength is what he’s used to. It’s what’s enabled him to cling to power all these years. Ah, this looks like it.”

  An open tent had been erected close to the warlocks’ encampment. Caldan had a fair idea why Felice had chosen this location. She was an astute woman, and careful. She wanted her audience to be cowed before they were gathered. She wanted them to be reminded of what was at stake, and how powerful a foe they faced. And what better way to do that than to hold a meeting in the shadow of the newly created purified land.

  Felice had chosen the place where Devenish had made his stand against Kelhak. Where the warlock leader had mistakenly thought his sorcery was superior to the lich’s, since he’d been able to weather two strikes—strikes sent all the way from Anasoma.

  The place where Caldan had killed Devenish and taken his bone trinket.

  Where the other warlocks had run, fleeing from what they faced.

  And the location of so many Quivers’ deaths.

  Inside the shelter, there was a ring of camp stools set in a circle. In the center was a fire pit, in which a few logs burned merrily.

  No guards stood around the tent. In fact, now that Caldan thought to look, the nearest Quiver was dozens of paces distant. Felice had made sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

  Two of the stools were occupied. There was Vasile, along with Aidan, whom Caldan had only recently met. Both looked haggard, faces drawn, as if they hadn’t had much sleep. And there was Felice, standing silently at the edge of the covering.

  I wonder if she’ll be surprised, Gazija said.

  Caldan ignored him. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. He would need all his wits about him to come out of this meeting, for the reality was, Felice would sell him out if she thought it would save the Mahruse Empire, and the world.

  Just as I would do to her, he thought, ashamed he would consider such a horrible thing. He wasn’t liking the person he’d become . . . but he’d had no choice in the matter. Hard times made hard men. From now on, no decision would be an easy one, and likely the world hung in the balance.

  Caldan took Miranda’s hand in his. He gave Felice a final glance before they stepped into the warmth the fire radiated.

  “You’re late,” Felice said.

  Aidan and Vasile murmured a greeting.

  “We had to discuss some things with a . . . friend, first,” Miranda replied.

  Felice raised her eyebrows. “I told you not to tell anyone about this meeting. If you can’t—”

  Miranda held up a hand, and Felice stopped. “We all have something in common, or so I’m told. We want to get through this alive, and escape those who currently have influence over us, who control us. For Caldan and me, that’s the emperor.” She smiled wryly at Felice. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  Aidan stood, one hand rubbing his chin. “We’re in a similar predicament, Vasile and I. There are chains around us that won’t be easily broken. We’re here now, but we can’t be gone for more than an hour or two, or things will become . . . difficult for us.”

  “We’ll hear you out,” Vasile said. “But make it short.”

  Felice toyed with an earring, pausing as if to choose her next words carefully. “You know the danger we face. Raw power might not carry the day. We need a backup plan with more . . . subtlety.”

  As I thought, Gazija said. She’ll listen.

  “I agree,” Caldan said. “But first, there’s something we need to show you, Felice. Or rather, we’ve been told to show you. We do need to come up with some extra moves, so to speak. We have a few ideas. And we know someone who can help. But you have to promise never to reveal who he is. Do you all agree?”

  Vasile nodded, while Aidan gave a gruff affirmative. Felice pursed her lips, then she also nodded. Which is what she would do no matter what she’s decided, Caldan thought.

  Caldan and Miranda exchanged glances. Miranda shrugged. There was nothing left to decide. Indeed, their path had been set as soon as they’d decided to accept Felice’s invitation.

  He called his wolf and positioned it in front of Miranda. At his command, the side opened, and his—now Gazija’s—manlike automaton tumbled out.

  Puzzled frowns turned to confused wonder as the figure stood, then walked toward Felice. In the orange light of the fire, its rune-covered body glowed, arcane and otherworldly.

  It stopped a few paces in front of Felice.

  “This,” Miranda said, “is Gazija, Quiss’s leader. He’s not dead.”

  Gasps came from Felice, Vasile, and Aidan. Vasile leaned so far forward on his stool, he almost fell off. Felice’s expression turned thoughtful, and Caldan knew she was taking this new information on board and calculating possibilities.

  “You’ll be able to verify it really is Gazija,” continued Miranda. “Or so he tells us.”

  Hello, everyone, Gazija said. And from the looks on Felice’s, Aidan’s, and Vasile’s faces, Caldan knew they’d all heard him this time.

  My trial has not broken me. Far from it—I no longer need canes to walk. I can be of great use against Kelhak. And all of you can be of great use to me. Kelhak will have a potent shield that’s almost impossible to breach. It wards against not only sorcery, but physical intrusion as well. There might be a way to break through . . . if all else fails. Though it’s a foolish plan and may get me killed. Still, if we’re desperate . . .

  Felice pursed her lips, then slowly nodded. “We’re all ears.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Dense mist swathed the river and its banks in a cold blanket of white, draining the morning of color. Dawn’s first light didn’t do much to alleviate the gloom, but the occasional gust of wind parted the haze enough for the captains to ensure they didn’t run aground.

  Caldan stood at the prow of the Loretta. He hadn’t been able to sleep during the night; he’d slipped out of his cabin hours ago and wandered the deck, a cloak wrapped tightly around him to keep out the chill.

  Ahead of them, the first vessel in their convoy slowed as it ceased rowing and shipped its oars. It was one of only a few to have oarsmen, which meant it wasn’t totally useless on the river. He’d learned Gazija and his people had used sorcery to enable the ships to sail upriver, though on this journey they hadn’t needed to, since traveling back down with the current was much easier. Caldan didn’t know how they’d done it, but it was something he was interested in learning.

  Trailing behind them was a cobbled-together armada of as many ships as they could scavenge from Riversedge. Each was filled to the brim with the emperor’s Quivers, along with the warlocks. Decks bristled with spears and swords wielded by armored men and women. Some of the ships even held squads of light cavalry, who would be used to swiftly take control of sections of the city and set up safe areas for the strike force. The emperor was on the ship directly behind the Loretta, w
hich was also crowded with warlocks and some of the Touched.

  Far ahead, the mist swirled, and Caldan caught a brief glimpse of blue flames atop a wall before it was obscured again.

  Anasoma.

  That was why the ship ahead had slowed. Caldan peered at its deck, where vague shapes moved, and pulleys and ropes creaked as boats were lowered into the water. One sailor lashed the wheel into position before clambering over the side and down a rope ladder. She jumped sprightly into a boat and it pushed off, making for the Loretta.

  It took only a few trips, since it was manned with a skeleton crew, before the ship ahead was deserted. The Small Fist was painted in red across the stern. And this would be her last voyage.

  “Are you ready, Caldan?” Quiss said from behind him.

  Caldan’s shoulders tightened, and he loosened them while pretending to shrug. “No. But then, none of us are. We’ll do what we can, and hope it’s enough.”

  “Don’t lose sight of our goal. Kelhak must be stopped. Everything else is chaff.”

  “What else is there? Quiss, if something happens . . . look after Miranda for me, please.” More misdirection. But Caldan hoped little hints here and there would form a picture in Quiss’s mind.

  “She can look after herself,” the sorcerer said. “So I wouldn’t worry. But I’ll do what I can.”

  Caldan turned to face him and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got to organize my people. Make sure you join your group and stay with them.” Quiss left Caldan at the gunwale.

  Caldan unclenched his good fist beneath his cloak and stretched aching fingers. Selbourne had given him a sword to use, and it hung heavy from his hip. He wore his newly crafted gauntlet on his shattered hand. It still ached deep inside, but the skin was slightly numb to his touch. Standing by his side was his wolf automaton. He’d hammered out the dents and repaired its craftings, but it still looked battered. Earlier, belowdecks, he’d opened it up and Gazija had secreted himself inside once more. The wolf gave Gazija extra mobility and protection, and Caldan wouldn’t have to carry him around like Amerdan had his doll. And if needed, Gazija could control the wolf himself.

  A sailor came up to Caldan carrying a bowl of water. She placed it on the deck in front of the wolf. “There you go,” she said. “Good dog.”

  “Ah, sorry,” Caldan said. “It doesn’t drink.”

  “It’s alive, isn’t it?”

  “No, not really.”

  The sailor picked up the bowl, frowning. “What good is it, then?”

  Caldan shrugged, and the woman turned and left, shaking her head.

  He looked up to catch a glimpse of Miranda scurrying across some rigging. She and three other sailors shimmied along a crosspiece and began hauling up one of the sails. Once it was furled, they lashed the canvas into place. It seemed she hadn’t lost her nautical skills, and her readoption into the crew had gone without a hitch.

  Mercenaries started crowding onto the deck, boots thumping along narrow corridors and up stairs. They gathered in smaller clumps, checking and rechecking armor, shields, and weapons, keeping busy in an attempt not to think about what was coming.

  Selbourne was among his band, his greatsword resting on one shoulder as he made his way among them, clapping backs and shoulders and speaking words of encouragement. The mercenary captain caught Caldan’s eye and gave him a nod.

  Felice stood to the side, taking in everything. Quiss and a few of his sorcerers concentrated on their sorcery. He’d abandoned his own ship to be on this one with the rest of them at the forefront. At the wheel, Captain Charlotte guided the Loretta. She’d spared the occasional glance for Caldan and waved once, but either she’d been too busy to see him or she was avoiding contact, because she had plenty of time for hushed conversations with Selbourne. Maybe she didn’t approve of his relationship with Miranda. She’d seen them together, after all.

  A tortured groan came from behind Caldan, from the lead ship, which now moved under a different means: sorcery. Quiss and his people were propelling the vessel at impossible speed toward the iron portcullis that blocked the river. Water churned in the ship’s wake, and huge waves crashed into the riverbanks as it hurtled past.

  By now, the fog had thinned, and it was almost possible to discern the walls of Anasoma. A blue glow emanated from ahead, casting the rapidly dissipating mist in a garish light—the Indryallan sorcery, which prevented people scaling the walls to get in or out, though the main defense was still the walls themselves.

  Caldan turned from the sight and made his way to Selbourne, who was speaking with a stocky black-haired woman carrying two hatchets in belt loops. She wore light leather armor covered with crafted metal scales, and a crafted crossbow on her back. Two quivers bursting with quarrels hung from her belt.

  “ . . . and keep the others focused,” Selbourne was saying to her. “They must not break from the path laid out.”

  “I hate to split us up like this—”

  “I know. Hit hard, then get out. Stir the ants’ nest, then run. We’ll all meet at the designated points and regroup. We’ll be constantly moving, so the Indryallans shouldn’t have time to gather and catch us.”

  The woman nodded jerkily and then jutted her chin out at Caldan. “You have a visitor.”

  Selbourne and the woman clasped hands; then she left him, with a backward glance at Caldan.

  The mercenary captain tugged at his beard and looked Caldan over. “Get rid of the cloak, it’ll slow you down and probably tangle you up. Only an idiot wears a cloak when they’re fighting.”

  Caldan undid the clasp and bundled the cloak up, placing it in an out-of-the-way spot. “Selbourne,” he said, approaching, “I take it you have multiple strike groups heading to different parts of Anasoma. But where will you be?”

  “With you and Quiss, of course. Sorcery can’t solve every problem, and you’ll need to conserve your power for . . . later on. We’ll try to take care of normal resistance, and with any luck, there won’t be much. At least until we find Kelhak.”

  Shouts echoed across the river as guards on the walls sighted the ship speeding toward them. Within moments, horns resonated through the air, sounding the alarm.

  “And so it begins,” Selbourne said without emotion. “Stay close. I hope whatever plan you and Quiss have works.”

  So do I, thought Caldan. But he wasn’t so sure. The Protectors’ sword hadn’t been able to contain his wells—the wells he had now—and although Quiss and his people were smith-crafting similar items as fast as they could, how many wells did the lich have? A hundred? Two hundred? More? There was no way of knowing; and if they fell short, it was likely they wouldn’t last long.

  “She’s about to hit!” exclaimed a sailor from behind them, and Caldan looked up toward the walls of Anasoma.

  The Small Fist aimed directly at the massive portcullis. Its prow hit with a thunderous crash. Timber splintered and tortured metal groaned, but the barrier held.

  Caldan extended his sorcerous senses as he felt a surge of power around him. An almost invisible cord coiled out and struck The Small Fist, sliding over its wooden hull.

  A conduit, realized Caldan. What came next would be pure destructive sorcery.

  Energy surged along the cord, sun-bright pulses that splashed over The Small Fist. Immediately, the deck erupted in orange flames, tongues of fire licking the sails and charring their edges. Soon they too were alight, burning furiously, waves of heat dispersing the faint mist that remained. Shouts of alarm came from atop the wall.

  Behind Caldan, Felice hissed with displeasure.

  “It’s not quick enough,” she said. “Get it done, Quiss. We need to be inside and scattering.”

  The sorcerer inclined his head toward her. Caldan felt another surge as more incandescent pulses raced along the conduit. These struck directly at the hull. A jagged hole opened in the seasoned timbers as power punctured it with a shattering of splintered wood. Sorcery streamed through the opening.

 
Quiss’s sorcery broke the crates of alchemical ingredients Felice had sourced, and their contents mixed with fervor, the heat of sorcery hastening the reaction.

  The Small Fist exploded in a ball of churning fire.

  Chunks of timber flew in all directions. Both masts lifted, as if pulled up on a rope, then toppled. Flames rose into the sky, and black smoke plumed upward on a swell of incandescent heat. A wave of pressure rushed up the river toward them, whipping the surface into spray.

  Caldan checked to see if Miranda was safe and found her sheltering with some sailors behind the gunwale.

  “Down!” someone yelled.

  Caldan crouched low just as the wave hit.

  Thunder cracked, and scorching air whistled past. The deck lurched under Caldan as the ship jolted and shuddered. He waited a moment, then leaped to his feet and peered toward Anasoma.

  The portcullis was a twisted ruin. Cracks had opened up in the surrounding wall, and chunks of stone fell, tumbling down into the river and onto its banks. Across the gap, from the top of the crumbling walls to either side, the blue flame stretched like a bridge of fire.

  A cheer rose from the crew of the Loretta, quickly followed by answering calls from the ships following. Charlotte let loose a string of curses, exhorting her sailors to concentrate on their tasks.

  Caldan gripped his sword hilt until his knuckles pained him. This was only the beginning, and he didn’t think there would be much to celebrate with what came next.

  Again the deck lurched, this time from the oarsmen propelling them forward. Caldan braced his legs against the periodic surges, then turned to find Selbourne gone. The mercenary captain was over with Felice. She was speaking heatedly with him and made a chopping motion with one hand into her other. Selbourne nodded and left her. She glanced at Caldan, then looked away as one of Quiss’s colleagues came up to her.

  Caldan wondered what that was all about.

  Two mercenary groups gathered on the left side of the ship, each composed of around twenty men and women, all wearing crafted armor and armed to the teeth. They talked and joked among themselves, but there was a hard edge to them all. Violent people, used to using violence to get what they wanted.