Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  Finally, after checking a few of the fallback defenses, I trudged back toward the underground city. I brushed fingers over the low wall surrounding the Heartstone. If the Spawn reached this position before the citizens and soldiers took shelter underground, it seemed unlikely we’d win. But it wouldn’t come to that. Over the last hours and days, Stormshard had been drilling with the aboveground refugees. Every man, woman, and child knew where to form up to enter the safety of the city. Each should have a rucksack packed with anything too precious to leave behind. We couldn’t allow delays while a child searched for her favorite doll or an Atal woman grabbed the food she’d been hiding.

  Sirez was waiting outside my tent, crouching on her heels and whittling absently with her belt knife. “Is everything in order, your eminence?”

  “As best I can tell.” I scanned the area around my tent, at a loss for useful work. “Though it feels there should be more I could do.”

  “How would you feel about a bit of sword practice, then? An old blade like me needs extra work to keep sharp.”

  I raised a single eyebrow. “You sure you want to do that? I have you know that the palace weaponmaster gave up dueling me when I was seventeen. He claimed we Scions needed to work out our aggression on one another, but I think he knew I’d beat him.”

  “That’s the thing. We heard plenty of rumors about the skills of the Empire’s prized fighters. And seeing as you managed to make allies of us before we had the chance to test ourselves, I thought a friendly bout or two might put rest to the gossip.”

  I snorted. “Just go easy on me, okay?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Savra

  Beashi’s house, grasslands settlement

  DAWN BROKE OVER the grasslands as I neared the final sentences of my missive. The letters were shaky, and the poor-quality ink had left some words darker than others. My words were persuasive, though. Even I could sense they’d have an effect. I spoke from the heart, relaying the memories of Kostan and the battles he’d fought for us. It had taken the better part of the night to compose my thoughts, and through the long hours, Beashi had stood by, her face lined with grief and acceptance.

  I dipped the quill to finish the message.

  Emperor Kostan believes in us. He sees the nobility that lies in our human hearts. The threats are grave. Our future is uncertain. But with Prov and Atal standing together, we can reject the darkness. If we are to succeed in closing the rift, it will be through your honor and faith.

  Go south. Chilltide comes and monsters stalk the northern landscape. And whatever happens, please devote the next weeks to caring for one another.

  Signed,

  Savra Padmi. Scribe for the Atal Empire. Prov from Cosmal Peninsula.

  Blowing on the parchment to dry the ink, I set the quill aside and nodded to Beashi. The woman hurried through the front room of her house where Avill and Azar slept together on a narrow bed. Birdsong drifted into the small home when she opened the door and let herself out.

  I sat back and waited, lightheaded from lack of sleep and my hunch-shouldered posture. A few minutes later, Beashi returned with the town’s scribe and courier. As one of the few mid-sized settlements on the plateau, the town had once been a hub for communication between Jaliss and the rest of the Empire. The situation was fortunate because both Functions had the necessary skills to duplicate letters.

  “We’ll make ten copies,” Beashi said. “The horses are being readied.”

  “How long?” Though we could travel now, I wanted to stay until I knew the messages had been sent out into the grasslands.

  “Long enough for you to rest. Will you leave the same way you… arrived?” She swallowed when she finished speaking.

  “We’ll go on foot for a short while,” I said as I yawned and shuffled for the front room. I didn’t have to see the relief on her face to know it was there.

  My sister and Azar looked as if they could sleep through an earthquake, but still I tiptoed to the bedside and lowered myself quietly to the floor. Our rucksacks had been returned to us; I pulled one over to pillow my head and fell into darkness.

  A wet finger wormed its way into my ear, and I sat up squawking. Avill laughed. “Ready?”

  I grimaced. Covering my index finger with my sleeve, I made a vain attempt to dry my ear canal. “I think I’d rather travel alone.”

  “Too bad,” she said, sticking out her tongue.

  I sat up and scrubbed the sleep from my face. “Are the letters ready?”

  Azar was already moving about the room. When I climbed to my feet, she hurried over and grabbed the rucksack I’d been using as a pillow. “The horses left an hour or so ago. We should be off, too. It’s nearly midday.”

  I yawned and stretched. “Did you check the other copies?”

  She nodded. “Now we just have to hope the riders can reach other settlements. Your message… It’s powerful. I think it will work.”

  Well, at least we’d accomplished one thing. “Now all we have to do is find a way into the heart of the Maelstrom to seal a rift that a thousand mages couldn’t close.”

  “They did close it,” Avill said, a hint of indignation in her voice. “The seal held for a thousand years.”

  I laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. I should have said that if the Lethin didn’t believe they could close the rift at the source, it seems awfully arrogant to believe I have a chance. Especially when I have no idea how to seal a breach between worlds. That’s all.”

  “They didn’t all believe they should forge the seal from afar,” Avill said.

  I perked up. “Really?”

  She blinked as she sorted through the Lethin’s memories. “There was a woman, Nevyn, who disagreed with the mages’ council. She strongly believed the breach needed to be closed at the source. When no one listened, she left on her own to attempt it. But no one ever found out what happened to her.”

  I helped my sister up. “Why didn’t you mention her before?”

  “It’s hard to know which stories are important when there are so many stuffed in your head,” she said with a shrug. “Anyway, I know nothing else about her plan. The others laughed her claims off as delusional.”

  “Why do humans have such a habit of ostracizing those who speak out?” Azar said.

  “What’s ostracizing?” Avill asked as she accepted her rucksack from the mage.

  “It means casting people out,” Beashi answered as she stepped wearily into the room. She carried a wrapped bundle in her arms. “Often because they have a different opinion than the group. Or even because they were born to particular parents.”

  The woman met Azar’s gaze as she held out the bundle. “Food. As an apology for my actions, it’s not much.”

  Azar accepted the package reluctantly. “Apology accepted. But are you sure you can spare it? We saw your stores…”

  “We’re planning to head south as Savra suggested. Can’t carry everything. And anyway, according to your claims, we won’t live long enough to starve if you don’t make it to the Maelstrom. If you succeed and we’re still alive come Deepwinter, we’ll figure something out.”

  “Fair enough.” Azar tucked the bundle into her rucksack. “And thank you.”

  “Are we ready?” I asked, pulling my cloak over my shoulders.

  The others nodded.

  Once outside, we headed south onto a rutted track that snaked between low hills. The townspeople turned out to wish us well—some of them anyway. I gathered there was still some disagreement on whether we should be trusted. I just hoped the reluctant ones would come around. Added to the effect it would have on Kostan’s strength, they’d have a much better chance of weathering the changing season in the provinces.

  Once out of sight of the town, I tried to take Avill’s rucksack.

  She darted away from me. “Definitely not.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You’re the one who has to carry us south.”

  She sn
orted. “And since you already weigh more than a pregnant cow, I’d rather not add to the burden. I don’t feel the weight when it’s on my back.”

  “A cow, huh?” I rolled my eyes. “Fine, carry your own storms-blasted pack,” I said, giving her light shove.

  “Hey! Do you want me to drop you off in some Aniselan bog?”

  “If you do, I’ll track you down and feed you a meal of bog slime.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me then giggled. Azar’s lips twisted in amusement.

  Avill stepped off the road and checked that she couldn’t see anyone from the town. “Ready?” she asked, laying a hand on her pendant.

  “Not really, but—” I began before she squeezed her eyes shut and snatched our hands. Moments later, I was circling toward the heavens, drifting on waves of air that rose from the sun-heated grasslands. Wispy clouds waited high above to welcome us, and as I felt the first touch of frost, Avill’s wind-self enveloped me.

  We streamed away, gusting south over the plateau. A chill north wind swirled along with us, carrying the promise of the dying season. I relaxed and let myself be buoyed along.

  A pregnant cow… as if.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Kostan

  Wandering through ancient ruins

  A STORM CREPT over the ridgeline, shrouding the high peaks and sending snow-laden gusts swirling into the valley. As the air grew colder, more refugees packed up their tents and carried their belongings into the echoing halls. I paced the edges of the aboveground ruins, hands stuffed into thick leather gloves and tucked into the folds of my woolen cloak. The walking warmed my core, but my nose and toes were numb.

  The cloudy skies ruined our ability to communicate with signal mirrors. If the Spawn came now, we’d be caught unawares. Nonetheless, a part of me wished they’d get on with it. We’d been in the valley for close to a tenday. The small herd of sheep from the next valley had arrived, but they were fewer and scrawnier than I’d imagined. With each passing day, tension grew. People were irritable. Soldiers argued over minor details. Even the members of my council went about with glowers darkening their faces. I kept Avill’s words close to my heart and did my best to present a hopeful face to everyone I met. My people needed me more than ever.

  But most mornings, I struggled to rise from my bedroll.

  My feet scuffed over a patch of bare stone that punched through the tundra. Squinting against the wind, I turned a corner where the stub of a chimney capped the remnants of an ancient hearth. Through the flurries, I spotted Vaness approaching. She wore fur-lined mitts and a heavy padded cloak, and the chill pinked her cheeks.

  “What is it?” I asked when she drew close enough for me to notice the lines of concern on her face.

  “It’s the sheep, Kostan. A few wandered out of the valley overnight. We followed their tracks, but they seem to have been picked off by hunting cats.”

  I sighed. If the Riftspawn didn’t arrive soon, the local wildlife would starve us out of our safehold. “Let’s call the council early,” I said. Over the last days, we’d formed a habit of meeting around midday. A ritual more than anything. Most of our decisions had already been made.

  “I’ll see you back there when you’re ready,” she said, whirling on her heels and trotting off. Like my other advisers, she recognized my need for these silent walks. They helped me forget the distractions, Savra foremost among them, that would otherwise keep me from being the Emperor my people needed. Like my daily sparring with Sirez—the confounded woman defeated me twice for each of my wins—I’d come to depend on the routine.

  The wind blew harder as I made my way back, sending fingers of snow swirling above the reds and browns of the Chilltide-darkened tundra. When I returned to the Heartstone and the tent I’d pitched beside it, the others were standing in a circle, stamping their feet and blowing on fingers.

  “Let’s meet in my tent,” I said. Once we were inside, I pushed the itchy hood of my cloak off my hair and scratched the back of my neck.

  “I assume Vaness already told you what happened to the sheep. How much food do we have left, roughly?” I asked.

  “Five days. Maybe double that if people have been hoarding.”

  Storms. That wasn’t much, and with the chill here in earnest, we’d need even more to keep warm. I was going to have to force the stubborn refugees to move underground.

  “Seems crazy to hope the Spawn will arrive before our supplies run out,” I said.

  The Prime shrugged. “We thought they’d be here long before now. I think we should prepare for more surprises.”

  “You’re right, of course. So what are our options?”

  “We should start with rationing,” Vaness said. “We’ll keep sending out hunters in hopes they get lucky. But even if they don’t, we can stretch to half-again what I estimated.”

  “At the expense of our fighting strength,” the Prime commented.

  “She’s right,” Sirez said. “Hunger means slow wits and weak bodies.”

  I clenched and unclenched my fists. Blood was returning to my toes, and they ached fiercely. I gritted my teeth and tried to think through the pain.

  “I hate to make this sort of choice but cut the rations for the adult refugees. Keep full meals for children and soldiers. We’ll give that three days and reconsider if our situation remains unchanged.”

  “What of the sick?” Fishel asked. “They need their strength to recover.”

  I thought of the trail of grave markers stretching between our valley and Jaliss. “What do you think their chances are? In all honesty.”

  Fishel drew a deep breath. “Poor.”

  I knew I should sacrifice the weak to save the strong, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Leave them on full rations,” I said with a sigh. “We’ll reevaluate that in three days as well. And make sure the Body spiritists are free to tend them.”

  Vaness nodded as she pulled her ledger from her satchel. She uncorked a small vial of ink and began scratching out new calculations.

  “What else is there?” I asked. I hoped someone had another concern to discuss, but not because I wished for more problems. Mostly, I didn’t want to continue my patrol in the cold.

  Falla was plucking at a stray thread from her trousers. Pressing her hand flat as if to still her nerves, she looked up. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you, Kostan, but I worried I was somehow mistaken. Something is wrong with my magic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well—” She stopped short at the mournful wail of the alarm horn. My councilors’ spines went rigid as the tone stretched out. Two short blasts followed.

  My belly turned to ice. One long, two short. The Riftspawn were here.

  ***

  I crouched in the center of the Heartstone. The wind had stopped. Fat snowflakes fell like a rain of feathers, melting where they landed. Water soaked my cloak’s hood and dripped in front of my eyes. I threw it off my hair and then, annoyed, yanked open the clasp and tossed the sodden garment behind me.

  An eerie silence filled the valley as I returned to my crouch and laid my palms against the slick wetness of the Heartstone. The Provs were filing through the entrance to the city. Through the white haze, they were a column of shadows stretching up and out of sight.

  From the walls and the first line of defenses behind them, and occasional shout or clang of metal hinted at the preparations. But the falling snow muffled the sounds, and they arrived almost as if from a dream.

  I closed my eyes and felt for the connection between Heartshard and Heartstone. The link was a bond of warm steel. Radiating out, I sensed the other lines of energy joining me to my people. Their beliefs strengthened me and my ability, and likewise, I gave them the fortitude and bravery to meet this battle.

  At the distant edges of my awareness, I sensed the Spawn as they staggered and shambled and sprinted up the valley. The rhythmic trembling of the earth was still faint. I couldn’t
yet enter the Heartstone’s cavern; the abominations weren’t yet close enough.

  But soon. Soon, we would end this.

  I waited, tense, as the pounding in the earth grew stronger. Cold droplets trickled through my mop of hair and chilled my scalp, and for a moment I wondered if I’d been a fool to throw away my cloak. But then the alarm blew again, three short blasts that said the beasts were truly upon us.

  “Loose arrows!” the muffled sound pressed through the falling snow.

  I fell into the Heartstone. The cavern opened around me.

  As before, massive pillars stretched into shadows above. My feet clicked as I followed veins of agate toward the center, the lake of red stone where I would defend my people. As I drew closer, I rotated my wrists and shrugged my shoulders in preparation. I spotted something strange, threads of darkness inside the branching veins on the floor. The change probably symbolized the ruined seal in Jaliss. Yes, as I neared the central arena, the darkness became more apparent. Thick fracture lines ran across the stone. Worry twinged, but I pushed it away. I had the support of my people now. That was enough to compensate for the lost seal component. More than enough.

  I strode into the center of the red circle, shoulders back and strong. The sword appeared in my grip. Its blade glinted as if wet. I raised the weapon and waited.

  Silence pressed in from the far reaches of the chamber. I strained, searching for shadows moving between the pillars. My ears waited for the moans and wails of the Riftspawn. But still, the calm lingered.

  I turned a slow circle, knees bent in readiness, blade guarding against a sudden strike. The silence seemed to hang above me, an axe ready to fall. Still nothing. Where were the Spawn?

  Tentatively, I edged toward the nearest pillar, sidestepping to peer behind the massive column. No shadows moved, no footsteps disturbed the chamber’s peace.