by Den Patrick
‘We know they’re coming.’
‘There’s the small issue of numbers, Kjell,’ said Verner. ‘They have them, we don’t.’
Kjellrunn didn’t wait for their approval. The clearing had been home to countless lessons, fears and furies, questions and occasionally answers. It might also be the place she died.
‘Better here among the trees than in that wretched town.’
A movement to her right confirmed Mistress Kamalov’s warning.
‘You don’t seem surprised to see us,’ said the dark-haired horseman. The smirk was firmly in place on his lips. ‘One of the advantages of knowing someone who can read minds, I suppose.’
‘Stay away,’ said Kjellrunn, her voice a flat monotone. The sound of the Spøkelsea was rushing in her ears, her every sense alive to the forest and the winter chill. Crows called a warning to each other in the distance and the trees whispered feverishly.
‘My dear child. I will not be staying away.’ The horseman grinned. ‘And neither will my many friends.’
Three more Okhrana emerged from the woods, a few more attired as peasants. Bjørner hid in the shadow of a tree, keen informer yet reluctant witness, Kjellrunn guessed. Marek stepped out and stood beside Kjellrunn, knife unsheathed.
‘Hail, friend,’ said the horseman.
‘You’re no friend of mine,’ said Marek.
‘And yet you are a legend to us.’ Kjellrunn counted a dozen of them now, the knife in her hand too small for so many men. ‘A legend among the Okhrana,’ continued the horseman, turning to his comrades as if telling a tale by the fireside in a tavern. ‘And to think, we came here seeking a missing Vigilant, but here you are, the man who betrayed the Empire for love and seduced a Vigilant.’
‘I left the Empire because I tired of killing.’
‘Killing is all that we have, brother,’ said the horseman.
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Marek. ‘There’s more to life than killing, and you’re no brother of mine.’
‘A brother in arms surely? Too bad we have to kill you, Marek, legends are so hard to find these days.’
‘You’re not killing anyone,’ said Kjellrunn.
‘We’re well trained at killing defecting Vigilants,’ said the horseman. ‘You won’t pose too much of a problem, little girl.’
‘Your hateful Empire took my brother, you won’t take anyone else from me.’ Her anger was the gale that tears along the coast and the waves that crash against unyielding cliffs. Her rage was the rain turned to hail, thundering from the heavens.
‘Kjellrunn.’ Marek’s voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Kjellrunn, you’re levitating.’
The Okhrana advanced, blades bared in the gloom of the forest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Steiner
Perhaps when I was younger I could believe that this meant something, as Shirinov still does. I’ve seen too many people die, too many towns ruined and sacked, too many lives crippled by fear and misery. The Emperor takes all the glory for himself, there is none for anyone but him. All the medals and honours and titles are just set dressing in some grotesque play; we are all but spear carriers and minor roles to him. But what else is there? Defection always means death.
– From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
Steiner stepped over the shattered door of his cell and into the corridor beyond, noting the broken corpses of two soldiers.
‘I thought I was going to die in that cell.’
‘We thought you were going to die in that cell too,’ said Tief. ‘Kimi was very keen to break you out from the moment you were captured.’
Steiner thought of Kimi and how close they’d grown, and how he’d do anything for her. The Ashen Torment hung around his neck, a dire weight that carried not just the fate of the cinderwraiths, but of every Yamal across Vinterkveld.
‘Come on,’ said Steiner, ‘We’ve work to do, and I need to stop Shirinov getting aboard that ship
The sight that greeted Steiner and Tief defied belief. Academy Zemlya was a surge and roil of conflict and fear. Cinderwraiths accosted soldiers in threes, forming shadowy Troikas of their own. The first victims died of suffocation, wheezing and coughing, the taste of ghostly ashes in mouths crying out for mercy. A soldier stumbled along a corridor and raised his mace to strike Steiner, only to find the shadows were alive with accusing orange glares. Spectral hands wrestled the weapon free of the soldier’s grasp even as others were sending tendrils of smoke into the soldier’s lungs. The man fell to his knees and clutched his throat with one hand, the other swiping the air.
‘Are the cinderwraiths … impervious?’
‘You can’t kill something that’s already dead,’ said Tief, watching the soldier die. ‘Though water will slow them down. And the arcane too, I expect.’
Their way ahead was not free of impediment. Steiner caught a crushing strike from a soldier’s mace on the shaft of his hammer. Tief slipped around and jerked his knife under the soldier’s arm, up into his lung. The soldier stumbled back, wheezing. Steiner’s overhead swing smashed an armoured shoulder, denting metal and snapping bones, knocking the man to the floor. Tief darted in once more and jerked his knife across the man’s throat.
‘What did you kill him for?’ said Steiner, incredulous.
‘He was already dead, mostly likely. Especially after that great hammer of yours.’
‘But why …? Steiner gestured at his throat.
‘Dead men tell no tales, Steiner. And he was no friend to you. He’d have captured your sister at Shirinov’s command, just like any of them.’
Steiner nodded and tried to ignore the blood, pressing on through the academy and down the stairs to the double doors. Three novices awaited him, all granite-skinned with eyes of polished marble.
‘Dammit. I won’t be slashing their throats,’ said Tief with a surly expression. The blade flashed bright in his hand, a smear of red along its edge. Steiner hefted the sledgehammer and looked from one novice to another. They were young, difficult to guess their ages under their stony skins, but the eldest wasn’t older than fifteen by Steiner’s reckoning.
‘I don’t want to fight you,’ he said, ‘I know you didn’t ask to be brought to Vladibogdan. You didn’t ask to have witchsign either. You certainly didn’t ask to serve an Empire you don’t care for.’
One of the novices shivered. A faint white glow suffused her as the arcane left her skin. The novice resumed her normal form, head bowed, favouring Steiner with a sullen eye.
‘They sent my brother here three years before I was taken, and when I arrived I couldn’t find him. Do you know Dimitri? Have you seen him?’
Steiner shook his head, swallowing in a dry throat, unable to tell her the awful truth of the Ashen Torment and the many cinderwraiths bound to it.
‘I’m trying to make sure the Empire stops taking children like you from their families,’ said Steiner. ‘But I need to get through those doors to stop Shirinov.’
The novices shared nervous glances at the mention of the Vigilant’s name.
‘If you let me past I’ll do whatever I can to stop this.’ Steiner gestured to the academy. ‘All of this.’
The novices shared a wary look, then flinched as the sounds of fighting from Academy Square intensified.
‘You’d best be on your way,’ said the eldest, stepping aside. ‘Tell no one you saw us.’
‘Thanks,’ said Steiner, moving past the novices.
‘What happened to him?’ asked the girl as Steiner and Tief tugged the doors open. ‘Where is Dimitri?’
‘I don’t know.’ Steiner looked into her eyes and saw an echo of Kjellrunn.
‘Come on,’ said Tief, tugging his tunic. ‘I didn’t think you’d talk them down.’
‘They’re only children. Killing Matthias was enough. I’ll kill no more if I can help it.’
Tief fixed him with a look and laid a hand on the doors. ‘Ready?’
They pushed past the great doors and ran down t
he steps of Academy Zemlya into the square.
‘Frejna’s teeth, this is bad,’ said Tief, brandishing the curved knife.
‘We’ve really started something,’ said Steiner.
The square was a roaring confusion. Armoured bodies tried to impose order, shadowy forms flickered and drifted from one victim to the next. A small knot of novices from Academy Vozdukha were duelling with rival students from Academy Plamya. The grim-faced novices summoned unnatural gales to extinguish the arcane fire of their attackers.
‘What the Hel’s going on?’ said Tief, dodging a wild swing from a soldier’s mace.
‘I think the Vozdukha novices are showing their true colours,’ replied Steiner. ‘And they aren’t Imperial ones.’
Maxim crouched beside the Vozdukha students, casting fretful glances as fiery breath and the occasional half-formed fireball came dangerously close.
‘Plamya students,’ said Steiner, stalking towards the duel. His first strike took one of the fire novices at the knees. There was a crunch followed by a yelp. The novice curled up with both hands pressed to the shattered limb.
‘Get out of my way!’ snarled Steiner. His second swing took the next fire novice in the chest, and he tottered back wheezing, then collapsed in a tangle of limbs.
The remaining novice stepped forward and grabbed Steiner by the throat. There’d be no chance to swing the sledgehammer like this. The novice sucked down a great breath, the telltale glow of the arcane emanating from his throat.
‘Look out,’ shouted Tief, but the novice fell back under a well-timed headbutt. Tief was on the novice in a moment with his knife poised.
‘Wait!’ said Steiner, and punched the novice into unconsciousness.
‘So he can burn you but I can’t kill him?’ said Tief. ‘Some logic you have there.’
The Vozdukha novices crowded forward and gave their thanks, and Steiner urged them to keep fighting. Maxim pushed through the press of bodies, grasping Steiner by the arm.
‘You need to stop Shirinov,’ said the boy. ‘He left before the cinderwraiths began their attack.’
‘Kjell,’ whispered Steiner, running as best he could through the jostling bodies. A lone soldier stood before the gatehouse, feet planted wide, weapon gripped in heavy gauntlets. Steiner ducked beneath a swing that would have shattered his skull. He staggered forward, turned and swung with a curse on his lips. The soldier lurched back in his heavy armour, away from the upward arc of the sledgehammer. Cobbles slick with blood and rain betrayed the soldier and his boots skidded from under him. Tief tried to slip clear but fared no better; the soldier collapsed onto him. The soldier jerked once and lay still, a dead weight.
‘Get this halfhead off me!’ shouted Tief.
Steiner struggled to shift the bulk of the armoured man. Tief pulled himself to his feet with a furious look.
‘Is anything broken?’ asked Steiner. Tief held up the curved knife, which had snapped halfway along the blade. The remainder was red to the hilt.
‘I meant you,’ said Steiner. ‘Where’s the other bit of the blade?’
Tief gestured to the soldier and grimaced. ‘So much for dragon-forged blades being hardier.’
Startled shouts in Solska and Nordspråk filled the air. Steiner spotted several soldiers standing still amid the fighting. A second glance confirmed they had been turned to stone, red cloaks and black armour now the colour of slate.
‘There’s someone here, someone powerful.’ Steiner looked about with growing panic. ‘Powerful enough to petrify people.’
Tief pointed cheerfully to the alley between Academy Vozdukha and Academy Voda, where the black-clad priestess of Frejna turned a terrible gaze on any who ventured near. Taiga stood behind her, wielding a dagger and a wary expression.
‘She’ll make sure none of the soldiers reach the furnaces.’
Steiner nodded and entered the dim arch beneath the gatehouse, keen to prevent the Imperial galley from departing. The figure that ascended the steps to Temnet Cove was not Shirinov, as Steiner had hoped, but Hierarch Khigir. A knot of fear tied Steiner’s insides tight as thoughts turned to the fiery interrogation in the circular cell.
‘You should have stayed chained to the wall, boy,’ said Corpsecandle in his mournful tone. ‘Now I will finish what I began.’
Steiner snatched the dragon-carved amulet from his tunic and held it before him. ‘Wherever there is fire there is death.’ A flicker of flame rippled across the carved stone before the amulet burst into life, fire lapping and twisting about it.
‘What is this?’ Khigir paused on the steps. ‘Another trinket for your arsenal?’
Two cinderwraiths rose from the corpses of nearby soldiers, heeding the call of the Ashen Torment.
‘Take him,’ said Steiner with a curl of his lip. The cinderwraiths surged forward, unable to deny the compulsion to obey.
Khigir was undeterred by his spectral attackers. The tongues of white flame that danced around his feet grew brighter as he uttered dark words behind the frowning mask. The Vigilant reached out with both hands, sending red motes from his palms. The smouldering lights struck each of the newly formed cinderwraiths. One moment the ashen spectres were drifting forward, the next they were orange and white outlines, so bright Steiner had to look away.
‘He destroyed them,’ breathed Tief, eyes wide in shock.
‘I am a Hierarch,’ said Khigir in a measured tone. ‘Did you think I would merely breathe fire like some novice?’ He brushed ashes from his robes, the attack no more than an inconvenience. ‘And now for you, Vartiainen. It is clear to me you will not be turned to a higher calling. It is best we end this insurrection now.’
‘Insurrection?’ Steiner was already moving before the word had left his mouth. Whereas Shirinov could ward off physical attacks with a gesture, Khigir could not. The Vigilant stepped back and avoided Steiner’s wild swing, almost toppling down the steps. His outstretched hand cast a bright arc of fire that washed close by, but Steiner had stepped within arm’s reach of the Vigilant. The heat pressed against his back and the smell of singed hair came soon after. Tief gave a startled curse and dived away, landing on his side with grunt. The fire blinked out and Steiner grabbed the Vigilant’s face with his free hand and mashed Khigir’s head into the gatehouse wall.
‘I’ll show you’ – Steiner jerked the Vigilant into the wall again – ‘insurrection.’ Steiner dragged the limp form of Khigir forward. ‘Your time is over, old man.’
The strike that met the underside of Steiner’s jaw was unexpected, all the more so because it came from the addled Vigilant. The coppery taste of blood infused Steiner’s mouth, along with the dim awareness he’d bitten his tongue. He recoiled and made to swing the sledgehammer, but not before Corpsecandle reached forward with hands that burned white hot.
‘I am not so easily bested, boy.’
Steiner stared in horror, imagining his flesh seared to the bone. He swung the sledge, more from panic than a will to do violence. Khigir jerked back and approached again, white-hot hands burning bright as steel from the furnace. The flames went out, dowsed in brackish water and the gatehouse tunnel was consumed with an acrid stench. Steiner stared around to discover Taiga and Tief clutching buckets. Khigir fell back, arcane fire extinguished, steam rising from his gnarled hands.
‘You hateful Spriggani, you worthless vermin—’
But anything else he had to say was lost as Steiner’s strike took him across the shoulder, spinning him towards the descent to Temnet Cove. Steiner didn’t leave the Vigilant’s fate to chance, and a solid kick to the arse sent the old man down the many stone steps. Tief and Taiga joined Steiner as they watched the Vigilant fall, tumbling and bouncing off the black stone, coming to rest in a shattered heap at the base of the pier. Steiner started down the steps when a hand touched his arm.
‘It’s too late,’ said Tief.
‘They’ve cast off,’ added Taiga, eyes following the Imperial galley as it edged away from the pier, ropes and sails un
furling as it went.
‘The crew cast off during the fight with Khigir,’ said Tief.
The ship sailed beyond the dark, jagged confines of Temnet Cove. Soon it would be out in open water, traversing around the Nordscales before setting course for Cinderfell. And Kjellrunn.
Steiner let forth a series of curses and Taiga raised an eyebrow. Behind them the sounds of fighting had died down. Those students still loyal to the old ways had retreated to their academies, while those of a more rebellious nature waited in the square, all eyes on Steiner.
‘It’s the statue, isn’t it?’ said Tief. ‘That’s the source.’
‘I don’t know for sure,’ said Steiner, hefting the sledgehammer. ‘But I’m keen to find out.’
A hushed anticipation fell across Academy Square as Steiner approached the dragon statue. He squared up with one of the statue’s legs, as thick as an old pine trunk.
Silverdust appeared beside him and nodded, his hands clasped together expectantly.
‘Do it, Steiner,’ said Sundra.
The hammer swung up high and came around in a vicious arc. Steiner felt the shock all the way up his arms, felt it so badly it made his shoulders ache. He gritted his teeth and struck again, and was rewarded with a tracery of hairline cracks that thickened and spread.
Steiner let out a great roar as the next strike landed, higher up the leg of the statue. The novices in the square howled and yelled with him, a wordless excitement, a savage fury. The fire that roiled about the stone dragon guttered and died and the shouting and swearing died with it. The cracks raced across the surface of the stone; portions of wing shattered and came apart.
‘Steiner, get away from there!’ yelled Tief.
The dragon statue toppled forward to smash into the gatehouse, so loud that Steiner clapped his hands to his ears. Dust and flecks of stone filled the air, followed by coughing and shocked silence. All around, cinderwraiths drifted across Academy Square, clasping insubstantial hands together. The Ashen Torment vibrated against his chest and Steiner reached into his tunic for it.
‘What is it?’ asked Sundra.