by Den Patrick
The Imperial Court, once full of the passions and life of the Empire, was now a charnel cavern, gloomy and reeking of death. Weak sunlight filtered in through a series of stained-glass windows high up at the side of the chamber above the viewing gallery. The room was bathed in sickly yellow and dirty red light, and Steiner feared they would be overwhelmed in the darkness at any moment. An undead husk raked bony fingertips across his shoulder, drawing blood and knocking him off balance. Silverdust caught him by one arm while simultaneously incinerating another husk with an outstretched hand. The arcane fire burned so hot it was glittering white, much like the flames that flickered by his feet.
‘Frejna’s teeth!’ grunted Steiner.
I imagine Frejna is most displeased.
Steiner lashed out at his attacker, then followed up with a savage head butt that knocked the husk back a few feet.
‘What are these things?’
I heard rumours that Veles could raise gholes from the corpses of the dead. The cinderwraith sidestepped a husk; then he wrapped fiery arms about its body and face from behind. There was a sickening crack as Silverdust wrenched the head off the corpse and the still burning husk collapsed. It seems Volkan has learned the same trick.
Not one of the dozen husks attacked Felgenhauer. The lurching undead were simply delaying Silverdust and Steiner. She had been singled out.
‘You should have remained loyal, Nika!’ The Emperor turned his petrifying gaze on her. She could feel herself slowing under that dire stare, her limbs stiffening.
‘You sent to me to Vladibogdan!’ she shouted back, flinging a corpse at him with the arcane as she did so. The corpse, which had belonged to a soldier in life, was still armoured and hit the Emperor with such force he fell to one knee. For a moment the petrifying gaze was broken. ‘I had a lot of time to think about all the wrong I’d done in my life,’ snarled Felgenhauer as she closed with him.
‘Damn you, Nika.’ Volkan lurched to his feet and unleashed a great gout of fire from his outstretched hands, but Felgenhauer was already moving, already reaching out with the arcane. One of the still-walking husks jolted sideways into her grasp. The undead horror blackened and fell apart as Felgenhauer used it as a shield, but the fire continued to roar.
‘Frøya save me,’ she whispered as her clothes caught fire. She would have to attempt something she had promised herself she would never do. The feeling was awful, like being buried alive or suffocated. Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron and soil. Her skin shimmered with an arcane silvery light as the fire raced over her head and shoulders. The heat was terrible, but her flesh did not crisp and burn away, made of stone as it was.
‘Will you just die?’ yelled the Emperor, stepping closer, arcane fire still roaring from his hands in an unrelenting torrent. A terrible sensation ran through Felgenhauer’s body, starting at her stomach and coursing outwards to her extremities, a sickness worse than anything she had ever experienced.
‘Not … now!’ This was the cost, she realized. The cost of the arcane on the human body, the taint of dragons made manifest. The same cost that had claimed the life of her sister. And now she was going to perish the same way.
‘Steiner!’ She dropped to her knees, a statue of a woman bathed in fire. ‘Steiner! I need you!’
Silverdust had never heard Nika Felgenhauer call for help. The Matriarch-Commissar had never given so much as a hint that she needed anyone else during her time on Vladibogdan. Her attitude – the self-contained way she conducted herself – was one of the reasons Silverdust had liked her. To hear her call out so desperately would have chilled Silverdust’s blood if he’d still had veins to carry it.
Volkan! Silverdust floated above the husks and spirited himself behind the Emperor, his hands clutching two bright motes of light that would spell the end of anything they came into contact with. The Emperor smiled grimly; the hand he held before him continued to bathe Felgenhauer in fire, but he reached out to Silverdust with his free hand. At first nothing happened and Silverdust released his searing motes, hoping to finally end Volkan Karlov and set right his great mistake.
Wind. The Emperor had summoned wind.
The motes faltered as the breeze picked up, gaining more force with every moment. Shattered and burned body parts began to slide across the tiled floor of the Imperial Court as the arcane wind intensified.
Damn you, Volkan! Silverdust’s motes were blown back towards him. The cinderwraith dodged sideways to avoid being obliterated. Behind him the throne burst into flames as the motes made contact.
Volkan! The cloak that Streig had given to Silverdust was blown free, the garments beneath providing little respite from the wind. Silverdust looked over his shoulder to see soot racing away behind him. His very essence was being dispersed.
‘What good is a cinderwraith if he has no cinders?’ asked the Emperor, wielding fire in one hand and the wind in the other. ‘Goodbye, Serebryanyy.’ He grinned victoriously. Silverdust tried to raise a wind to counter the Emperor, but he was weakening with every passing moment. His mirrored mask was torn from his face by the gale and the room spun away from him.
‘Stay dead!’ grunted Steiner as he caved in the head of another husk. There were just three left now, but Steiner ignored them; he was intent on reaching his aunt. The Emperor stood with his back to Steiner, one hand held out, showering Felgenhauer in flames, while the other hand was channelling a powerful wind, powerful enough to scatter Silverdust across the court.
‘NO!’ Steiner swung down hard, an overhead strike capable of breaking stone. The Emperor dropped to one knee and held up both hands before his face. The sledgehammer jarred against an invisible wall of force. Felgenhauer was a blackened and kneeling statue, and Steiner’s eyes widened in shock when he realized she wasn’t moving. Fury raged through his veins and he lined up the sledgehammer for another swing. The Emperor retreated a step and made a gesture as if he were backhanding a servant. Steiner felt the full force of the arcane strike a heartbeat later and was flung across the room. He was dimly aware of hitting the wall, but the air had already been knocked out of his lungs.
‘I was expecting more,’ said the Emperor with a satisfied smirk. Steiner slid down the wall, a drop of ten feet. He blinked a moment, then gasped down a lungful of air. He was still standing, though that likely had more to do with his enchanted boots than any resilience or balance on his part.
‘And may Frejna’s eye not find me,’ he wheezed, too shocked to move.
‘Your aunt is undone by the very powers she tried to use against me,’ said Volkan Karlov in his whispery voice. He stroked the stony brow of Felgenhauer. ‘And Silverdust is …’ Volkan Karlov smiled at his own joke before he made it. ‘Well, dust!’ The Emperor took a few steps forward and the remaining three husks followed. ‘And now, finally, I will capture Steiner Vartiainen and use your life to bargain with your sister.’
Steiner wheezed down another breath, rolled his shoulders and hefted his sledgehammer once more. The husks shambled towards him, creating a screen of corpses before the Emperor. Steiner prepared to charge out of sheer, bloody-minded desperation. The meagre amount of light shining into the room from above the gallery dimmed. The smile on Volkan Karlov’s face faltered as he turned and whispered one word with a terrible reverence.
‘Bittervinge?’
The windows above the court gallery exploded inwards in a storm of red and yellow glass, all shattered by the father of dragons. The great blunt prow of his snout and jaw sped into the room, missing teeth, scarred from petrification, scales split and broken. The muscular neck followed after, and in the blink of an eye his torso and forelegs punched through the wall below the windows. The wings, ever his most impressive asset, were shorn off altogether as the roof refused to surrender to his momentum. The father of dragons slammed down in the Imperial Court, splitting tiles, knocking Volkan Karlov from his feet and crushing the three undead husks. The mightiest reptile in all of Vinterkveld slid across the floor for a dozen feet and s
topped within arms’ reach of Steiner.
Nothing moved.
Light returned to the Imperial Court, though it struggled to pierce the swirling dust that had been thrown up in the dragon’s wake. Steiner stepped sideways and looked Bittervinge in the eye, but the maddened gleam was gone, replaced by rheum; the lid heavy, the scales across his face translucent and ragged.
‘You’re dead,’ whispered Steiner. ‘You’re really dead.’ Something moved between the dragon’s shoulder blades and for a terrible moment Steiner feared he was wrong. A person materialized out of the swirling dust, a darker shadow clutching a short blade.
‘Steiner?’ Kimi slid down the side of Bittervinge’s corpse looking like an apparition from nightmare. Coated in grey dust and slick with dark red blood, she stepped forward, her gaze unusually intense.
‘How did you kill him with just a dagger?’ asked Steiner when he finally managed to put his thoughts in order.
‘This is no dagger,’ said Kimi. ‘I have come for the Emperor, and I will kill him with the Ashen Blade.’
‘The Emperor is mine,’ snarled Steiner. ‘He killed my father—’
‘You think you’re the only one who lost a father to the Emperor?’ Kimi grabbed Steiner by the collar of his tunic and pulled him forward until his face was just inches from her own. ‘He is mine,’ hissed Kimi. ‘Do you hear me? This is a matter of honour.’ She was wide-eyed from her ordeal, over-pronouncing every word like a drunk pretending they’re sober. Steiner’s eye drifted to the Ashen Blade, though the weapon was covered in gore, as was the hand that wielded it. Kimi’s arm was soaked to the elbow.
‘Kimi. What’s it doing it to you?’ he asked. She released him and held up a forbidding finger.
‘No! You will not persuade me to part with it. I have come to kill the Emperor and I will not be denied.’
‘Let’s put that to the test, shall we?’ said Volkan Karlov from across the room. A patch of darkness on the floor heaved itself to its feet. Once fine dark clothes were now the colour of dust. ‘I’ve bested a Matriarch-Commissar and an Exarch today. I’m sure one snivelling princess won’t give me any problems.’
The look of rage that crossed Kimi’s face made Steiner sidestep on instinct, keen to be away from the murderous intent in her eyes. She began to run forward and Steiner followed a heartbeat later. Volkan Karlov simply smiled and raised up one hand, then knelt down and slammed an open palm against the tiled floor. Steiner’s feet went from under him as the court quaked and the ground beneath them tore itself apart. Kimi fell into the darkness and hit the level below, lying supine in the rubble. The Ashen Blade skittered away from her limp hand. Steiner landed a moment later and stared around in shock; his sledgehammer had been jolted from his grasp during the fall.
‘Kimi!’ No answer came from the Yamal princess and Steiner knelt down beside her. ‘Kimi?’
He heard the sound of another body hitting the bottom of the newly formed fissure. Volkan Karlov had split the court with such force the ground beneath his feet had betrayed him. Steiner, who had landed catlike amid the devastation, sprang forward, searching the debris with rising panic.
‘Poor Steiner,’ said the Emperor. ‘To have come all this way only to fail now. Finally I will rid myself of the Vartiainen line.’
‘You keep saying that,’ said Steiner. ‘And yet here I am.’ He meant every word, but he felt the lack of a weapon keenly.
‘Not for much longer,’ replied Volkan Karlov.
A small cat, not much more than a kitten, hopped on to a small outcrop of debris above them and stared down at the Emperor with a curious, if affronted gaze. Another cat appeared a moment later, and then another.
‘What is this?’ muttered Volkan Karlov, frowning. A bright light appeared in the gloom at the lip of the fissure above them. A young soldier clutched a lantern, and from where he stood it formed a nimbus about the head of young woman attired in black.
‘The Vartiainen line will not end today,’ said the woman in a calm, reasonable tone.
‘Kjellrunn?’ asked Steiner in disbelief. His sister, the wayward, tangle-haired child of his memory, now the Stormtide Prophet, held out a hand. Her great-grandfather’s sledgehammer launched from the ground and sped to her grip.
‘Hello, brother.’
‘Oh shit,’ was all that Volkan Karlov could say before the Stormtide Prophet leapt from the edge of the fissure, sledgehammer raised above her head.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Kjellrunn
Power, whether it be arcane power derived from dragons, or the political power derived from status and position, corrupts all but the purest of souls. Even enchanted artefacts are not immune to this, and the darker the enchantment the greater the corruption.
– From the memoir of Drakina Tveit, Lead Librarian of Midtenjord Province
The sledgehammer sang to Kjellrunn softly in the darkness. It rose from the debris and flew to her hand like old friend. She half leapt, half fell, the weapon grasped above her head, yet she felt no rage, just the abiding calm that had settled on her since the leviathan’s departure. She was Frejna’s weapon now and, like death itself, she was inevitable.
The Emperor held up his arms on instinct. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he was injured. Perhaps he had called on the arcane once too often that day, and like a fickle mistress she refused his summons. Despite the Emperor’s warding gesture the sledgehammer descended, connecting with the side of his face that had been petrified during his exchange with Silverdust. Chips of stone exploded from the man’s face; his jaw fractured. The through-swing hit the ground with such force that Kjellrunn almost lost her grip, and she landed heavily, grunting with effort, prompting a moment’s hesitation. The grievously wounded Emperor stumbled backwards, hands going to his ruined face, fingers tracing the shattered geography of his jaw, shock etched in his bloodshot eyes.
‘Your rule is at an end,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘Surrender or be destroyed.’ She raised the hammer once more and stepped closer. The Emperor lurched forward and grabbed her by throat, lifting her off the ground. A terrible noise issued from his shattered face, the fear in his eyes now replaced with a furious anger.
‘Get away from her!’ A shadow flickered above them, followed by a flash of steel. Streig slashed downwards with the enchanted blade he had stolen from the Great Library of Arkiv. A moment later the Emperor’s arm was severed and Kjellrunn fell to ground, clutching her throat.
‘Nnnnnnuuuunngg!’ The Emperor held out the stump. The two-handed blade had taken him just above the elbow. A silver shimmer passed over the wound before it turned to stone, an elegant way to stop himself from bleeding out. Kjellrunn admired the discipline it must have taken for him to wield the arcane in such a way when panic would have overwhelmed a lesser person.
Streig recovered from his leap into the fissure and made to strike again, but the Emperor struck him with a stone fist, before grabbing the two-handed sword by the crosspiece. The two men struggled and Kjellrunn summoned a hail of stone from the debris, pelting the wounded man. Streig stumbled away as the Emperor floated into the air, alighting a moment later on the lip of the fissure above them.
‘Frejna’s teeth,’ cursed Streig.
‘Nnnnnuuunnngg!’ bellowed the Emperor from his shattered face, reaching towards the fissure with his remaining hand. The Ashen Blade scraped against stone as it was wrenched free from its hiding place in the debris, summoned to his grasp by the arcane. Steiner ran forward to snatch the weapon from the air, but Kjellrunn had other means. The Ashen Blade slowed and became still, trembling in the air as both the Stormtide Prophet and the Emperor exerted their will. For a breathless moment nothing happened, and then the Emperor turned his petrifying gaze on Kjellrunn. She looked away on instinct and her concentration faltered. The Ashen Blade slipped away, free of Kjellrunn’s arcane grasp.
‘No!’ Steiner was already trying to climb out of the trench as the Emperor slipped the enchanted blade carefully through his belt. Now he had the pai
r of them, together at last. ‘No!’ howled Steiner.
The Emperor reached up to the roof and Kjellrunn felt a pang of despair.
‘Frejna’s teeth,’ whispered Streig as he followed the direction of the man’s grasp. ‘Not again!’ The ceiling was shaking; plaster dust drifted down; cracks spread in greater and greater numbers, black lines that foretold of being buried alive.
‘Kjellrunn!’ called out Steiner. ‘Stop him.’
She knew what the Emperor was attempting, but not from any prescience; that had never been her gift. She could feel him reaching for the power of earth and the mastery of stone. She could sense him reaching up to pull down the roof of his court, risking himself in abject desperation.
‘Steiner! Streig! To me.’ The men obeyed without pause or question. She passed the sledgehammer to Steiner before raising both hands above her head.
‘And Frøya hold me close,’ said Kjellrunn as she threw up a ward with all of her concentration and every last reserve of her powers. Stone and plaster from the ceiling began to rain down, then the roof’s timbers, and finally the tiles themselves. The debris clattered all around them, settling about an invisible dome of pure force, held back by sheer force of will.
‘I … I don’t know how much longer I can hold this,’ said Kjellrunn, almost sobbing with the effort in the darkness.
‘Kjellrunn, I’m sorry,’ muttered Steiner.
‘What for?’
‘Everything.’
‘Is there anything else you want to say to me?’ she whispered.
‘Volkan Karlov killed our father,’ replied Steiner. The stone groaned ominously all about them. ‘And now he’s killed us too.’
For a moment Steiner wasn’t sure if Kjellrunn had heard him. Nothing moved in the darkness and no reply sounded on the dusty air.
‘Kjellrunn?’ Streig’s voice, quiet and low, trying to keep the rising panic he must surely feel at bay.
‘I’m here,’ she said at last. ‘The stone is settling into place around the ward.’ A heartbeat later and light lanced in from the side. The stone and timber were tumbling away, creating a ragged portal from their confinement. ‘You first, Streig.’ The soldier did as he was asked, and Steiner followed. The court was shrouded in swirling dust, as thick as any fog. Kjellrunn emerged from the debris of the collapsed roof and breathed out. The timber and stone that had fallen about them shuddered and collapsed into the space that Kjellrunn had protected with her ward.