by Den Patrick
‘Where is he?’ whispered Steiner, looking at the lip of the fissure for Volkan Karlov.
‘The throne.’ There was a despair in her eye that had not been there before the roof’s collapse. ‘Where else would he be?’
It took them a moment to drag themselves out of the fissure, clambering up over debris and helping one another out of the darkness. Steiner reached out for his sister, barely recognizable in her black vestments and with her hair tied back.
‘Is Father really …?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Steiner. ‘I saw his shade.’
Poor Marek Vartiainen. So brave, so foolish. Volkan Karlov’s words invaded their minds, no different to the sinister whisper the Emperor had used when he’d still been able to speak.
‘And may Frøya keep you close,’ said Kjellrunn before her eyes rolled back in her head. Her knees gave out and Streig caught her before she fell. Steiner shared a stunned look with the former soldier.
It seems even the Prophet has her limits. The mocking tone of Volkan Karlov’s words was unbearable.
‘Finish him, Steiner,’ said Streig. ‘Or none of us will survive.’ Steiner nodded with a grim acceptance.
‘Get her out of here,’ he replied before turning towards the throne. Bittervinge’s corpse formed a vast obstacle and Steiner began scaling the monstrosity. The smell of decay was overpowering and Steiner retched as he climbed up over flaking scales and the shattered bones where wings had once protruded. On he went, heaving himself one-handed over the dead dragon’s ancient spine, then sliding down the other side with the sledgehammer clutched in one scarred fist. Volkan Karlov stood on the wide step surrounding the throne, one Ashen Blade tucked in his belt, the other gripped in his sole remaining hand.
I have waited a long time to be in possession of both blades. Perhaps in time I can even recover from the wounds I’ve suffered.
Steiner eyed the dull blade, watching grey flakes fall from the short weapon. Such a small thing, threatening to drain his vitality should Volkan Karlov slip past his defences.
What are you waiting for? I thought you would want to avenge yourself for your father.
‘I do,’ replied Steiner. ‘And I will.’ He was standing over an Imperial soldier. The man had died with his mace and shield. ‘My father was a blacksmith and he always told me to use the right tool for the job.’ The Emperor looked less sure of himself as Steiner stooped to pick up the shield. The Ashen Blade could only end him if it pierced his flesh.
A shield? It will do you no good.
‘What was it you said earlier to Kimi?’ asked Steiner. ‘“Let’s put that to the test.”’ He ran forward, shield held before him, the sledgehammer clutched in a single hand. Volkan Karlov tried to evade him, but the shield slammed into the slender man, knocking him backwards into the throne, the same throne from which he had issued so many cruel decrees. The first Ashen Blade went skittering from the Emperor’s numb fingers, but he sprang to his feet, eager to defend himself. Steiner put his shoulder to the shield and rammed the Emperor against the back of the throne, then followed up with a hammer strike that shattered the top of the throne and not the Emperor’s skull as he had hoped.
Damn you, Vartiainen.
Volkan Karlov half slipped, half spun from the broken throne and Steiner lunged again. He slammed the shield forward and was rewarded with a dull grunt. The Emperor concentrated on keeping his footing and made no counter-attack, so Steiner dropped to one knee and swung hard. The sledgehammer glanced off the Emperor’s knee and another grunt of pain issued from the petrified and shattered face. Steiner stood, using the edge of the shield to catch Volkan Karlov under the chin, but the Emperor had called on the arcane once more. His skin was now a dark granite colour, not just the stump of his severed arm, but every inch of him. Steiner grinned.
‘I was hoping you’d do that.’ He hefted the sledgehammer, determined to shatter the stone body of the Emperor, but his confidence was short-lived. Volkan Karlov’s eyes had also changed to the colour of stone. Steiner averted his gaze, hiding behind the shield, stumbling forward in the hopes of breaking the Emperor’s concentration. The sledgehammer became heavier with each passing moment and Steiner looked on with horror as the metal head and the stout wooden shaft turned to stone. Threads of arcane grey raced down the handle and Steiner dropped the weapon on instinct, afraid his hand might also become petrified.
Not so fearsome without your hammer, are you, Vartiainen?
Steiner shouted in frustration, then took the shield in both hands and raised it above his head and slammed downwards. The edge of the shield caught the Emperor in the chest and sent him stumbling sideways. He was drawing the second Ashen Blade when Steiner grappled him from behind, one hand catching Volkan Karlov’s knife arm, while the other wrapped around his throat.
‘This is for my Uncle Verner,’ hissed Steiner into the Emperor’s ear. The two men struggled, but Steiner’s grip was absolute. Little by little he forced the hand holding the enchanted weapon back towards the Emperor.
You can’t kill me with the Ashen Blade! My skin is as stone!
‘And for my mother,’ added Steiner, trembling with the effort. The Emperor’s knife hand edged closer to his face.
You are a fool. You cannot defeat me!
‘For my father,’ added Steiner from between gritted teeth. ‘And my great-grandfather.’
The tip of the Ashen Blade was just a finger’s width from the Emperor’s eye. Both men were locked in the fatal embrace, Steiner’s body honed by hardship and toil, the Emperor’s strength fuelled by the arcane. Try as he might, Steiner couldn’t force Volkan Karlov’s knife hand back any further.
You will not avenge yourself on me today.
‘You’re wrong,’ said a voice from beside them. Kjellrunn appeared from the dust like an apparition. ‘We both will.’ She laid the flat of her hand on the pommel.
‘Do it!’ shouted Steiner.
There are worse things than death!
Kjellrunn added her strength to Steiner’s and the Ashen Blade sank into the Emperor’s eye, until only the hilt remained, protruding from the socket. Kjellrunn snatched her hand away the moment the deed was done. Volkan Karlov convulsed violently and Steiner took a sharp intake of breath as a feeling of euphoria surged through him. For a moment it was hard to tell where the Emperor ended and Steiner began; they shook and convulsed together, life fleeing from one body to another. Kjellrunn stepped back wearing an expression of disgust as Volkan Karlov withered and died before their eyes.
‘Steiner!’ shouted Kjellrunn. Steiner prised his arms open and took a step back. Volkan Karlov hit the floor, a wizened corpse, the Ashen Blade still lodged in his skull. Steiner stared at his hands; his entire body was thrumming with power. Was this the arcane? Was this how Kjellrunn felt when she called on her powers?
‘Steiner, what are you doing?’ asked Kjellrunn, a note of panic in her voice. He knelt over the Emperor and pulled the enchanted blade free. He needed the blade, needed this feeling to never stop.
‘Steiner?’ Kimi emerged from the ruined court; Streig stood just behind her, sword in hand. They both stared at him with wary looks on exhausted faces. ‘Steiner, I know how you’re feeling.’ Kimi took a step forward, her hands open to show she was unarmed. ‘I felt that way too when I killed Bittervinge.’
‘Such … power,’ whispered Steiner, staring at the dull blade. The Emperor’s blood had been sucked into the weapon, as if a thousand unseen mouths drank all at once.
‘But it’s not good for you, Steiner,’ said Kimi.
‘This is a power that was never meant for us,’ said Kjellrunn quietly.
‘No! I fought for this.’ His voice was impossibly loud, his anger hot and irresistible. ‘I defeated the Emperor!’
‘Steiner, please?’ begged Kjellrunn. ‘Put the blade down.’
A faint shadow appeared beside Kjellrunn with two motes of amber light for eyes.
‘Silverdust?’
It is I. Once you
destroyed the Ashen Torment so the souls of the cinderwraiths on Vladibogdan could be free. Now I ask you to surrender the Ashen Blade in order to free yourself.
‘But with an artefact like this’ – Steiner could barely resist staring at the dark blade – ‘none of my friends or family need ever die again.’
‘That is not the natural way of things, Steiner,’ said Kjellrunn.
There are worse things than death. An unusually long life brings its own problems. Silverdust held out an indistinct arm. Please. Give me the blade, Steiner.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Silverdust
People speak of grief as if it is no more than a protracted bad mood, a period of low feeling that passes in time. I have always thought grief needs work and that work takes time. And yet one cannot begin the work of grief until one has moved on from the shock of loss, or the denial and bargaining that takes place to avoid it.
– From the memoir of Drakina Tveit, Lead Librarian of Midtenjord Province
It had been a long night and sleep had evaded them. The fighting had ended but their bodies remained wary and alert. One by one they had stumbled from the Imperial Court, coated in dust, silent as phantoms, hollow-eyed with all that they had seen. No one had felt much like talking. Steiner had withdrawn to a servant’s common room, locking himself in with a jug of ale to still his shaking hands. Surrendering the Ashen Blade had been no easy thing and his shame had been waiting in ambush the moment he passed over the enchanted weapon.
When the sun came up, Kimi climbed to the roof, keen to catch sight of Tief, Taiga, and the dragons. Silverdust had no need of arcane senses to know the princess missed her comrades fiercely. Kjellrunn and Streig were standing before Silverdust in the antechamber outside the court. A small conclave of felines slept at Kjellrunn’s feet, the sound of purring a pleasant backdrop of sound. Slivers of golden sunlight slid into the Imperial Palace through the many windows.
I believe I instructed you to return to Arkiv.
‘You did.’ Streig smiled. ‘But I was never keen on taking orders. The decision was made for me in the end. The boat left and I was still ashore with four dozen people out for my blood.’ The soldier leant on the crosspiece of the great sword, barely able to keep his eyes open.
‘How did you survive?’ asked Kjellrunn.
‘Most of them only had knives, whereas I had this.’ He patted the pommel of the sword affectionately. ‘None could get close enough to kill me. They gave up after I’d given one or two of them a lesson.’
Go and rest, Streig. And a few days from now you can return home to Virolanti.
The soldier smiled and took himself away.
‘What will happen now?’ said Kjellrunn.
We must destroy the Ashen Blades, though magical artefacts are nigh impervious. I am at a loss how we can achieve such a thing.
‘Surely Steiner’s sledgehammer can break them?’
Normally, yes, but the Emperor petrified the weapon with his arcane gaze. I would not have thought such a thing was possible had I not seen it myself. I fear the sledgehammer is useless now, more likely to shatter than to damage the Ashen Blades.
The predicament, like the silence, enveloped them for a while before Kjellrunn spoke again.
‘How are you? Steiner thought you’d been destroyed in the fighting.’
Silverdust held up one insubstantial limb; he had never been so translucent. It is kind of you to ask, though I imagine I must appear as an abomination to a prophet of Frejna. I, like the Ashen Blades, am not part of the natural order of life. Neither Frejna nor Frøya would have any affection for me.
Kjellrunn thought on this for a moment before a tired smile crept across her face. ‘I’m unorthodox. And you can’t help being dead.’
No more than anyone else. Silverdust felt the woman’s warmth. It gave him hope the years ahead might be brighter than the previous century.
‘Why don’t we go up to the roof and keep Kimi company? I’m keen to hear her side of the tale.’
Of course. I will need a few moments to attire myself. The wind is not kind to ones such as myself. The memory of the Emperor dispersing him with a summoned gale flitted through Silverdust’s mind, horrifying and bleak. Besides, I would like to find my mask again. I have owned it a very long time.
Kjellrunn pushed open the doors to the court and picked her way across the debris, her entourage of cats following. Bittervinge’s wizened corpse dwarfed everything in the room. The irony that the Imperial Court would serve as the father of dragon’s tomb was not lost on Silverdust.
So much death, and yet a trace of the arcane lingers here. And of life.
‘I feel it too.’ Kjellrunn approached a small outcrop of scorched stone. ‘This is a person,’ she whispered reverently, kneeling down to see more clearly.
It is Felgenhauer. I fear she has succumbed to the taint of dragons. The price the arcane exerts on the human body is steep and when the fighting was at its most furious …
Kjellrunn ran her fingers over the statue’s brow and spoke in a low voice. As she prayed she traced the contours of the stony face: its jaw, the hairline, the head. Stone flaked away revealing pale flesh beneath.
‘Come back to us,’ whispered Kjellrunn. The statue shivered and more stone flaked off. The sunlight brightened and a silver glow suffused both the former Matriarch-Commissar and the prophet, as if a writhing sigil had been burned into the floor around them. Silverdust felt an uncomfortable pressure weighing down on him. Suddenly the sensation was gone and the silver light faded with it. Felgenhauer took a shuddering breath before her eyes opened, filled with tears.
‘Kjellrunn! I was trapped inside and couldn’t reverse what I’d begun. How did you free me?’
‘I prayed,’ she replied with a smile.
I felt the most extraordinary manifestation of the arcane, at once overwhelming and subtle.
‘That would be Frejna.’ From anyone else the words would be boastful or delirious, but Kjellrunn said them quietly, in a matter-of-fact tone that brooked no questioning. ‘However, she demanded a price.’
‘What price?’ asked Felgenhauer.
‘She severed your connection with the arcane when she removed the taint.’
Felgenhauer looked from Kjellrunn to Silverdust as the import of what she’d heard dawned on her. She slumped forward and threw her arms around her niece’s shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ Felgenhauer looked around the court with a wary look. Silverdust could feel her anxiety. ‘Where is Steiner? Did he …?’
Survive. Yes. Though this has been hard on him.
‘Can I see him?’ asked Felgenhauer.
He has withdrawn. I suspect he is experiencing much turmoil after everything that has happened.
‘Perhaps you could speak with him?’ asked Kjellrunn.
Silverdust bowed and sought out Steiner Vartiainen, the dragon rider, Unbroken, slayer of Volkan Karlov.
Steiner sat at the common-room table and gently stabbed the surface with the tip of a kitchen knife. He wasn’t sure why. Kjellrunn would have scolded him for marking the kitchen table they had owned back in Cinderfell, and his father would have complained about blunting the blade.
His father. The grief he had encountered in the catacombs had caught up with him. The lantern had long since burned down low, but a new light lit the room. Silverdust entered, bringing with him his usual aura.
‘The Emperor said there are some things worse than death,’ said Steiner, not looking up from scoring the table. ‘And maybe this is one of those things.’
You speak of grief. Loss.
‘Exactly. The perfect revenge. Volkan Karlov suspected we’d defeat him, and in return he’s left me with an empire of loss.’ Steiner felt the tears and clenched his jaw, refusing to shed them.
There are worse things than death. Silverdust drew closer. And though I know you are in pain, you should not forget the living. Kjellrunn and Felgenhauer still live. Go to them, Steiner. Go to your family. It is what
your father would want. For yourself and for them.
‘But I failed them! Don’t you see? I failed him. I couldn’t get my father back.’
You freed an entire continent from the tyranny of an Empire, Steiner Vartiainen. You are many things, but a failure is not one of them.
‘Here they are,’ said Kimi, pointing to the horizon. The sky was full of clouds promising spring rain, but the sun broke through here and there, dappling the ruined city in shafts of golden light. It was mid-morning and Steiner had emerged from his seclusion, grim-faced and silent. Silverdust had regained his mask and was attired in black once more. Felgenhauer had been put to bed and Kjellrunn watched over her aunt as she slipped in and out of sleep following the divine intervention.
I fear they bring sad news. Silverdust laid a hand on Steiner’s shoulder but the blacksmith simply stared ahead, as if merely breathing were an effort.
‘There’re only two of them,’ said Streig, giving voice to what everyone was thinking. The winged dots on the horizon came closer, travelling from the south of the city.
‘Frøya save me,’ said Kimi. ‘Anything but that.’ Silverdust could feel her growing unease as the dragons drew closer; and when they were closer still and there was no doubt that Namarii was not with them, Silverdust felt Kimi’s shock.
‘No, this can’t be right,’ whispered the princess. Stonvind and Flodvind descended and landed on the palace rooftop, though it was clear both of the dragons were in pain from scores of wounds. Tief looked at Kimi but there was no joy on his face and neither he nor Taiga raised a hand in greeting. The Spriggani climbed down from Flodvind’s back.