Rakim grunted. He glanced at Bernhard, then back at her. Bowing low, he said, “Then we await your orders.”
“Ah . . . excuse me?” Felice managed, thinking she’d misheard him.
“You are in charge,” Bernhard said. “Not of Rakim’s soldiers, or my warlocks, but overall. Someone has to assume command. At least until there’s a new emperor selected from among his progeny.”
Felice looked around her at the destruction. Dozens of plumes of smoke rose into the sky. Who would replace Zerach-Sangur, the emperor? Who could?
“I think,” she said slowly, “the age of emperors is over.”
Her thoughts turned to Caldan. Aidan and Vasile didn’t fool her, however much Quiss believed he’d killed Caldan. She smiled, recalling their Dominion game: Caldan had made his extra move count.
But he must still possess the bone rings. Felice had to fulfill her vow to her mentor and destroy them. And such an uncontrollable person as Caldan couldn’t be allowed to retain the trinkets.
First, though, she had to find him. And that could take months, if not years.
Perhaps she could ask Izak to send out feelers to his contacts . . . and curiously, she wanted to see the deceptively charming man again.
And the talon would be of use, wherever it had gone . . .
Also, perhaps she could do something to help Poppy and the other street urchins, now that she was in a position to.
Felice sighed.
There is so much for me to do.
CALDAN LAY THERE, simply too exhausted to do anything else. His back and limbs pressed into sun-warmed ground. His shirt and pants rasped against his skin at the slightest movement, as if they were coarse hessian rather than cloth. Other than that, he felt numb. There was a soothing sound to the wind as it gusted around him, warm and comforting. Faint murmurings and whistles reached his ears, almost creating a lyrical sound.
He barely moved, apart from his chest, which rose and fell with each agonizing breath. The insides of his eyelids glowed as a harsh sun beat down on him. Sweat trickled along his scalp.
There was a scrabbling sound beside him. He forced himself to half roll to one side and opened his eyes, trying to reach his well. And failing.
A spiny orange lizard sitting on top of a rock regarded him, unblinking.
Caldan licked parched lips.
Someone whimpered behind him. He moaned and rolled to the other side.
Miranda lay sprawled on dry, cracked earth. As Caldan watched, an ant crawled across her neck and over her face.
Alive. They were both alive.
In bad shape, but breathing.
Caldan looked up and squinted at the bright sun. He’d sent them south, that’s all he could remember. How far, he had no idea.
He lurched to his feet, shaded his eyes, and peered about.
Arid earth extended as far as he could see in all directions.
Wait. No, there. He squinted through the haze at a mirror-bright square column rising into the sky. An artifact from before the Shattering, its purpose lost in the mists of time. A landmark in the wastes of the Desolate Lands.
Caldan laughed then. He’d done it, spirited them away to where no one would find them.
Miranda’s satchel lay a few paces to his right, and he slung it over his shoulder. Then, as gently as he could, he lifted Miranda and cradled her in his arms.
His heart seemed to beat stronger.
And he began walking.
To the Reader,
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Mitchell Hogan
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my patient fans, who waited for this book even though it took a little longer.
To my editors, Derek Prior and David Pomerico, whose (sometimes harsh!) advice made this book far better than I could have on my own.
To my lovely wife, for her understanding and forbearance.
To my darlings Isabelle and Charlotte, who are too young to understand why Daddy has to stop playing with them and disappear all the time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When he was eleven, MITCHELL HOGAN was given The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy to read, and a love of fantasy novels was born. He spent the next ten years reading, rolling dice, and playing computer games, with some school and university thrown in. Along the way he accumulated numerous bookcases’ worth of fantasy and sci-fi novels and doesn’t look to stop anytime soon. For ten years he put off his dream of writing, then he quit his job and wrote A Crucible of Souls. He now writes full-time and is eternally grateful to the readers who took a chance on an unknown self-published author. He lives in Sydney, Australia, with his wife, Angela, and daughters, Isabelle and Charlotte.
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ALSO BY MITCHELL HOGAN
A Crucible of Souls
Blood of Innocents
CREDITS
Cover illustration and design by damonza.com
Clip art © Bigstock and © Shutterstock
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A SHATTERED EMPIRE. Copyright © 2016 by Mitchell Hogan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2016 ISBN: 9780062407290
ISBN 978-0-06-240728-3
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