Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3

by E. J. Godwin

  The Prophets were no less secretive. What few grains of knowledge he and Soren had gleaned were of little use. Other than that one, life-changing passage in Besir Orand’iteé, his studies in Gerentesk last summer had faded to a mind-numbing blur. The only thing left was Telai’s message.

  He had not forgotten all those dust-covered bones lying beneath the rocky summit of Graxmoar. But he knew that the portion of the device Telai had sent him was meant for something else.

  Only when he remembers the moment his child was born can it be made complete.

  Caleb scanned the fine furniture and rows of books as if searching for answers. Only a minute or two had passed since the Overseer gave him the Lor’yentré. Now she stood watching his silent struggle with eyes filled with pity, yet tainted by doubt.

  She sat at his side and placed a reassuring grip on his forearm. Caleb glanced down in surprise. Her hand felt so familiar that a pang of longing struck his heart.

  “Caleb Stenger of Earth, I want you to listen to me.” He made no reply, his head still lowered. “When you first came to us, if the Prophets had foretold you would one day hold the fate of Ada in your hands, I would have at the very least sent you in bonds to some deserted country across the sea. More likely I would have found a merciful way to end your life.”

  He looked up sharply, and she nodded. “A rarely used, little known prerogative in existence since the days of Manré, Etrenga’s successor,” she said. “But know this: I’ve signed a law prohibiting any such execution without the approval of the Underseers. Even a clear truth can be misinterpreted.”

  “You and Telai are descended from those Prophets—aren’t you?”

  She drew her hand away. “Did she tell you this?”

  “It only makes sense. Where else would your gifts of insight come from?”

  Garda focused on the Lor’yentré on his lap, where it lay nestled in its soft leather wrapping. “Yes—though we can’t predict the future like they could. We can only glimpse the here and now, and it’s often more like hunches than visions. But I’ve come to trust them. And my hunch now is that this is the right place and the right time—and you are the right person.”

  “But I don’t even have the whole thing! And even if I did, what am I supposed to do with it? Kill my son?” A rush of anger fired his veins. “I will not do that, Garda, not even for Ada!”

  Garda folded her hands, calm and composed. “I’m not suggesting any such thing. I don’t know how this device is meant to be used. The Prophets left no hint of this, or even what it looks like.”

  She turned toward him, the Overseer again, her unflinching demeanor restored. “What I do know is that you won’t lighten this burden by clever guesswork. If I’m any judge of my daughter, you won’t find the answer in intellect or experience or any passage in our archives. It comes down to a single word, Caleb Stenger, one that describes where most of your difficulty lies. It’s what I hear in her voice every time she speaks of you: trust.”

  Her words stripped away his defenses. Beyond the candor in her eyes he perceived terror, born of the knowledge that the only person who could save her daughter was the man sitting before her now. The trust she spoke of went far beyond responsibility. It was a gift, one that transformed kings into humble men and humble men into heroes. And it would never be complete until he accepted it.

  Abandoning all fear, and all reason, he lifted the Lor’yentré into his hand.

  The room changed in an instant. Cold, fluorescent lights blinded him, and the incessant beep of monitors assaulted his ears. He was at the hospital again. He trembled, terrified of what he would see next; then he felt something wriggling in his arms.

  Warren.

  The child squalled his arrival to the world, his face beet red, his fat little limbs struggling in vain for the warm sanctuary he had lost. Such a helpless creature! Caleb remembered thinking. And when he lowered Warren into Karla’s arms, he saw the act of giving birth for what it truly was, an expression of love and trust. It revealed all his words and deeds in a completely new light.

  A jolt like a mild electrical shock traveled down Caleb’s arm. He dropped the Lor’yentré to the floor with a shout. It rang like a tiny bell as it struck, and rolled to a halt near Garda’s feet.

  She bent down to retrieve it, but stopped at his sharp command. A pounding came from outside the doors, followed by a muffled cry.

  “My lady!”

  “All is well,” she called. “Keep your posts.”

  Caleb gasped. The Lor’yentré had turned completely black, radiating the same aura of darkness he had seen in Warren’s hands at Graxmoar. The portal at one end shone bright now, a blue iridescence that left no doubt of its power.

  Is this what Telai expects me to do? Repeat the same tragedy that robbed me of my only child?

  Fighting his fear and doubt, he picked up the device and held it in his upturned hands. “What does it mean?” he whispered.

  Garda gazed at the device, her expression clouded. “I don’t know. Perhaps the explanation is far simpler than either of us is willing to admit.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Perhaps you were meant to have the whole thing, but the other half is lost. Those falcons of theirs are speedy messengers, but they’re not infallible.”

  The prospect was terrifying in its simplicity. Yet Caleb refused to be ruled by fear. Telai had placed her faith in him. To deny that faith was to deny the love they shared.

  “No,” he said. “Telai still has the other half. She sent me exactly what I needed—nothing more, nothing less.” Doubt still lingered in Garda’s eyes, but she nodded.

  He stood, placed the broken half back in its leather pouch, and stowed it in an inner pocket of his coat. “Now, my lady, I beg to be excused. I have an appointment with an impatient Master Raén.”

  She called for the guard. Yet before Caleb allowed Onné to escort him from the room, he stood before the Overseer again, lowered one knee to the floor, and bowed his head. Garda managed a smile. Afterward he followed Onné through the gloom-mantled halls, heading back to the tall doors of Wsaytchen with a newfound determination in his stride.

  ♦

  The morning wore on, and all the city lay deathly quiet. A few hours after his meeting with the Overseer, Soren rode out to the Old Wall with Caleb, Hené, and a few other high-ranking Raéni. All that could be done in the city had been done, and there was nothing left to do now but wait for the Hodyn attack.

  Nearly two thousand men and women, both Raéni and a small contingent of civilians who refused to be hidden away without a fight, waited at the broad top of Krengliné, peering out anxiously for the army they knew would come. Another four hundred occupied Sonién, and a hundred more camped at the thick doors of Gortgal.

  Caleb took up his agreed position near the South Gate, while Soren spent the day riding along the battlement on the pretense of checking the readiness of his soldiers. In truth he was merely presenting a show of confidence, for many had either witnessed or at least heard sobering accounts of what a laser could do.

  The weather cleared, and evening fell. The shadow of Krengliné stretched out into the plain until it faded with the twilight, while to the north, the massive, cloud-swept summit of Hendra deepened to gold in the last rays of the sun. Soren continued his vigil, slowly making his way north. Hours later he stopped to visit Fouvé, who had begged to command the defense near the Quayen. In warmer months the river swirled its way through the wide iron portcullis at the bottom of the wall, but now it was frozen thick, a faint ribbon beneath the stars.

  Fouvé looked out over the battlement. “At Udan the Hodyn fought with plain weapons first.”

  Soren adjusted the girth of his saddle, hearing the same foreboding and appeal for reassurance that had settled amongst all the Raéni. “Hodyn can never hope to match the skill of a Raéni swordsman,” he said. “But even a laser cannot stop the flight of an arrow in time. We must answer in kind—fire volley after volley to reduce their n
umbers as much as possible before their true weapons emerge. If we use what few lasers we have before then, it will only bring theirs out sooner.”

  Fouvé kept silent, and Soren tried to guess his thoughts. “But I’m not so reckless as to stand here until the last soldier falls, leaving no one to take back what we died for,” he said as he finished checking over his horse. “I want my death to count for something.”

  “Of course,” said Fouvé. “But Ekendoré counts for something, too—at least for me. Abandoning it would be like a man surrendering his family to the hordes, no matter how long he had defended them.”

  Soren turned and gripped his arm. “No one wants to save this city more than I do. And what of Telené, or Besa, or Enilií? All gone, all destroyed by cowards who care about nothing but their own hatred!”

  He released him, forcing the cruel vision of Ada’s lost cities from his mind. “Listen to this, Fouvé, and listen well: Ekendoré is not your family. No matter how precious it is, it’s only a place. The loss of our people is where the greatest sorrow lies. That is what we should be willing to die for—men and women living out their lives to find some happiness, even if it’s only in a little cottage hidden in the woods.”

  Fouvé hesitated, then bowed. “Pardon me for saying this, my lord—but your thoughts seem to have changed in some manner lately. Might I ask why?”

  “At the proper time, Fouvé,” Soren answered. “Can you see anything on the road there?” he said, pointing north. A subtle movement along Gegré-Udan had caught his attention: a dark spot less than a mile away, racing toward Krengliné with a faint plume of snow angling away in the wind.

  “I can’t quite make it out,” Fouvé answered.

  Soren jumped into the saddle without a word, overcome by a sudden premonition of danger. He sped toward the North Gate, hooves clattering over the ancient stonework. The dark silhouette on the road neared, sharpened to that of a horse and rider, churning the snow in a mad gallop to reach the wall. It vanished into the gateway, and as Soren plunged down the long ramp behind a bedlam of echoing shouts arose from the passage below.

  The high, vaulting masonry flickered with the light of torches. A metallic squeal and a heavy clang marked the closing of the gate. At its feet lay the horse, ridden so hard that plumes of mist rose from its sweat-soaked hide. Hené stood amidst a crowd of shouting Raéni, attempting to restore calm. It was some time before Soren could make himself known and find a way through.

  On the ground sat Corinn, his back to the stone. What little of his face showed through the dried blood and grime was as pale as a ghost, with no trace of the puckish humor people loved about him. His breath wheezed in and out, as if it was himself and not his horse who had run all the way from Udan. As Hené shouted for silence, Soren noticed a blackened stump where Corinn’s left arm should have been.

  The Master Raén faced his second in command for an explanation. “His mission was routed,” Hené said. “None of the others survived.”

  Soren crouched beside Corinn. Four days had passed since he sent this man and his companions to Udan. There was no telling what grim fate they had met.

  “Corinn! Can you tell us what happened?”

  The man fought for enough strength to speak. “Found a few lasers … but no power devices … somewhere else. Never made it back over the Winding Riv—”

  He stiffened. His face twisted in agony. The spasm slowly passed, and his voice grew weaker with each gasp as the others listened. “They appeared out of nowhere. Their leader … started swinging his laser. Heads, legs … arms flying. I was bleeding to death. They took our lasers … then they were gone. Nothing left … nothing left but pieces of dead men!”

  Hené sank to his knees beside him. “Hang on a little longer, Corinn. You’ve made it this far.” His bent his gaze to the ugly stump at his shoulder.

  Corinn nodded. “Hugar lay next to me … his clothes were on fire … I just rolled over … ”

  His stare grew wide. He stiffened again, fighting for the last spark of life. Then his head slumped forward, his last breath frosting the air until it drifted through the gate and vanished.

  Soren rose. Others gathered to lift Corinn and carry him away. The Master Raén returned to his horse, struggling to put the man’s ghastly stare out of his mind.

  Faint cries and shouts echoed along the wall overhead, and he rode back up the ramp to investigate. He expected to see armies of Hodyn approaching, but the snow-covered fields stretched for miles, pale and empty. Another grim shock fell as he realized that the picket sent east by Hené had probably met the same fate, for they would have seen Corinn’s mad ride and dispatched a message to report it.

  He broke into a short canter and halted near a small group of Raéni standing along the battlement. “What’s all the shouting about?”

  Their conversation fell to a quick silence. One of the soldiers stepped forward to speak. “Lights have sprung up along Sonién, my lord—torchlight, as far as we can tell,” he said, pointing toward the city. “Has the order of darkness been lifted?”

  Seven miles distant, near the north gate of Sonién, a line of yellow lights like minute stars twinkled at the base of the dam. Soren had ordered a strict ban against any light on Sonién or the revealing side of Krengliné, and it was unthinkable that even one Raén would have disobeyed such an order at a time like this.

  He watched carefully. Farther to the south, a second string of lights sprang to life, all at once.

  He almost knocked the Raén over as he spun around and dug in his heels, urging his horse into another gallop. He cantered down the ramp and reached the gate again in a few minutes, just as Hené leaped into the saddle of his own horse.

  “Hodyn,” Soren cried. “They’re attacking Sonién first, where our numbers are less. You’re in charge of the defense here. Gather every horseman and send them back to the dam in groups of fifty. Afterward, send any on foot you can spare.”

  Hené sped south toward the ramp. A score of Raéni still hovered near the arch of the gate, and Soren beckoned them forward. “Anyone here with a horse, follow me along the road,” he commanded. “Everyone else return to your posts!”

  They ran to obey. Hardly had they returned with their mounts when a shout fell from above. Just to the north, a small, barely discernible figure was waving frantically atop the wall.

  “Hené, Hené!”

  “This is Soren! We know of the attack on the dam. Hold your post.”

  “My lord!” he cried. “More Hodyn have appeared—east, beyond the wall. Lights are springing up everywhere!”

  His words almost doomed Soren to despair, but his hesitation lasted for only a second. Again he toiled up the ramp, three of the Raéni horsemen following close behind.

  Like a gathering wake, scores upon scores of fluttering torches less than a half mile away lit up patches of snow along Gegré-Udan. Short, stocky figures marched steadily toward the gate. To the south, another cluster of lights like an evil bivouac sprang up near the river, and five miles father on, a faint glimmer threaded a route along Gegré-Léiff. Meanwhile the line nearby along Gegré-Udan lengthened, torches popping into view as if emerging from a tunnel.

  “You!” Soren bellowed at the nearest rider behind him, who like everyone else sat gawking at the approaching Hodyn. “Speed a message south along Krengliné. Remind Hené and Caleb Stenger not to use their lasers before the Hodyn do.”

  Soren spoke to the others as the rider spurred his horse and clattered away over the stone. “Sonién is the critical area, my friends. There’s no point saving Krengliné if we lose the city. We must place our trust in the wisdom of those who built the Old Wall!”

  They joined with the remainder of the horsemen waiting anxiously at the gate. With Soren in the lead they all charged up the road in the darkness, the crisp sounds of creaking leather and laboring horses filling the air.

  The miles passed, each one agony to Soren. A host of enemy torches illuminated the distant slope of the dam, and h
e knew his soldiers there were terribly outnumbered.

  He glanced far to his left. On the other side of the river, which here flowed closest to Gegré-Udan, tiny points of light like flickering stars moved along the lesser roads and through the abandoned villages. They were Raéni, each leader carrying a single torch to assure Soren and those defending Sonién that help was on the way. Yet their progress seemed painfully slow, and he feared they would arrive too late.

  At last Sonién neared. Soren veered from the road to rendezvous with the other riders, for it was suicide to attack with only twenty. A few minutes later they met the first company, almost seventy Raéni on horseback. Eager to join the battle at the crest of Sonién, the horsemen charged over the last furlong to the foot of the dam, Soren leading the way.

  The Hodyn quickly extinguished their torches at their approach, and Sonién lay dark against the stars. As Soren’s company unhorsed and climbed the steep masonry, they cut down a few straggling Hodyn, who then rolled or slid down the trampled snow all the way to the bottom. But the Hodyn at the top still had the advantage, alert and ready to defend the dam they had nearly captured.

  As each group sent by Hené reached the bank, the Hodyn turned to attack. Even in the darkness their deadly arrows felled many Raéni. Soren almost gave in to the impulse to use his laser. Then he gripped his Fetra with a muttered curse, and hoped the others at Krengliné would resist the same temptation.

  The last horsed company dismounted and charged up the long bank. Now the advantage in numbers shifted, and the Raéni won a short section of the dam, though at a terrible cost. From there they fought both north and south, or like Soren swung out over the ice to charge the enemy’s flank, forcing the Hodyn to protect themselves on all sides. Few of those who first guarded Sonién remained; most of the survivors had retreated north to defend Wsaytchen. Now they rejoined the battle with cheers of triumph, and the enemy was surrounded.