A Shattered Empire

by Mitchell Hogan

  Caldan made his way to Felice. She was berating a mercenary who was trying to hand her a sheathed sword.

  “I don’t know how to use one,” she said.

  “You need a weapon,” the man said. “There’s going to be fighting.”

  “I know that—I planned all this. I have a knife, and it’ll do me. I’m sure there will be plenty of you around, plus the sorcerers. If they can’t defend themselves, then I’m done for anyway.”

  The mercenary shrugged and returned to his group.

  “Felice,” Caldan said.

  She turned her dark eyes on him. “Do you think he was propositioning me?” Felice gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I missed it. Must be the stress . . . all this organizing, and anticipation, it’s enough to make your hair turn gray. Anyway, do you have the crafting Quiss’s people gave you?”

  Caldan patted his trouser pocket, where the metal disc was. He’d tested it the previous night, along with others. They worked to block a few wells, but no more than that. If the wells were narrow and jagged, the crafting was more effective, able to block more of them, but with wide, smooth wells, they were less effective. Caldan realized the smith-craftings he’d tested, along with others, could also be used against him, if Quiss wanted to. And perhaps that was Quiss’s plan. Once Kelhak was defeated, Caldan himself, in their eyes a budding lich, would be a problem to take care of. He held the instrument of his own undoing in his pocket.

  “Yes,” he said. “Let’s hope we have enough.”

  “There’s not much we can do now. Where’s Miranda?”

  He nodded to the gunwale. “Helping the crew.”

  Miranda came over and clasped Caldan in a hug, and he had to bend to place a kiss on her cheek. He sighed into her hair, knowing nothing he could say would persuade her to stay out of harm’s way.

  Felice turned to Caldan. “Remember, regroup once Kelhak is dead, then head for the docks. It’ll take a while for the Indryallan commanders to realize their God-Emperor has been defeated, so we need to survive until they do. We shouldn’t have too much trouble with all these Quivers along with us.”

  “Find Kelhak,” Caldan said, repeating the plan. “Kill him. Get to the docks. Commandeer ships and get them out into the harbor.”

  “Good,” Felice said. “Then I’ll leave you. Get to your group soon. Once we’re inside, there’s no time to waste.” She turned and made her way to the band of mercenaries closest to where the gangplank would descend.

  Miranda looked into Caldan’s eyes. “Tell me it will all work out,” she said.

  “I hope it will. Get to the purified land; I’ll meet you there.”

  “We’ll succeed,” she said. Then, stronger, “We will, I know it.”

  “I’ll do all I can. I just hope it’ll be enough.”

  “It’s more than anyone else can,” she said, and even though he didn’t think that was true, it gave him heart all the same. He pulled her close and kissed her until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe anymore.

  Enough of that! Gazija said.

  Caldan reluctantly pulled away and cast a wry glance at his wolf.

  A shadow covered the ship as Anasoma’s walls loomed over them, and they passed the wreck of a portcullis. Above them blazed the blue flame. Jagged splinters of metal jutted from the stonework, which still radiated heat from the explosion. Citizens of Anasoma gawked at them from the surrounding streets. A few raised a ragged cheer, but no more than that.

  “For the emperor!” yelled Felice.

  “For the emperor!” returned some of the sailors.

  The mercenaries and Quiss’s people remained silent.

  Along the river they went, Felice squinting behind them. “I can’t see,” she muttered.

  Caldan leaned over the side and looked back at the ships in their wake. “Soon,” he said. “The last ship will be through in moments.”

  “Get ready, men!” roared Selbourne. “You know the plan. Stick to it or die. It’s that simple.”

  Ahead of them, a bridge grew larger the closer they came.

  “Now!” said Felice as the ship drew near the river’s stone embankment.

  Sailors bounded over the side, and coils of thick rope followed. They scrambled as they landed, grabbing the ropes and tying them to metal rings bolted to the stone.

  Fibers creaked as the ropes grew taut, taking the weight of the ship. The Loretta slowed and crashed into the embankment, timbers groaning in protest.

  The gangplank slid over the side, and mercenaries rushed down it. Some of the lightly armored ones vaulted over the gunwale and started pushing amazed onlookers away, keeping a space clear for the mercenaries spewing from the ship.

  They had established a firm foothold on solid land by the time the counterattack came.

  Armored Indryallans began pouring from the mouths of alleys. Volleys of arrows descended, the missiles thudding into shields and the decks of the ships.

  “Let’s go,” Caldan said. He grasped Miranda’s hand, and they joined Felice’s group.

  CHAPTER 53

  Only a hundred yards from the ships, and already their progress had halted. The Indryallans were all over them now, arrows falling thick and fast, streets and alleys blocked with wagons and carts, bristling with spears. Quivers spilled from the ships and clashed with Indryallans in a vicious melee of thrashing swords and splintering wood. Men and women died. Curses filled the air along with incoherent shouts. Shields and heads smashed. There was no break, no respite. Rivers of scarlet ran in the gutters. The wounded shrieked, and the dead lay silent.

  To Caldan’s left, Indryallan sorcery sliced through the shields of two warlocks, the stones underneath them scorched to black. They collapsed in a heap, charred and smoking. Ahead, firestorms raged where the warlocks tried to blast their way through the Indryallan line. The air vibrated to the hammering of sorcerous forces unleashed. Radiant threads whipped above the buildings as sorcery met sorcery.

  Caldan sheltered with Miranda at the side of a warehouse, watching as more and more Quivers and warlocks disembarked from their ships and rushed to join the fray. He caught glimpses of Touched in the fighting, racing around with preternatural speed, showers of blood in their wake.

  Knight-Marshal Rakim stood surrounded by a dozen other officers. Their eyes constantly scanned the streets and buildings, assessing and evaluating. Rakim shouted commands, and the others scurried to obey. More reinforcements rushed to the north when the Indryallans had weakened the Quivers and almost pushed through.

  The knight-marshal strode over to the emperor, who was sitting on a low stone wall. Zerach-Sangur was clad in his plated smith-crafted armor once again. The workmanship put Caldan’s gauntlet to shame. He was surrounded by Quivers and warlocks, and not a few Touched, Florian and Alasdair among them. The two siblings carried their usual short spears, with daggers tucked into their belts. Caldan caught sight of Felice watching the battle nervously. The swordsman, cel Rau, shadowed Lady Caitlyn; he’d not acknowledged Caldan or anyone else. Devenish’s replacement, Bernhard, was issuing instructions to the warlocks. And then there was Master Mold with a dozen or so armed Protectors. Mold studiously avoided Caldan’s eye. He couldn’t blame the man—even though the master now had possession of the trinket sword, Caldan had proven it no long held sway over him.

  Rakim and Bernhard spoke to the emperor, who nodded and waved a hand in dismissal. They each bowed and returned to directing their forces. They would stay here and command the beachhead in the emperor’s absence.

  “We’ll never get through these Indryallans,” Miranda said from beside Caldan.

  “We’re not meant to; this is a diversion. Kelhak is our goal. The Quivers’ and warlocks’ role is to keep the Indryallans busy while we go after him.”

  Abruptly, the emperor stood and gestured to Felice. They exchanged whispered words, and Felice nodded. She met Caldan’s eye and beckoned him.

  “I’ll slip away as soon as it’s safe,” Miranda said. “Once I disa
ppear into the city, no one will find me. Be careful.”

  “You too. We’re in this together, don’t forget.”

  By the time Caldan and Miranda made their way to Felice, she’d also been joined by Selbourne, a score of mercenaries, a dozen or so warlocks, Aidan and Vasile, and cel Rau. Lady Caitlyn stood next to cel Rau, but her attention was on the emperor.

  Quiss, Mazoet, and the four sorcerers with them remained ten paces away, as if not wanting to be part of the group. Florian busily tied her braided red hair behind her head, pointedly ignoring Caldan, while Alasdair sneered openly at him.

  Just like with Mold, he didn’t blame them for their animosity. And just like with Mold, he didn’t really care what they thought of him.

  “Where are the rest of the Touched?” Caldan asked Felice.

  “Fighting. This is our strike group.”

  “There are too many of us to be stealthy,” Caldan said.

  “We’re not sneaking, we’re striking.”

  The emperor approached and stood beside Felice.

  “Be ready to move,” he said, pitching his voice so all could hear. “Rakim and the warlocks will keep the Indryallans busy. As soon as they go on the offensive, we’re to take advantage of it.”

  Felice nodded and began issuing orders.

  Caldan swallowed and turned to look at Miranda, feeling the emperor’s eyes on his back.

  “Go,” he told her. “When you think you’re unobserved.” He led Miranda away, and they stopped next to a building with an alley close by. Caldan looked around. The emperor was now directing warlocks, Felice beside to him.

  Vasile was looking at them intently. Caldan gave him a nod, which the magistrate returned. Vasile said something to Aidan and began walking toward them. Cel Rau frowned at Vasile, but let him be.

  Good, thought Caldan. Miranda and Vasile could slip away together. She would be safe waiting at the purified land while Vasile procured a getaway carriage.

  Miranda wrapped her arms around Caldan, hugging with all her strength. She kissed him again, hot and passionate. After a few moments, she pushed him away, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Stay alive,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Stay safe,” Caldan said.

  Glancing around her to make sure she wasn’t observed, Miranda beckoned to Vasile, and they quickly ducked into the alley.

  Caldan heard their footsteps fade as they raced away.

  AIDAN STEPPED BETWEEN the mouth of the alley and cel Rau, who’d made to follow Vasile. “He’s clear of this,” Aidan said. “He can’t fight, the same as the woman. They’d be a hindrance to us. Let them go.”

  Cel Rau’s eyes narrowed, and his hand moved down to rest on his sword hilt. He sniffed. “Caitlyn will find him. We will find him. Once this is over.”

  “Who knows what will happen in the meantime.”

  “The emperor will survive. We will once again fight against evil under Caitlyn’s command.”

  Not if I have any say in it, thought Aidan.

  FELICE’S PLAN WAS to move to a location in West Barrows the talon had provided. It had told her there was an old distillery there that had been built over the ruins of a long-dead sorcerer’s private mansion.

  Felice kept her attention on the side roads they passed, aware of Aidan and Lady Caitlyn close behind her. Strangely, she felt she could trust Aidan, unlike many of the others. Cel Rau especially. She didn’t know what his game was, but a tribal swordsman? His markings were incomprehensible at best, and no swordsman from the Steppes would wield two swords. His bearing and accoutrements screamed wrongness to her. But what did it matter, in the end? As long as he was as good with those blades as the others thought he was . . . and he stuck to the plan.

  “We’re being followed,” the Touched man Alasdair said from his position flanking the emperor.

  The talon.

  Felice turned to face them. “Of course we are. Everyone we’ve passed wants to know what we’re doing. Just keep moving.”

  She frowned at the men, daring them to keep talking, then returned to her path. Kelhak. The lich. Nothing else mattered.

  Businesses and tenements passed in a blur. Old, new, decaying, brick, painted: Felice took no notice. Goad Street: left here. Coffer Road: turn right. Across a square and past the fountain—Where was it . . . ?

  There.

  Move, move!

  Suddenly, pillars of white burst around them. Voices cried out as explosions struck the buildings. Felice threw herself to the ground. Shattered missiles of wood and stone whirled through the air. She glimpsed shielded sorcerers raising craftings and trinkets, while mercenaries scattered.

  More explosions fanned into buildings and across the street. Cobblestones cracked, and unshielded bodies were flung like leaves. Blinding energies burned, and Felice threw up a hand against the glare. Ruler-straight lines burst from the emperor and his warlocks, knifing into the sky, then curling across the city and downward. Where they hit, discharges glittered and crashed. Howls and wails pierced air already clouded with smoke and ash.

  “Keep moving!” the emperor commanded, heedless of the blood and flesh splashed across the ground.

  It’s easy to say that when your shields protect you, Felice thought, but even still, she scrambled to her feet, blinking through tears.

  Caldan grabbed her arm, and she felt her skin tighten under his shield. A fish-scale film covered her.

  Then the sorcery relented—the attack was over. The flashing assault petered out. Smoke and ruin surrounded them.

  The emperor was standing, and that was the main thing.

  “Selbourne, Mold—what’s the damage?” Felice shouted.

  The mercenary captain was moving among his men, making sure injuries were bound.

  “Leave them,” commanded the emperor. “We don’t have time.”

  “They’ll walk out of here,” Selbourne growled. “A minute is all we need.”

  Mold came toward them, eyes on Caldan.

  “The Protectors are fine. We did what we could to shield the mercenaries.”

  “They know where we are,” the emperor said. “There will be more attacks. Move. Now!”

  Felice wiped sweat from her forehead. She wanted badly to make sure the others were okay, but also knew the emperor was right. Looking at him, she almost needed to squint. His shield shone brighter than the others, bathing her in its brilliance. For the first time, she realized that its light gave off no warmth.

  With the warlocks haranguing them, they continued. Felice marched onward in a kind of stupor, leading them all to the rendezvous. The rest of the group, their only hope for the world, trailed behind her.

  A short time later, a gaggle of children interrupted her daze. They raced out of a side lane, girls and boys, squealing and shouting with fear, barely giving Felice and her retinue a passing look. She remembered who they were fighting for—not just the emperor, but for everyone.

  For an instant, the lich and her mission were forgotten. The inexpressible weight pressing on her lifted; the abyssal precipice in front of her closed. A brief sense of wonder and responsibility transcended her fear.

  Then she remembered herself. And her knees weakened under the heavy weight on her shoulders.

  Bloody hells, she cursed herself. Pull yourself together.

  Not long after, they arrived at the distillery. Its great wooden doors were locked and presumably barred on the inside. No matter. There was a smaller door twenty paces down.

  Felice looked to Quiss. “Open it,” she said.

  There was a metallic click, and hinges moaned as the door came ajar.

  Inside was cold air and silence, both disturbed as they entered. Felice stopped and stood a few dozen paces in. Huge copper boilers and vats stretched down both sides of a long room. A pungency in the air tickled her nostrils, slightly harsh and medicinal, yet flavored with many layers: blackberry and flowers, honeyed nuts and spice.

  A draft ruffled her hair, caressed the back of her neck. />
  “Come,” the talon said from beside her. It must have been waiting for them.

  Weapons were brought to bear on the talon. Blades and spears pointed at the creature, but it made no move.

  Felice became aware of the emperor as he took a step toward the talon, then stopped. The creature turned its hood in the direction of the emperor, and for long moments the two stared at each other—something unspoken passing between them. Whatever it was, the emperor gestured, and the weapons threatening the talon were pulled back.

  “Come,” the talon repeated, breaking away from the emperor. “We have no time to waste.”

  Which was true, but it wouldn’t be a waste to set up a rear guard. There would be sorcerers coming after them, and soldiers. If they were attacked from behind while confronting Kelhak, they not only would be caught unaware but also would have any route of escape cut off.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Felice muttered. “How many can we leave behind?” she asked the others. “We can’t have enemies at our backs.”

  “None!” snapped the emperor. “We’ll create wards, enough to guard the rear.”

  Caldan shook his head. “We have to leave people here to guard the entrance. They sensed where we went, and they’ll be chasing us.” He placed a hand on the head of his wolf.

  “He’s right,” Selbourne said.

  The emperor hissed. “We need as many as we can to fight Kelhak, but . . . maybe a few warlocks can remain behind. Weaker ones.” He issued orders, and some warlocks split from the others. Some pulled metal discs from pockets and pouches and began setting them up around the door and walls of the building.

  In the end they left five warlocks and a dozen mercenaries. Too few and there would be no point, but too many and they’d compromise their chances with Kelhak.

  Felice turned to face the people who’d come with her this far, aware of the emperor’s eyes upon her. Those remaining were all they had against the lich. She hoped they would be enough.

  “This is it!” she said, raising her voice slightly. “Keep your weapons ready and your wits about you. From now on, speak softly, and no rest breaks. Stay together, and you just might see the light of another day.”