Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  “We’ll be moving soon,” he said as a pair of men stepped forward to meet him. The strong family resemblance suggested they were father and son. They wore padded velvet waistcoats with gold buttons, possibly Maelstrom-gold. “It took too long yesterday for each group to cook for themselves, so I’ve organized a few community breakfast pots. I’m afraid the fare is rather humble. Not what you’re accustomed to.”

  The younger man ran his hand through his hair then patted his empty pocket in obvious agitation. He was likely missing his hallifas leaves. The stimulant herb was popular among the Atal, and reportedly quite addictive. No doubt he was regretting leaving it behind. With a slow blink that betrayed his exhaustion, he nodded. “We’re grateful to have something,” he managed, words stumbling off his tongue.

  A measure of tension melted from Fishel’s shoulders. The coming days would be difficult enough without struggling against the Atal refugees.

  Unfortunately, his relief was short lived. The older man stepped forward and sneered down his nose. “My son and I will be making our own way from here. My brother has a manor house in a settlement a day’s ride to the south. We’ll need our share of the supplies—a mule would be appreciated.”

  “First of all,” Fishel said, crossing his arms over his chest, “the road south isn’t passable. Second, you marched with us for two days, accepted the protection of Stormshard’s fighters, and took from our stores to fill your cookpot. I can’t stop you from leaving, but I certainly don’t owe you more than you’ve already been given.”

  The man drew himself up like a storm cloud ready to bluster, and Fishel raised a hand to silence him. “And last, given what we’ve learned about the outlying settlements, your brother is likely dead.”

  The man moved faster than Fishel could have predicted. If not for the occasional need to break up a brawl in his common room, he wouldn’t have had the reflexes to see the blow coming. But his quick dodge left the man’s fist flying through open air. The man stumbled, staggering past Fishel, who looked down in disgust as he fell flat. The innkeeper stopped himself from kicking the fallen man and instead turned his attention to the son.

  “You understand that your neighbors from the Heights will be dead as soon as the Riftspawn arrive, right? Defeating just a small group of Spawn took half our army. The Heartstone was destroyed. There is no more defense against the coming horde. And if we couldn’t save Jaliss, what hope do you think your uncle’s settlement has?”

  Numbly, the younger man shrugged. His gaze flicked back and forth between his sprawled father and Fishel. When the father pushed up on hands and knees and lunged, Fishel neatly sidestepped.

  “Your mansions are lost. Jaliss is lost. Right now, nothing about your situation makes you better than these people.” He gestured toward the squalor of the refugee camp. Jaliss Provs were accustomed to living exposed to the elements. Even now, children ran around the small fires their parents had built. Adults were already preparing to march. Though their faces were dirt-smeared and their clothing ragged, the Provs looked no more beleaguered than they had while huddling in the devastated alleys of the capital.

  “I never claimed—”

  “I know you didn’t,” Fishel said, casting a glance at the father who now crouched and glowered at the innkeeper. He then allowed his gaze to pass over the son to take in the remaining huddle of Atal. These were the few who had overcome enough prejudice and arrogance to accept his guidance. “But though you are no better than them, neither are you worse. We are together in this. The Stormshard fighters defending us don’t care if you’re Atal or Prov. All that matters is that you’re human.

  “You and your father can leave. I won’t stop you. But I won’t help you march into your own graves. Please stay.”

  With that, Fishel uncrossed his arms and showed his palms. He remained aware of the father and a potential attack, but after a moment, the older man huffed and dropped to a seat in the grass.

  “The storm-drenched man has a point,” the father said. “We’ll stay for now.”

  Fishel turned his attention to the other Atal. “Please, eat. And if you have extra food or resources to contribute, the group would certainly appreciate it.”

  As Fishel turned to leave, a boy of perhaps nine pushed forward.

  “Sire, I—”

  His words were cut off by a swift grab from his mother. Hand gripping his shoulder, she shoved him back into the crowd.

  “Yes?” Fishel asked despite her actions.

  “It’s nothing. Just a boy’s inquisitiveness,” the mother said, the lie obvious on her face.

  Fishel held her gaze, wondering what she was hiding. Most likely, the family had a store of provisions they didn’t wish to share. But if that was the worst crime the Atal committed during the march, Fishel would still consider the exodus a success.

  “Please be ready to march in an hour.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kostan

  Trapped in a nightmare

  AGAIN, THE BOOMING crack shattered the air, cutting off the shrieks. Agony shot through my bones and mind. In the silent dark that followed, I feared I was losing my sanity. Over and over the sounds came, rising until the final, stone-shattering break. Again and again, endless repetition. Sometimes I glimpsed images. Shadows. The smell of dust. But always, the sounds tore and raked my spirit. Anchorless, I swirled in a doomed cycle.

  Sometimes, awareness broke through. A fleeting taste of the world beyond. When I concentrated, I could remember flashes of… other things. Savra had been near. I’d smelled the sweet freshness of her hair. But I could scarcely hold the memory, and it had been many cycles since I felt the faintest touch of the world outside.

  Again, the moans of the shadows threaded the darkness. This time, I felt a sword in my hand. So heavy.

  These experiences were real—or rather, they had been real. I knew that. Something had happened. There’d been a voice.

  A wail echoed in the cavern, pulling me back into the whirl of shadow and sound.

  A cavern! I hadn’t recalled that before. Or had I?

  The shadows moved like water, spilling toward me. Screaming. Hating.

  Why couldn’t I control the flow of my memories? Was I this weak?

  No. That couldn’t be. I’d made many mistakes, but I was strong and determined despite it all. Something very wrong forced me through this.

  As the shrieks encircled me, the shadows closing in, I focused on my recent realization. I was in a cavern. The… Heartstone’s cavern?

  Yes! That was it! I’d bonded Heartshard to Heartstone, formed a bridge to summon the city’s defense.

  Parveld? Had he really been there?

  From all sides, the shadows struck. The sword was too heavy. I remembered now. They’d pulled me down, and the cavern had shuddered. Pillars had grated and shifted. And then…

  Oh, storms. The Heartstone…

  The shrieks rose to an unbearable frenzy, higher and faster until the shattering boom split the air, shaking my bones and flinging me toward the darkness. With all my strength, I swam for the light. Tentacles clutched me, dragging me into the choking swirl of memory, but I recognized them now. Parveld held me in this nightmare.

  As I focused on this revelation, the tentacles became things of substance rather than shadow. The phantom sword reappeared in my hand, no longer heavy. Brilliant as a thousand suns.

  I understood my enemy now. With a yell of defiance, I struck at the binding darkness.

  ***

  I surfaced with a gasp, out of nightmare and into cool air. My eyelids were gummed together. My body ached. When I rubbed my eyes and finally pried them open, the room spun.

  The room.

  Where was I?

  I tried to sit and fell back. My body was weak as a kitten’s—I’d never felt so helpless. I groped for the bedsheet beneath me, caught a handful of coarse fabric, and squeezed, finally levering my torso upright. The sun from the window stabbe
d my eyes, and as I leaned forward to rub them again, I toppled off the bed. My elbows cracked the floor.

  Storms.

  With a deep breath, I worked my feet around until I was sitting with my back propped against the bed. Better. Maybe I just needed a moment to gather my energy.

  I was wearing my hardened leather armor. I’d donned it before riding out to Pascar with Savra, and I’d still had it on when I activated the Heartstone. The buckles had been loosened. I grabbed the straps and cinched them tight.

  At first, I planted hands on the bed and tried to push up. My hips rose a finger’s length before my arms collapsed. I shook my head. No good. Cautiously, I maneuvered myself onto hands and knees and crawled to the door. Once there, I grabbed hold of the doorknob and a nearby windowsill and pulled with every drop of effort I had.

  Somehow, I found myself standing upright, the room once again whirling around me. Gripping tight to my handholds, I clenched my teeth until the spinning stopped.

  I opened the door and was greeted by sunlight streaming into the central grounds of a… Where in the storm’s path was I?

  My first step into the open area set me swaying, and the door escaped my grip. It swung hard and smacked the outer wall of the building. Nearby, a soldier turned, saw me, and gasped.

  “I need some answers right now,” I said to him, amazed my voice didn’t fail. The man ran as if chased by a hive of angry bees.

  I kept my knees locked out of fear they’d collapse. The stone wall of the building propped up my shoulder. For once, I was glad for the uncomfortable rigidity of my armor as it conveyed the wall’s unyielding support to the rest of my torso.

  The bedchamber was part of a stone barracks inside some sort of fort. The outer wall stood around the height of three men. Head woozy, I glanced over the top of it and saw forested slopes with bands of cliffs that sectioned them like a layer cake. Definitely not Jaliss.

  A rush of anger heated my face.

  “I’m losing patience,” I called. Not only that, but I was losing the strength to stand.

  “I’m here, your eminence.” The Prime Protector jogged up, armor clinking. “The others were already gathered in the gatehouse. Are you strong enough to walk?”

  As if summoned by her words, a headache began to throb behind my eyes. I worried I would lose my balance. But until I understood what these people had done, I would not let them see weakness.

  “I’m fine. Though among the many clarifications I expect to receive, I will need an explanation for why I was dosed with evenshade.” I recognized the faint bitterness of the sedative on the back of my tongue.

  The Prime met my gaze. “You’ll have your answers, your eminence. Please, come with me.”

  Each step demanded my utmost concentration. I felt that if I overbalanced in the slightest, I’d fall flat my face. Once I recognized the Prime’s destination, I kept my gaze firmly planted on a point just over the gatehouse door. Face set, I hoped my pace suggested an effort to contain the anger that pulsed in my veins, not the weakness that hollowed my limbs.

  Soldiers cast furtive glances as I passed. Those sentries posted on the wall pretended to turn and scan the surrounding ridges, but it was clear they wished to mark my progress. What had they seen of me in the hours—days?—before we arrived here? My memories were fragmented, snatches of conversation returning when I least expected. I recalled that I’d tried to move many times during our journey and that I’d been unable to lift even a finger. Did the watching sentries see me as weak and infirm now? Did they suspect I wasn’t suitable for the throne?

  The door opened with a squeak under the Prime’s nudge. She stepped back and gestured for me to enter. A slight step up separated the gatehouse floor from the trampled earth of the grounds. I eyed the lip and summoned all my concentration to keep from catching a toe on the rise. It nearly defeated me, but I managed to clear the step by laying a hand on the door jamb for balance. I covered the motion by pausing and glaring into the dimness of the interior.

  “I am not pleased,” I said as I prepared to clench my thigh, straightening my leg to bring the other foot up to level.

  A chair squealed over floorboards. As my eyes adjusted, I spotted Sirez rising to her feet. She pushed her chair out farther and offered it to me, shortening the distance I needed to cross. At this point, I could ill afford to take any advantage, and I inhaled deeply before making the last, excruciating steps to the chair.

  My knees gave out when I’d lowered my weight just halfway to the seat, but I slapped the table with the flat of my palm to make it appear as if my quick motion was made in anger. Beside me, a Sharder jumped at the noise. Good. I was furious, and these people needed to know it.

  The door shut with a heavy click, locking us in with the stuffy scent of old wood and stone mortar. Jaw clenched, I ran my eyes over the table as the Prime stalked around the edge of the room to take a seat opposite me. Sirez slid in beside Falla and a few more Sharders I didn’t recognize. At the far end of the table, Vaness sat with two protector lieutenants.

  My heart, already slamming against my ribs with the effort of my walk, sped as my chest tightened.

  “Where’s Savra?” I asked, my anger fading in the face of sudden worry. Something had gone wrong with my defense of the city—I knew that much. I’d failed, and if Savra had been lost because of it—

  “She’s here. Somewhere,” Sirez said, cutting off my thoughts before they could whirl out of control. “She was by your bedside until dawn—I’m not sure how she managed to stay awake. I made sure she ate then left her alone with her thoughts. Meageld’s looking for her now. I’m sure she’d rather explain herself directly.”

  Explain herself? The woman’s words tumbled through my mind, jarring the anger loose yet again. Whatever had happened, surely it wasn’t Savra’s fault. I fixed Sirez with a flat stare. “Where are we?”

  The Prime Protector raised a hand. “If I may, your eminence?”

  “I don’t care who does the explaining as long as I have the story.”

  Though some of the others shrank from my growled words, the Prime remained straight-backed, her eyes on mine. I supposed she’d had much worse treatment from Emperor Tovmeil’s regime.

  “We will explain what we can, but some of the tale is yours to tell, your eminence. For instance, we don’t understand why the Heartstone failed. Shortly after the first Riftspawn started to flee, Savra raised an alarm. She said there was a trap and yelled for a retreat. It was difficult to believe her until you collapsed and the Heartstone shattered.”

  Shattered. An echo of the bone-shaking snap rose in my mind.

  I kept my face expressionless. “And then?”

  “We did as Savra suggested, your eminence. Her information agreed with rumors received by Stormshard. Legions of Spawn are marching on Jaliss. We had no hope of fighting them on the open grassland with no defenses to speak of and no shelter for the population. We gave the order to evacuate the city.”

  I fell back as if struck. The Heartstone ruined and Jaliss abandoned? My thoughts flashed to the Provs living in the ruins of Lowtown and the squalor of the Splits. She’d mentioned an evacuation, but the only people I’d seen on my walk from my bedchamber to the gatehouse were soldiers.

  “Tell me you didn’t leave the population to die,” I said, my voice low.

  “The word went out to every street in the capital, your eminence.” The Prime gestured toward the end of the table where her lieutenants sat. “These two helped your innkeeper friend organize the call, and they escorted the refugees until they made their first camp.”

  One of the protectors nodded. “We oversaw the defenses, making sure a perimeter was set, and the guard rotation was established. Most of the Stormshard forces remained with the population.”

  “The situation—it’s not what we would hope,” the Prime continued. “People were given just hours to gather what they thought they needed. We filled wagons with extra provisions but�
�”

  “Where are they now? The main group? And where in the storm-blasted wastes are we?”

  “This is Westpass Garrison, your eminence. The refugees are around a day’s march from the shortcut we took into the mountains. I recommend we consider bringing them through Westpass Cut, though. It’s easier to defend.”

  It was so much to take in. I shook my head, aghast at the thought of every citizen of Jaliss either left behind or marching with only what they could carry. How could we possibly come back from this? We’d scarcely begun to regroup from Steelhold’s destruction, fortifying while we considered our plans to combat the Hunger. I’d hoped to spend the coming days learning how to bolster the failing seal. I’d even imagined the newer, stronger Empire we’d build after banishing the Hunger’s influence. But now?

  “What of the other towns?”

  The Prime shook her head. “A few Sharders carried messages outward from Jaliss. It’s a thin hope, but we’ve instructed the settlements in the Spawns’ path to evacuate and march for the mountains, entering at Westpass.”

  I searched for my anger, wishing to bring it to bear on the situation, but found only shock and bewilderment. “I’m still trying to understand. Our people are refugees, yet we apparently rode ahead, leaving them exposed on the grasslands…”

  “It was a subject of much debate. You were infirm, your eminence. The healers and Savra feared for your life. We reluctantly split from the main group to get you to safety. Though our forward position does help our cause. We can prepare a temporary encampment and assess our next steps.”