D’Jenn took a deep breath. That question had been plaguing him since they’d left the ancient stone buried in the ground. Carrying the Source was going to be a problem.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to devise a way to keep it hidden—something better than burying it at night.”
“Do you think other wizards can hear it?”
D’Jenn nodded. “I had Dormael test it once we got clear of the mountains. He got half a day’s run ahead of us before he could no longer feel it with his Kai. That’s on four legs, not two.”
Lacelle narrowed her eyes, as if she was doing calculations. “That’s quite a distance.”
“We’ll be carrying a torch for every Blessed in range. We can’t bring the stone into a city. I want to get it on a ship as soon as we can, especially since the season is with us.”
“You plan on bringing it here?”
D’Jenn nodded. “Where else? We’re outlaws, if you remember. We have to stick to our own disreputable types.”
“Right. Alton will certainly be happy.”
“Tell Alton to let you and Lilliane dig a new basement under his manor.”
“To contain the Source?”
“Aye.”
“To be honest, I don’t know if he will agree to that.”
“We have to put it somewhere, Lacelle. Would you rather I ship it over in a crate full of sawdust?”
Lacelle gave him a flat look. “Point made. I will convince him. Lilliane and I will lay down what spell-work we know and try to prepare as best we can.”
“Thanks.”
“And the Nar’doroc?”
“It’s been quiet since Bethany turned the stone against it.”
“That’s important.” Lacelle leaned forward. “If the stone can be used to neutralize the artifact, then perhaps it can be used to destroy it.”
D’Jenn didn’t think it was possible, but he nodded anyway.
“I think I’ve determined the locations of the remaining pieces.”
D’Jenn perked up. “You have?”
“I believe so.”
“Where?”
“One of them is in Rashardia—I’m sure of that.”
“How?”
“Every year, the Rashardians send a message to the Council of Seven—declaring war, detailing its victories against us and the spoils it has wrought from our people.” Lacelle smiled. “There’s something suspicious on the list.”
“They send a threat every year?”
“It’s ceremonial, I think.”
“What about the others?”
Lacelle’s face darkened and she gave him a serious look. “I believe Dargorin has two of them in his possession. I mentioned Thardin to you before—they have been annexed by the Empire. The Emperor refused to take Ice Shard from the King. He took a single piece of jewelry from the Thardish Hall of Conquest as a symbolic gesture instead. I suspect this bauble was a piece of the Nar’doroc.”
“Why do you say he has two?”
“I have assumed he already possessed a piece of the artifact. From what we know of the Nar’doroc’s temperament, I believe it is what motived his slaughter at Shundov Castle.”
“If he was wearing the thing, one would think the whole world would know of it.”
Lacelle shrugged. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. We don’t know enough about the Nar’doroc’s abilities to make that conclusion. Dormael has worn it.” She was quiet for a moment, and there was an edge to her voice when she next spoke. “Bethany has worn it. The world is none the wiser.”
“Let’s say I believe you. What about the rest of them?”
“I’m further convinced there’s one in Shera, as I mentioned before. You have two in your possession now, which means—”
Lacelle paused, shooting a confused glance over her shoulder.
“Lacelle?”
“One moment, there’s something—”
The woman’s form disappeared.
D’Jenn sat in the darkness, stunned at her sudden departure. He made to close his Kai and remove the link with the necklace, but decided to wait. Moments trickled by in silence.
Lacelle reappeared, sitting where she had been moments before.
“Is there something wrong with your necklace?” D’Jenn said.
“No.” Lacelle regarded him with a serious expression. “Something has happened.”
“What?”
“Lilliane only just heard. The Kansil’s palace was attacked in Wethrael.”
“The palace?”
“Yes.”
“Someone has declared war?”
“No, you don’t understand.” Lacelle sighed, her shoulders slumping. “D’Jenn—the final piece. That’s what I was going to tell you. It’s been in the possession of the Orrisan Kansils for generations.”
D’Jenn’s stomach twisted into a knot.
“There was a piece of the Nar’doroc in the palace.”
“But the attack—”
“Who took it? Do you know?”
Lacelle shook her head, but her expression was grim. “No. But Lilliane said there are wild stories coming from the city. Living corpses. Strange creatures.”
“Vilthinum.”
Lacelle nodded.
“Dormeal killed that creature. I searched for his essence myself. There was nothing left.”
“Perhaps it was the woman, Inera.” Lacelle rubbed her temples. “D’Jenn, I’m sorry. If I had known earlier, we might have gotten there in time—”
“No.” D’Jenn held up a hand. “Let’s just deal with the problem. We knew she was still out there. She outmaneuvered us, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Victus will capitalize on this. There will be Warlocks in every city.”
“You have to get out of the Sevenlands.”
D’Jenn clenched the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache. He tried to think through all the implications, but his mind was just as exhausted as his body. All he could feel was dread.
“You’re right. We’ll travel as soon as we’re able. Tell Alton to expect us.”
***
“May Nalia Arynthaal, Princess of Thardin, step forth!”
The herald’s voice echoed across the field. Nalia took a deep breath—wincing as the dress Jay had chosen dug into her ribs—and stepped forward from her contingent of Sworn Men. The gathering was quiet as Nalia made her way to stand before the Emperor.
Ceremonial detachments had been gleaned from each army fighting under the Empire’s banner. The various contingents stood in neat rows on either side of a cleared space of ground, the center of which was occupied by the Galanian Emperor. His generals—excluding Nalia’s father, who was still in the field—stood behind the Emperor in places of honor.
Allisondra stood amongst them, which made both General Crammon of the Imperial Army and the Shundovian general uncomfortable. The Nelekan general, whom Nalia hadn’t met, eyed the beautiful woman with open admiration. The Mala’kii who had accompanied the Maihdrim to the ceremony stood in silence, if not in military order.
Allisondra watched Nalia come forward with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Nalia managed to smile at the Maihdrim and cover her discomfort. The sight of Allisondra standing on the field at the Lundai, holding Gehenia’s twisted body in the grip of her sorcery, wouldn’t leave Nalia’s mind.
She’s a dangerous woman. Don’t forget that.
Nalia stopped in front of Emperor Dargorin. He seemed taller than when she’d last met him, but perhaps it was the ceremony that gave her the impression. He wore his gray dress uniform and the Imperial crown, which was an ugly thing made to look like sword blades braided together. Dargorin surprised her by offering a genuine smile.
“Your Highness.” His voice was loud enough to echo around the gathering. “You have performed a great service to the Empire, and at great personal risk to yourself and your retainers. Your actions have not only furthered our great cause, but have also ended a conflict that would have seen cou
ntless seasons of needless bloodshed. You are to be commended.”
The herald banged his ceremonial rod against an ornate shield, producing three sharp reports. “Let the people and the gods attend!”
The Emperor turned and held out his hands. General Crammon stepped forward and offered the Emperor a heavy golden chain. He laid the chain over the Emperor’s hands and stepped back to his place with the other generals.
“Princess Nalia Arynthaal,” the Emperor called, raising the golden chain over his head so the gathered people could see it, “it is my honor to induct you into the House of Unity and present you with the Imperial Order of Peace!”
The crowd cheered as the Emperor laid the chain over Nalia’s shoulders. It was heavier than she would have thought. Each link was made in the semblance of a grasping hand, which made the thing a bit bulky.
She couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride as the laurel went over her head. Nalia held no love for Imperial honors, but this was the first time she’d been recognized for anything. The warm feeling in her chest surprised her.
Emperor Dargorin leaned forward and addressed her in a more quiet tone.
“Enjoy this. You have certainly earned it, Your Highness. Take your ease for a short while and bask in your accomplishment.”
“Take my ease, Eminence?” Nalia turned and waved at the crowd. She kept the smile on her face as she replied. “I’ve never been good at lying about.”
The Emperor laughed. “No, I suppose not. Very well, then. I’ll expect to see you three days hence. Come just before the sun rises. My days begin early.”
“Eminence?”
“You are still interested in a place on my staff, are you not?”
Nalia looked at him. “I am.”
“Then I am honored to have you. There is much work to be done in the coming days, Your Highness. I am quite interested to see what perspective you’ll bring.”
Nalia barely heard the rest of the ceremony. All the generals congratulated her, offering either salutes, bows, or firm shakes of her hand. The detachments were dismissed and the Emperor’s staff bustled away, as busy as a hive of bees.
Allisondra shared a few words with Nalia but kept her manner formal and distant. Nalia was just as terse with the Maihdrim. No matter how hard Nalia tried, she couldn’t banish the image of Allisondra holding Gehenia under her power. If Allisondra sensed her discomfort, though, she didn’t show it.
Nalia’s thoughts, as ever, went back to the Emperor. Her scheme had worked. She would soon be propelled to the center of power. She would be close enough to change the course of events, would have the ear of the most powerful man in Alderak.
And when the dust settles, I’ll have his life as well.
***
Dormael sat on the floor of his room.
Music drifted from the common room below, peppered with the noise of chattering voices and clinking dinnerware. The inn was full, which was a rare thing close to the Gathan Mountains. Dormael’s stomach was as full as the inn—for the first time in weeks—and his mind was dull from the innkeeper’s ale.
Bethany sat across from him, regarding him in silence.
“Can you hear it anymore?” Dormael said.
Bethany looked at her hands. “Not since we buried the stone outside of town.”
“And the woman? Have you seen her again?”
“No.”
Dormael paused for a moment, unsure if he wanted to ask the next question.
“What did she show you?”
Bethany looked up. “She showed me something from a long time ago. What did she show you?”
It was Dormael’s turn to gaze at his hands.
“She—.” He paused. “She got me where I was weak. Promised me things. Spoke to something inside me that’s…well, it’s not good.”
“She got me where I was weak, too.”
Dormael took a deep breath and looked up again, finding Bethany toying with her fingers. He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, which ceased the girl’s fidgeting. She scooted across the floor and cuddled into his side. They sat that way for a while, listening to the music drifting from below.
“Can shadows talk?”
Dormael looked down at Bethany, but all he could see was the top of her head. “Shadows?”
“Shadows.” Dormael could almost hear the eye-roll in her tone. “You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. It’s just an odd question. My grandmother—your great-grandmother—used to say something about shadows. I can’t remember what it was.”
“They don’t say anything worth hearing.”
“That was it. Where did you hear that? Has Allen been telling you lich tales?”
“No.” She paused for a moment. “I was just wondering. What would you do if a shadow started talking to you?”
“Well, I guess that depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“How the bloody thing spoke to me.” Dormael smiled and tousled Bethany’s hair. “If it caught an attitude, I might have to punch it a few times.”
Bethany snickered. “What about a head-butt?”
“Maybe. I head-butted someone when I was a boy, you know. Cut my forehead open right at the crown.”
“That’s because you missed.”
“Is that so?”
Bethany sat up and turned to him, placing a finger at the crown of her head. “You’ve got to hit them with this part.”
Dormael laughed. “I’ll try and remember that.”
Bethany smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. The music from below changed to something upbeat, which was so well-known the whole common room joined in to sing. Rhythmic pounding erupted as the merrymakers kept time with the tune.
“Will she be back?” Bethany said. “The Silver Lady, I mean.”
Dormael put his arm around Bethany’s shoulders and settled back against the wall.
“Aye, I think she will. When she does, we’ll meet what comes together. Alright?”
“Alright.”
Bethany fell asleep sometime later, after the music had changed to something less raucous. Dormael took her to Shawna’s room before returning to his own. Closing the door behind him, he turned and almost jumped out of his skin.
Tamasis stood near the window, regarding him with a flat expression.
“I am here.”
“I noticed.” Dormael took a deep breath to still his heart. “Could you warn me next time?”
“I could not.”
“Of course.” Dormael walked to his bed and kicked his boots into the floor. He plopped down and regarded Tamasis with an irritated look. “I was just about to get some sleep.”
“Could I watch?”
Dormael gave him a disgusted glance. “No, you couldn’t. What do you want?”
“To speak, of course. I wanted to ask after the beasts in the northern reaches.”
“The Garthorin? What of them?”
“Your memory.” Tamasis came over to stand beside the bed. “I have seen it.”
Dormael’s stomach twisted into a knot. “What of it?”
Tamasis stood over him for a moment before speaking, which made Dormael uncomfortable. He scooted to the top of his bed and sat against the wall. Tamasis sat on the edge of the bed.
“You saw what happened to those creatures. You saw what they once were.”
“I did.”
“And what will become of them?”
“What do you mean? We got through the valley without being eaten. That’s well enough for me.”
“Do you remember the sound?”
“The sound?”
“When they were changed.” Tamasis leaned toward Dormael. “Do you remember what it sounded like?”
The vision of the hillside flashed through Dormael’s mind. He heard the noise in his mind as clear as the first time—a bone-wrenching cacophony. He remembered the screams from the prisoners at the foot of the hill.
“I remember. Why?”
&nb
sp; “I have heard this sound before.”
Dormael looked up. “What? You have?”
“Yes.”
“And the woman?” Dormael leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Have you seen her before?”
“Woman? What woman?”
“The one from the Nar’doroc,” Dormael said. “You can see into my mind, you know what I mean!”
“Your mind is full of women. You will have to be more specific.”
“The Silver Lady,” Dormael pressed. “The one from the same vision—do you know who she is?”
Before the words were out of Dormael’s mouth, Tamasis was gone.
Dormael cursed and sat back against the wall. He waited, hoping Tamasis would reappear. When the entity failed to return, Dormael sighed and readied himself for bed. Though his body was sore and bruised, it took a long time for him to fall asleep.
His dreams were full of twisting, changing bodies and screams of pain.
***
Maarkov walked the Gutters.
In the days following his trip through the endless dark, clutched to the back of an unknown creature from the pits, Maarkov had taken some time to himself. Maaz had turned his attention to the artifact, cloistering himself with the living corpses he raised from his foul table. With his brother’s attentions elsewhere, Maarkov had returned to his nightly walks through the slums.
Damned cave must let out somewhere near this district, if not inside it.
Shundov had gone quiet in the days since the attack on Wethrael. People kept from the streets, especially at night, as if they could sense something nasty was crouched in the castle on the hill. Maarkov could never be bothered to keep up with the day-to-day business of the Shundovian state—it hadn’t been his problem in the first place. After his walk through the near-deserted halls of Castle Shundov, however, Maarkov had taken an interest.
Envoys had stopped coming to the castle some time ago. There were rumors running through the streets—ghosts seen walking at night, dead men in the swamps, and a nameless evil hovering over the city. Maarkov had even heard a rumor about a dead man walking the Gutters at night, stealing children away to a dark underground lair.
He’d had a good laugh at that one, even if the others had made his blood run cold—if his blood could have run at all.
The City Under the Mountain Page 45