Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  I returned the strand of aura to my spirit. So much for that idea. Sighing, I turned to my family. Maybe one of them would have a suggestion.

  My brows raised in shock at the sight of my sister’s aura. She stood frozen with eyes clenched shut, gripping fistfuls of fabric from her trousers. Her spirit was solid white with concentration.

  Dismissing my aura-sight, I gestured toward her and shrugged as if to question what she was doing.

  “I don’t know,” my mother whispered.

  Moments later, a wind began to blow from the north. It plucked at the strands of hair that escaped my braid. A strange roar filled the air. My father looked up and his eyes widened in shock.

  Though puffs of wind reached down to stir the air around us, overhead, the sky was a raging river. Dust and debris hazed the torrent, blocking the sun and casting a matching stream of shadow a few hundred paces to the west. As the wind blew faster and harder, the air around us felt strange, like the quiet moments just before a downpour. But the sensation persisted, growing stronger as the stream grew to incomprehensible power.

  I shook my head in wonder. It seemed that Avill had somehow grabbed the winds of Guralan and funneled them over our heads.

  A roar from the coast slammed my eardrums. I turned, flabbergasted, as a spear of wind hit the waves. The spray reached for the heavens, a white mist that flew up and away from the gale only to condense and rain down on either side of the impact area.

  Avill took a step forward. The wind pushed against the sea, denting the raging waves. My sister swallowed and released her grip on her trousers. She raised her hands and massaged the air as if envisioning the shape she wished the wind to take. The gale formed walls that parted the frothing sea.

  Little by little, she peeled back the Maelstrom’s grip on a corridor of land, exposing the sodden remains of Dukket Waystation at the base of the Crease. The buildings were gone, smashed to kindling. A few stones remained to show the location of foundations. Stripped of leaves and now tangled with scraps of fabric, the brush that had surrounded the waystation clung raggedly to the earth.

  I stared, awestruck, as my sister began to plod forward. As she advanced, her confidence grew. The walls of air thinned and straightened and her pace increased.

  My parents looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions then turned to me.

  I swallowed. “I suppose we found our way into the Maelstrom.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Kostan

  Heartstone chamber

  I LAY ON the Heartstone, blanketed by my cloak with my head pillowed on my arm and a black-iron sword in my hand. Sleep was fleeting, but I chased it all the same. I’d asked the same from everyone in the city. When sleeping, we didn’t eat. It was the only way we could stretch the rations longer than we already had.

  Slowly, I let my thoughts drift. Closed my eyes and imagined sinking into my bed of agate.

  Thump. Thump.

  My eyes snapped open at the first, low drumbeats of the Riftspawn’s advance. My guts were ice as I stood and shook off my daze. I clutched my sword and locked eyes with my soldiers one by one. Not long now.

  The thuds grew louder, and soon the vibrations shook the city, setting the walls trembling. Weapons rattled in the racks at the edge of the room. Even so, the marching was still distant. With the maze of endless corridors the Spawn must descend to reach the bottom of the city, it might be an hour before they arrived.

  Still, I felt a strange sort of relief to know the wait was almost over. We’d soon meet our final test.

  Surrounding me, soldiers stood at attention, eyes fixed on the narrow chamber entrance. Wide enough for just two men to walk abreast, and with a ceiling low enough that all but the shortest adults had to stoop, the stone corridor stretched back for around twenty paces. Torches lit the passage, gleaming off the polished stone Derinow had sculpted.

  With a last glance at the entrance, I stalked for the back of the room and peered down the central corridor. There, a Prov boy waited to carry messages to the population hunkering in the far corners of the city. “I need to speak with Fishel,” I said to him. “Tell him we need the citizens’ final decision.”

  While waiting, I forced myself to eat and drink from the crate of rations at the rear wall of the chamber. With the pounding of the Riftspawn’s approach, I could scarcely taste the dried mountain trout. Warm water slid down my throat like oil. I clenched my jaw to hold the meal down. I’d felt fear before, but the rattling walls inspired an insidious, creeping dread.

  “How are you holding up, lad?” Fishel asked as he stepped from the corridor. His beard had thickened in the last weeks. It softened the lines of stress that bracketed his mouth, but his eyes showed his feeling just as clearly.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” I said in a voice too low for the soldiers to hear. “The waiting has been difficult.”

  “But now that the enemy is nearly here, you’d rather go back to the uncertainty.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, know that you’re everything this Prov innkeeper could have hoped for in an Emperor. If anyone can stand against this threat, it’s you.”

  “I hope I can live up to your faith in me.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “You already have. And…” He hesitated. “Savra would be proud of you, too. Remember that today.”

  A wave of sadness rolled over me. Wherever her spirit had gone, I hoped she was at peace now. Maybe we’d both find our way across the veil someday. If the Hunger didn’t swallow us first.

  “So what did the people decide?” I asked.

  Fishel glanced toward the deeper parts of the city. “I’m proud of them, too. They were sorely tempted by Derinow’s offer. Sealing the corridors between here and their chambers might spare them if the Heartstone is destroyed—Parveld might not bother with defenseless citizens once he’s achieved his aim here. But they’ve decided to stand with you. If you and the Heartstone fall, they would rather join you in death than live in whatever world Parveld would create. They’ve come to believe in their Emperor. Love him, even.”

  My chest tightened, and my voice was lost somewhere inside my throat. Blinking away the sting in my eyes, I nodded.

  “Please pass the word that their faith strengthens me. If there is hope for us today, it comes from their bravery.”

  “I will, my Emperor.” With that, Fishel squeezed my shoulder. Moments later, he was gone.

  ***

  The pounding grew louder, throbbing against my eardrums, echoing through my bones. I clenched and unclenched my fists. Focused on my breathing. Anything to distract from thoughts of the advancing horde, the coming fight, the horrors that waited at the end of this.

  For a long hour, the Spawn’s feet drummed the stone. For a long hour, the soldiers stood in readiness, keeping to their rotation as assigned by the Prime Protector. The tension in their shoulders betrayed their fear. Rest brought no relief. Each man and woman who rotated into duty looked just as weary as those they replaced. Near the end of the Riftspawn’s approach, the thumping had grown so loud I could scarcely hear myself think.

  And then, silence.

  The absence of noise echoed through the city in terrifying stillness. The silence stretched on. From down the narrow entrance corridor came the clicking of heels.

  “A well-planned defense,” Parveld called cheerily. “It nearly eliminates the advantage I have in numbers. Interesting that you had the capability to seal the corridor entirely but chose not to take it. I suppose that would have created a siege situation. I’d have broken through eventually, and in force. Or perhaps I wouldn’t because as you know, I disdain violence. Perhaps I’d have waited out here until your food ran out. But no matter. This way, I must fight, and because you’ve forced me to battle, it gives me the impression you actually think you can win.”

  A strangled sound echoed down the tunnel. If I wasn’t mistaken, the man was trying to laugh.

&n
bsp; “We reject your evil,” I called. “Send your monsters, and we’ll slaughter them one by one.”

  “Yes, yes, Kostan. In due time. But I’m wondering, did you piece together an understanding of what I’ve gained by your prior defeats? It’s just more proof of the righteousness of my quest. Another facet of the communion. I always believed that the mage who managed to unite all forms of magic would transcend our feeble human understanding. Little did I know the true path was much quicker, and that the unification of magic would be nothing but dessert after the main course.”

  “It won’t matter when we close the breach in the Maelstrom. Any powers you’ve gained will be lost when we banish the void you serve.”

  The footsteps stopped suddenly. Good. The comment about the rift might have been a bluff, but at least I’d managed to surprise the man. After a few breaths of silence, Parveld laughed again.

  “Still plucky enough to try a lie. I admire that, Kostan. But at the same time, it’s tiresome. Why don’t we just get on with it, then.”

  A thunderclap rocked the cavern. In the next beat of my heart, my strength fled my body. I was limp. Useless. Weaker than I’d been after waking from my long nightmare in the garrison.

  I dropped to a knee on the floor as, around me, soldiers staggered and fell.

  I shook my head, confused. Parveld was using his newfound Body-domain abilities to weaken us. But why had his attack hit me? The Mind attack had affected only the others. Not me. Had I been protected because of my link with the Heartstone? I slapped a palm onto the agate, willed the Heartshard to bond with it. Immediately, the path to the echoing shadow cavern opened. But I fought against the compulsion to fall into it. Instead, I searched for the lines of energy that bound me to my people. Though I knew they were always present, my connection to the stone strengthened my awareness of them.

  There. Beams of light radiated from the Heartshard, lancing through the city to join me with the Empire’s citizens. Though I couldn’t see them, I could sense the weakness that had struck them down, too. They were powerless, lying helpless on the stone floor of the chambers behind me. But they were still alive, and they still believed in me. I breathed deep and focused on how their faith made me feel.

  Proud. Worthy. Better than this.

  Spreading from my chest in a flood, strength returned to my body. I stood and raised my sword.

  “An impressive effort,” I called out, voice booming. “But you’ll have to do more than that to defeat the Empire of Atal.”

  As I strode for the tunnel, I focused on the soldiers in the chamber with me. One by one, I made eye contact and nodded. Strength flooded across our bonds. Bracing hands on their knees, my fighters stood. We closed ranks, stood shoulder to shoulder, and waited for the onslaught.

  The Riftspawn roared and poured into the tunnel. My soldiers struck hard, piercing the monstrosities through their misshapen chests, slicing their necks, hacking at limbs like butchers when nothing vulnerable was exposed.

  Assured that the front lines were strong, I stepped back to the Heartstone, crouched down, and laid my hand on the smooth surface. At the rear of the chamber, a handful of fighters stood tall when I focused my attention on them. I believed in them as they believed in me.

  The bodies of slain Spawn mounded up at the entrance to the chamber. Soon, the monsters had to stop their attack and drag the fallen beasts back and out of the way. My soldiers harried them every step, creating a new corpse for every two they managed to clear.

  Another wave fell on us, bringing our first casualty. A Stormshard rogue who fought like a demon with a pair of black-iron daggers fell when a swipe from a claw opened his throat. From behind me, a young protector ran up to take the man’s place.

  “Get the next rotation prepared to fight,” I yelled. The slap of hurrying feet answered my command. As long as we kept rotating fresh soldiers into the front line, we could hold for a very long time. A few minutes later, a group of men and women shuffled wearily into the chamber. When I sent strength and affection across the bonds between us, the new soldiers leaped to action, dashing to the weapon racks and hefting their swords. They slipped in between their tiring comrades, and the first shift of soldiers fell back.

  “Rest and eat,” I called. Once they’d passed out of the room, I lowered my focus on them. Not so far they’d collapse, but enough that my attention remained on the fight.

  Again the bodies of the Spawn blocked the exit. Again, Parveld’s minions were forced to clear the way. In the slowing of action, a pair of soldiers gently carried the slain Stormsharder to the edge of the cavern and laid him down, sliding his eyelids shut.

  The Spawn’s attacks fell on us again and again. The air smelled of blood and sweat and the rotten-fruit stench of the beasts. I lost track of the waves of monsters, felt the hours lurch by in a strange rhythm of death and screams.

  And suddenly, with whip-crack suddenness, the Spawn froze. The beast in the front fell to a quick slash across its neck, and none stepped to take its place.

  “Enough of that,” Parveld called.

  As the silence stretched on, soldiers from the rear of the chamber ran forward to form a defensive circle around me.

  I kept my gaze pinned to the entrance. I didn’t dare hope Parveld was giving up. But why stop attacking?

  As if in answer, a boom shook the walls so hard that cracks opened in the ceiling above us. Dust filtered down, clogging the air. Again a boom, and this time, chunks fell from the ceiling near the tunnel entrance. With a last, bone-shaking crack, the walls and ceiling of the corridor Derinow had built exploded inward. The soldiers at the entrance were reduced to pulp. Shrapnel knocked my circle of defenders flat. A man had stepped in front of me when the first boom shook the cavern. A rock smashed his head. Blood sprayed over me as he fell.

  He’d given his life to save mine.

  And now I was alone.

  With a chuckle, Parveld stepped over the rubble of the tunnel. A line of monsters followed him, carrying dusk in a pool at their feet. All but two of the torches had been blown out by the gust of wind in the explosion, and the remaining light cast wavering shadows over the man’s face.

  “It’s amazing what one can do with incalculable strength, a few thousand pieces of scavenged steel, and an abandoned forge large enough to create a battering ram,” he said. A shadow in the haze of dust, the massive ram had been dropped on the mound of debris.

  As Parveld spoke, his monsters stalked slowly through the wide entrance, fanning out to encircle the room. They blocked off the weapon racks—not that I expected I’d be able to ready reinforcements now.

  I glanced to either side. Most of the soldiers who’d defended me were dead. The others were wounded. Men and women squirmed feebly, bleeding from gashes all over their bodies, dragging useless limbs.

  Without another heartbeat’s hesitation, I fell into the Heartstone.

  This time, the lake of agate lay just ahead. I crossed the distance in three long strides, hand out and waiting for the curved blade. The reassuring weight fell into it the moment my foot touched red stone.

  I dropped into a crouch, gripping the sword in both hands. I rarely fought with a two-handed grip, but it just felt right.

  The shadows were all around.

  As one, they struck.

  I sliced through the ranks, shredding dozens of phantoms with each blow. Reduced to tatters, the wights flew up and away as rank upon rank advanced. Again and again, I whirled and struck, dancing back from shadowy claws.

  There were so many of them. In the forest of pillars, thousands more enemies advanced on my small circle of light. Darkness pressed closer to my flashing blade and shuffling feet. My thighs began to burn from holding my bent-legged stance. The sword felt heavy but manageable. I spun a full circle, sword at hip level, and sliced a dozen monsters in two.

  Still they came.

  With a downward arcing slash, I cut the darkness from a trio of shadows half-again as t
all as me. The Spawn shrieked as the corruption within them died. I heard it all the way down my connection with the physical realm.

  I roared and struck again, and two more beasts fell.

  And then, in my left arm, numbness. I couldn’t move the muscle, couldn’t keep a grip. My left hand fell away from my double-handed hold on the sword as the arm dropped useless to my side. It was a dead thing and I didn’t understand until, distantly, I felt the pain of a true injury. A physical gash on my upper arm, the wetness of blood soaking my sleeve.

  Ignore it, Kostan.

  One-handed, I darted forward and struck the darkness from a dozen more shadows. They melted before me, and others jumped to fill the spot.

  My knee suddenly buckled, and I stumbled, dragging the leg. With a desperate slash, I felled two more shadows. The tip of my sword screeched along the stone as I flailed for balance, and somehow, I managed to right myself. But the knee wouldn’t hold weight.

  From far away in the physical realm, I heard a woman crying. “Oh, Kostan,” she said. Was that Falla? Sirez?

  It didn’t matter. With my weight balanced on my good foot, I raised my blade again.

  I heard the rasp of breath behind me.

  Too late to spin.

  Twin blows connected with my shoulder blades and I fell. The sword slipped from my hand and went skidding across the arena. I crawled for it, realized I’d never reach it in time. I rolled, fist raised.

  But rather than advance, the monsters backed away. I squirmed for my sword, kicking with my good leg and crabbing the fingers of my strong arm over stone. A moan of pain escaped my lips.

  My fingers brushed the hilt. Too late. From deep beneath me came a resonant crack. The illusory chamber shattered as the last Heartstone broke. I woke to the flickering glow of the torches, a wall of Riftspawn slavering within a few paces, and Parveld standing over my body.