I sat up and clutched handfuls of my cloak, my knuckles going white around the fabric. The approaching dawn gave color to the high peaks, brushing their trackless snow with the barest hint of rose. The valley was too beautiful to contain my despair.
Gritting my teeth, I threw off my blanket and shoved my feet into frost-stiffened boots. I yanked my cloak over my shoulders and ducked out of the tent, fists clenched as I stared up at the Icethorns.
As quickly as it had come, the rage drained away. My shoulders slumped. I wasn’t the leader these people deserved—that was true. But no one else was here to guide them. Sighing, I shuffled for the faint trail that led to the head of the valley. The path skirted crumbled walls and crossed a courtyard of square-cut stones that might have once been polished to a gleam, but now were pitted by time. I sighed. The Hunger had left the Lethin’s civilization in ruin. It seemed arrogant to hope we would fare better. Yet my people needed me to try.
The tents were ghosts against the tundra. From within, I heard snores, rustling, and a few low voices. In the center of a wide circle, far enough from the tents that stray sparks wouldn’t start another blaze, a woman crouched before a fire ring, striking sparks into the tinder.
She looked up when I approached, her lined face mostly hidden in the shadows of her moth-eaten cloak. The woman nodded a greeting, not recognizing me as the Emperor, then returned to her task. As I settled onto my heels, a spark caught in a bundle of moss and dried grass. She leaned forward to nurture the newborn flame with her breath.
I thought of the countless times I’d watched a servant kindle a fire in my chambers. Always, there’d been a stiff back, nervous glances in my direction as if a mistake might bring punishment. I knew I should leave the fire before the woman recognized me. She’d scramble to apologize for mistaking me as common—the encounter would probably ruin her morning. But for just a few selfish moments, I wanted to feel this easy companionship with someone who didn’t fear my power.
When the blaze was dancing merrily in the nest of moss, the woman sat back and began feeding tightly bundled grass and long splinters of wood to the growing fire. A pile of larger sticks rested on my opposite side, and when I judged she was ready, I silently offered her a handful. She took them without speaking or glancing my way.
Finally, she nodded in satisfaction and took a crosslegged seat in the trampled tundra. The first fiery kiss of the sun lit the peaks above, giving the shadows in the valley a bluish cast. The warm smell of wood smoke wreathed us, a layer of cold air holding it tight to the ground.
My calves were going numb from squatting on my heels. Somewhat tentatively, I took a seat. I made a mental excuse that it would be impolite to leave without speaking. But speaking would draw her attention to my face. Better that I wait until someone else arrived to distract her.
I sighed as the fire snapped. The woman grabbed a long stick with a blackened end. She nudged the glowing coals then tutted to herself when the unburnt wood fell too far down and released a shower of sparks and smoke.
“Could you please grab me a handful of grass, your eminence?” she asked.
I stiffened. She looked at me expectantly. I jumped to my feet and nearly stumbled as I hurried to rip a tuft of dried grass from the ground. The woman chuckled when I returned and handed over my prize, roots still dribbling soil. She grabbed a bunch of grass in one hand, the root ball in the other, and twisted them apart.
“Your cloak gave you away,” she said. “But you seemed to want quiet. Maybe even a chance to enjoy the morning before the responsibilities of your position crawl back onto your shoulders.”
I sat again. The fire warmed my knees. “I hadn’t expected anyone to be awake.”
“Old bones,” she said. “They don’t rest well. I don’t suppose it’s easy to sleep with the weight of an Empire atop you either.” A hint of a melancholy smile touched her lips.
“I can’t say it is,” I said.
“Truth is, I worried if you realized I’d recognized you, it might scare you away.” She worked at the coals again with her poker, and this time gave a satisfied nod when the fire flared. She laid another stick over the crackling blaze before speaking. “And I wasn’t sure I’d get another opportunity to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring. Few do. We Provs have been on our own for a long, long time.”
I shrugged, faintly embarrassed by her praise. “It’s my duty to care for every citizen of the Empire.”
“And your burden. But you carry it well.”
I snapped a stick and fed the halves to the fire. With a sidelong smirk, the woman adjusted the position of my contributions. Flames soon licked the dry bark.
“I often don’t feel capable of the responsibility. Half the things I try accomplish nothing. We’re barely surviving.”
“You don’t remember me,” the woman said, poking absently at the fire now. “But we spoke once before. Or rather, you spoke. You see, my grandson was throwing a temper tantrum because his mother couldn’t carry him—her back seizes if she bears too much weight. We were struggling to convince him to walk without showing how scared we were that the group would leave us behind. And then you sauntered up. You carried him on your back. Do you remember now?”
My cheeks heated. “It wasn’t such a difficult thing. He’s lighter than most rucksacks.”
“You, the Emperor of Atal, carried my grandson for a league. He’s been lording it over the other children since.” The woman snorted. “In any case, thank you. I had three babies of my own. I lost two before they were five years old. Even before the quakes got bad, Jaliss was not a pleasant place for Provs. We never had enough to feed our children. Hard to help them grow strong when their bellies are hollow. And so when my daughter—my only child who survived—when I saw you carrying her only baby to safety…” She trailed off as her voice broke.
I pressed my fists into the ground, angry all over again at Tovmeil and every emperor who’d come before me. I couldn’t imagine how a young mother must have felt to lose her children while knowing it was her ruler’s fault.
The woman cleared her throat. “I would have carried him myself even if it left me too weak to continue the journey. I won’t let his mother feel the pain of losing a child.”
My knuckles dug harder into the ground. “But what if I can’t protect him? This army we face… It’s hard to imagine we have a chance against them.”
She shook her head and shushed me. “It’s natural to be afraid. And none of us fault you for it, I’m sure of that. But I saw the man you are, and I know you’re strong enough to lead us through this. I believe in you.”
As she said the last words, I felt a strange warmth against my breastbone. I laid my hand over it. My pulse quickened—the Heartshard had responded to her words.
The woman was looking the other way, toward the opening of a group of nearby tents. When I followed her gaze, I saw the flaps drop back into place.
“Would it be okay if the others came out now?” she asked, a little too innocently. “None of us are sleeping well in the cold. I imagine the fire is tempting.”
“How long have they been waiting?” I asked, eyes narrowed.
She chewed her lower lip to hide her smile. “Some of them since you walked up. We’re all grateful to you, your eminence. If you wanted quiet, they didn’t wish to disturb you.”
Sighing, I stood and showed my palms. “You can come out now.”
A child’s laugh was followed by the sudden rustle of a dozen tent flaps being thrown aside. At least a score of sheepish-looking Provs crawled out and, casting shy glances my way, hurried over to the fire. Children shoved each other in a contest to get their hands nearest the flames only to be shooed back by the woman’s fire poker.
“We’d planned to break our fasts early so that we can help with the defenses as soon as the sun rises,” the woman said. “We’d be honored if you’d join us.”
My chest tightened
as I nodded. As if in response, the Heartshard grew warmer.
There was a minor competition over who could convince me to eat the largest portion of their meal. I managed to refuse quite a few of my new friends, but finally gave in to a little girl who claimed she was going to throw her breakfast into the fire if I didn’t take some. My nod and opened palm was greeted by a roar of laughter from the others. That bite of bread was the best I’d tasted since fleeing Jaliss.
My companions took turns thanking me, sending heat into my cheeks each time. But I sensed that if I refused, I’d only spread my embarrassment around. Instead, I tried to convert their words into the belief that I was worthy of their gratitude. Ever so slowly, I began to have faith. And it must’ve shown, because the straighter I sat, the more easily laughter came from their throats.
It was like Avill had said. I needed to inspire them and be a focus for their hope.
When the sun finally slid its golden rays over the fire circle, I closed my eyes. The light felt so much warmer than it had in the last few days, and even though my heart was still hollow with longing for the woman I’d lost, I finally had the strength to go on.
I stood, shaking the stiffness from my legs. “Thank you, everyone. Your friendship and trust strengthen me more than you know. I lost someone recently, and it made me doubt.”
“Savra was special,” the grandmother said quietly. “We share your grief.”
Solemn nods followed her words. I swallowed the hard stone that had formed in my throat, not trusting myself to speak.
“I believe you will build an Empire worthy of her memory,” a man said. He was young, not much older than me, and had his arm around a woman who glanced at him adoringly.
“As do I,” a middle-aged woman said. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathered Provs, and as their earnest gazes met mine, the pendant grew warmer and warmer against my breastbone. It seemed almost to pulse with energy.
In fact, I almost felt as if it were tugging me. Urging me toward the ruins.
Did it mean there was a Heartstone here after all?
I closed my eyes, hope surging. “Keep believing in me,” I whispered. “There’s something I need to find.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Parveld
Approaching Jaliss
AS PARVELD RODE his mount along the final stretch of road leading into Jaliss, he couldn’t help but be awestruck by what he’d accomplished. The once-proud monument to human arrogance had been reduced to rubble and ash. His brethren had torn down buildings, sent splintered timbers sailing hundreds of paces. The wall that had once surrounded the Heights had been flattened, and ragged holes pocked the mansions that still stood. In the long days his forces had waited here for him, they’d driven every scrap of human life from their hidey-holes, extinguishing the pathetic resistance to unity and communion. Flying Spawn now perched on chimneys and sections of walls, sharpening claws and talons on the masonry. Those without wings prowled the streets, a seething, ravaging mass that continued to pound the earth in time to Parveld’s beating heart.
The sight banished all Parveld’s frustration from the previous days. True, the surprising loss of his army at the garrison had dealt a blow. But fortunately, Parveld had recognized the value of patience and caution. He’d sent only a small portion of his forces—it had taken no more effort than flexing just a few muscles in his arm. He’d expected to catch the fleeing Emperor unawares, and he certainly hadn’t expected a geognost to interfere. But while the landslide had obliterated his attack force and closed off that particular approach, it had done little to damage Parveld’s power.
The work he would do here in Jaliss would more than compensate for the loss.
Already, he felt the potential that simmered in the core of the city. As he rode into the outskirts, his low-slung mount navigating the rubble easily, his certainty grew. This was why the Hunger had urged him to journey north.
He guided his lizard steed along the ruined street that had once been the Corridor of Ascent. At the end, a passage had been cut through the remains of Steelhold’s spire. Chiseled walls pressed in as he rode into the central area.
The sight of the fractured Heartstone stole the breath from his feeble, human lungs. To think, even with abilities constrained by his feeble mortal spirit, he’d ruined what thousands of mages had worked together to forge. If there were any need for proof of the power of communion, this was it. Parveld hadn’t even joined with the Hunger yet—the connectedness he felt now was nothing but a hint of his final reward. And still, he’d struck down this first barrier with scarcely a thought.
He clambered off the warm back of the lizard, inhaling the so-sweet scent of the ooze that sometimes leaked out from between its scales. Over the past few days, he’d taken to lashing supplies over the creature’s furry hindquarters—after running so low on sustenance in his hut along the First Rift, he’d forced himself to remember regular meals. To keep his saddlebags full, he’d been forced to delay long enough to send the occupants of scattered villages across the veil. Now, he was grateful, once again, for his patience. Rather than failing as his body withered, his strength was returning.
In fact, he felt almost overflowing with the need to do this.
As he stalked through the rubble to the fractured dome of the Heartstone, his brethren began to filter through the opening into the core of Steelhold’s stump. Whining and moaning, they dug claws into stone, scratched at their own bodies, writhed with need. Some climbed the rudimentary stairs to watch from the low rim surrounding the area. Others slunk close, bellies scraping the ground. They wanted this as much as he did, even if they didn’t understand the precise nature of the Hunger’s command.
The ancient mages had forged three separate seal components to hold back the ultimate communion. Each part of the seal bolstered an attribute, strengthening the pathetic humans in Mind, Body, and Essence until they’d stood together, strong enough to force back the Hunger with their joined wills alone. Their leader, an enigmatic mage, had provided the focus, but ultimately, it had been the vitality and belief of the people that had expelled the void.
In his years as a wandering scholar, Parveld had discovered the clues to put together the true history. But he hadn’t been able to solve the puzzle until, at last, the Hunger had helped him understand. Though a faint spark of human pride made him wish he’d uncovered the truth earlier, the discovery would only have made his present work harder. He might have explained his knowledge to the young Emperor. If Kostan knew what Parveld had the power to do, he would prepare for it. Fortunately, the young man was ignorant.
Cracks webbed the agate dome. Chips marred the surface, the shattered fragments littering the stone. The smallest flakes crunched and broke under his boots.
Parveld stopped in the center of the Heartstone and closed his eyes. Now, for the test of his dedication.
Stretching his awareness, he raised his arms and urged his brother-selves to approach. They needed to crowd in, as near to the Heartstone as they were able. Squawks and shrieks echoed through the city as the Spawn jostled against one another, their forms ungainly and awkward. Spikes and jutting claws sliced into neighbors, sending red flares of pain across the web of connections. But as they drew near, crawling over each other, a mass of breathing, thudding desire, Parveld’s sense of righteousness swelled.
He reached for the tangled mass, tugging at the individual threads in the Hunger’s tapestry. As delicately as a lacemaker tatting a career-capping masterpiece, he bound the threads into a complicated pattern that nearly defied his ability to envision it. In the tiny splinter of his mind that wasn’t devoted to the intricate shaping of the strands, he marveled at fate’s plan. Without his centuries of experience with dawnweaving, he never would have learned the skill for this.
As the structure took shape, a rough abstraction of the skein of power he intended, he began to fill in the gaps. Each thread had a place, a series of bends and attachments. Each detai
l must be precise and perfect. The globe of energy surrounding him pulsed with energy, throbbing in time to the stomping of the Riftspawn’s feet. The urge to complete the work grew stronger, tearing at him like no desire he’d felt.
Still, he kept his careful, artisan’s pace. The Riftspawn began to still, vibrating with the shared need, but no longer clawing and jostling. Only stomping to keep time with Parveld’s thundering heart.
Finally, the last thread settled into place. The net was complete. As Parveld slowly lowered his arms, the globe of power sank into the Heartstone until the simmering edges aligned precisely with the boundaries of the stone. Each crack in the agate was matched by a line of energy from Parveld’s creation. Dark tangles of Hunger replaced every missing chip. Parveld knew all this without opening his eyes. He felt the resonance as the shapes hummed in perfect alignment.
“Heal,” he commanded aloud. And with a crackling that echoed over the grasslands, a deep settling in the air around him, the Heartstone became whole.
Parveld sank to his knees, overcome. He laid hands on the stone and felt its perfect surface. He opened his eyes and nearly gasped at his handiwork. In place of every crack, no matter how thin, lines of emptiness pulsed. But this was not emptiness like the air around him or the yearning in his long-ago heart when Myriall had finally passed from the world. This was the Hunger’s void, that place where everything became the singular whole.
And it sang to him.
Parveld drew a deep lungful of air and sucked the Heartstone’s power into his heart. At once, he knew the magic of the Mind had been erased from the mortal world. Given to him alone. Granted by the miracle he’d forged.
“Now,” he said, “we prepare to march in earnest.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Falla
Outside Derinow's tent
Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3) Page 21