“I accept your apology,” he said.
I was grateful for the table between us; it allowed me to make fists without his knowledge. Above the slab of wood, he saw only the mask I placed over my features.
“And yes,” he continued, “I have some reports on Stormshard, but the whispers are weeks old at this point. At your request, I will resume my activities and seek more timely information.”
“Fine.” Compared to sending armed protectors against the Prov population, allowing the snitches to pass rumors of their fellow villagers seemed almost kind. I probably should have considered this step long before. “And what can you tell me from these weeks-old reports?”
“Well, to start, I’ve had a few scraps of information coming out of the distant Provincial settlements. I can’t declare with certainty that this relates to Stormshard, but people have disappeared.”
“Disappeared? As in kidnapped?”
From another pocket, he pulled a silk bag filled with oily shreds of hallifas leaves. I contained a grimace while he shoved the fresh load under his lip on the other side. During our conversation so far, he hadn’t yet shown his teeth. Most likely, they were stained beyond belief.
“I can’t say, of course. You know Provs. They spook at the slightest noise. But the rumors seem to come in two groups. First, there are the townspeople who appear to have left without saying goodbye. Traveling clothing was missing from wardrobes, cupboards emptied, and so on. So we can assume that those disappearances were intentional. As for the others…” He put on an expression of false pity. “People from isolated holdfasts and farmsteads are vanishing under rather more suspicious circumstances. Some of my informants have spoken of animal attacks.”
As if I didn’t have enough problems to occupy me. As far as I knew, the Atal Empire had little problem with wild animals, unlike the desolate northlands and the Wildsends.
“I appreciate the information. But what does this have to do with Stormshard.”
“Do you have any wine?” he asked. “I’m feeling rather parched.”
Along the far wall, a young page stared at the vaulted rafters. His mouth moved silently as if he were counting the ceiling bricks.
“Rellin,” I called. The boy jumped. “Please fetch a decanter of wine for Master Brevelak.”
Within two breaths, the youth was out the door. I didn’t blame him. The heavy drapes that hung across the walls and windows of the chamber muffled all sound, so he probably hadn’t even been able to entertain himself by listening in on our conversation.
“If you can continue despite your dry throat,” I said, “I have much left to accomplish today.”
The man put on an aggrieved expression as he nodded. Storms, but I wished I hadn’t required his services. Once I managed to bring order to the Empire, I would greatly enjoy turning him out of Steelhold with a few steel coins and well wishes in his search for a new occupation.
“As for the animal attacks, we can assume that’s nothing more than feeble-minded Provs seeing threats where none exist. Farmers run over by their plow teams, perhaps. It’s nothing to take seriously. The willful disappearances, on the other hand—the patterns make me believe Stormshard is rallying at one or more central points.”
“I’ve heard the same. Surely, you can do better than repeat rumors so common they’ve reached my vaunted ears. What makes you believe these disappearances can be attributed to Stormshard? Perhaps more Provs have decided to leave the Empire altogether. Even as a Scion, I knew that the Aniselan ports provide an escape for a number of disloyal citizens. The migration is called the Hidden River, is it not?”
He inclined his head in a manner that somehow seemed condescending. “Quite true, your eminence. If it weren’t for the other information I’ve recently received, I’d agree with you.”
“And what is that?”
“Many of my snitch masters believe Stormshard is gathering in the mountains. Quite possibly, they mean to—” He paused to laugh. “—attack Steelhold.”
They already have attacked Steelhold, I thought. And when Savra saved the Empire by stopping the attempt on my life, they murdered her.
“Where in the mountains?” If they were building an army, however small, I needed to send forces against them as quickly as possible. Strike before they surprised us.
He shrugged. “As I said, given your apparent disinterest in my information, I’ve been busying myself with other pursuits. There are quite a few Prov women in dire need of food and shelter. They’ve shown surprising enthusiasm for my requests for companionship.”
At that, he raised his eyebrows in a leer. The only thing that saved me from putting a fist into his smug face was the reappearance of the page with a crystal decanter of wine and a single glass.
“Have you received rumors of activity outside the mountain gathering? I need to understand who is fueling the Prov rebellion within Jaliss. I suspect Stormshard, but to continue to stoke the blaze, they’d need to be near.”
He inclined his head as the page set the wine on the table with a clack. “Not as of yet. But I will keep my ears open as you requested.”
“How soon will we know the details?” I asked as he poured a generous measure into his glass.
“Well, your eminence, that depends on you,” he said with another oily smile.
I steeled myself for another ploy. “How so?”
“For most of my time as Information Master, I’ve relied on the passive collection of information. When a carpenter sees the butcher across the street lazing about yet complaining about an unfair quota, the carpenter contacts the local snitch master. At the carpenter’s convenience, of course. As you can imagine, details can be slow in coming with this process. Provs aren’t particularly observant, and they rarely exhibit a sense of urgency.”
“And now you wish to tell me there’s a faster way.”
He sipped his wine and sneered. “How very clever of you to guess. Yes, I could instruct my subordinates to press for information. A more active approach, you might say.”
Something in his tone bothered me. “Active in what way?”
After another sip of wine, he swirled the contents of his glass. The red liquid lapped at the edges of his goblet, perilously close to spilling, but never crested the rim. “Snitches are more likely to bring information to their masters if they have a strong incentive. We’ve used a system of rewards for decades, of course, allowing those who make the most useful and consistent reports access to more luxury items, better food—you get my gist, I’m sure. If someone proves him or herself over and over, there’s even the chance they might advance out of their simple home and Function. Quite a few of the regional snitch masters began as humble Provs.”
“If you’re asking permission to increase the rewards, granted.” The Empire could spare the resources, and as for advancing out of their Function, that was a measure I could support without reservation. I’d hoped from the beginning that I could improve conditions for the Provs.
He cocked his head as he sucked his teeth, moving the wad of leaves to a different location beneath his cheek. “I’m afraid that might not create the results you desire. Too much influx of food and materials draws attention. If we move the snitches away from their communities, we lose their eyes and ears. But don’t worry, I’m confident I can find ways to motivate them.”
“You don’t seem interested in enlightening me.”
He shrugged, finger tracing the rim of his wine goblet. “The truth is I prefer to keep my methods to myself. You’ve already threatened to replace me once today. If I disclose all my secrets, what’s to stop you from enacting that threat?”
“For starters, I don’t know how to contact your network.”
He smiled, showing just a glimpse of teeth. Yellowed by his habit, unsurprisingly. “But you’re clever. It would be a simple matter to have me and my correspondence watched until I’d made contact. No, I prefer to keep the details of my work to myself. Besides, you
have an Empire to rule. I shouldn’t bore you with details. You need results.”
Yes, but something told me I wouldn’t like his methods. I inspected the man’s face, and he bore the scrutiny without wilting.
It seemed I had a choice. If I wanted this man’s help in stopping Stormshard, I’d need to allow him leeway to gather the information I desired. But I also needed to take responsibility for his actions. I wouldn’t be the sort of ruler who hid behind his aides and ministers. I needed to accept that anything done by someone under my command might as well have been worked by my hand.
I was almost certain the man’s talk of new incentives had nothing to do with rewards. He intended to encourage the Prov snitches by threatening them. Could I accept that? By informing on their neighbors, the snitches had already proved they lacked integrity. If there were a group I could stomach threatening, shouldn’t it be the snitches?
Still… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t allow this man to apply unknown pressure in my name. Not if I wanted to keep hold of the shreds of honor I still possessed.
Exhaling, I slid the decanter of wine away from the Snitchlord, preparing to dismiss him from my audience chamber. As I did, Savra’s face leaped to my mind. I saw her, color high in her cheeks, in the scribe’s tunic. She’d saved my life. Stormshard had killed her for it.
Rage flooded my veins. Stormshard had murdered someone for the sin of believing in me. More, if they were behind the violence in the Splits, the blood of dozens of rioting Provs was on their hands.
Emperor Tovmeil had said I’d need to make difficult choices if I were to hold this Empire together. And given a choice between threatening a few Prov betrayers or watching the Empire descend into chaos and bloodshed—not to mention, the all-out cataclysm I’d seen through the Bracer of Sight—why was I even balking?
“Do what you must to find information on Stormshard and the provocateurs behind the Jaliss riots. I expect answers within the tenday.”
I stood, expecting the man to recognize the dismissal. Mouth twisted in a smirk, he instead took another sip of wine. “As your eminence commands.”
Jaw clenched, I carefully but firmly removed the wine goblet from his fingers. “Thank you for attending me. Now if you please, I have another audience scheduled.”
His annoyance showed only in the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Your eminence,” he said with a nod before he stood and left the chamber.
Chapter Eighteen
Savra
A rugged trail, Icethorn Mountains
STORMSHARD MARCHED FOR a week, climbing over passes, threading narrow valleys, and turning back again and again when landslides or unstable slopes blocked progress. The delays were met with grim determination on the leaders’ faces, but the mood in the camp grew wearier as the march continued. In the evenings, we made camp in flat valley bottoms if possible, far enough from slopes to be clear of landslides or avalanches. Every day, half a dozen small earthquakes rattled the landscape. The small shakes didn’t bother me much, probably because Cosmal Province shuddered and trembled all the time. But the unease in the Sharders’ eyes told me how unusual the mountain earthquakes were.
It seemed strange that the tremors hadn’t disturbed the area around the fortress while we’d occupied it. Maybe the ground beneath the keep was more stable than the surrounding mountains. The ancients might have known that. Maybe they built there for a reason. Or perhaps it was a coincidence.
Most days, Falla and I marched together. Her company helped distract me from Joran’s hate-filled glares. But I felt them anyway, boring into the back of my head, penetrating the walls of my tent at night. Since he’d attacked me, I hadn’t dared go off alone again, not even when asked to get water. Falla didn’t object when I asked her to accompany me. I wasn’t sure what excuse I’d offer if she did. I suspected Joran was right about how my father’s friend would react if she knew how Joran had threatened me. I’d already caused enough upheaval within Stormshard’s ranks. I didn’t want to do more harm to the organization Father had worked so hard to strengthen.
As we marched, Falla explained the theories on spiritism. According to the few scholars attempting to define the branch of magic, there were three domains: Body, Mind, and Essence. They represented the types of things a spiritist could affect. Body and Mind were straightforward to understand, but Essence was a bit more complicated. According to Falla, an essence described the part of a person that moved beyond the veil in death. A soul, in other words. But while most Essence spiritists did work with the dead, some could also weakly sense or affect the living. Falla’s abilities were in the Mind domain, but her experience with the minds of others manifested very differently from mine—she’d never envisioned auras as I described them. That made her wonder whether I might be in the Essence domain instead. Yet, as far as I knew, I couldn’t perceive the spirits of the dead.
A puzzle, but not the only one.
Not only did a spiritist’s abilities fall into a domain, they also employed an aspect. That was how a spiritist affected her domain. Depending on which group of scholars you asked, there were either three or four aspects. Sense, Control, and Speech were the types everyone agreed on. The debate was apparently ongoing whether the fourth, Binding, even existed.
As far as Falla had been taught, spiritists had just a single aspect. But seeing as I’d been able to both Control Joran and Speak into his mind, the classifications didn’t appear to make sense for me. It confused both of us. We’d been going through the information yet again when Falla finally threw up her hands.
“All I can say is it will be interesting when I introduce you to my teachers,” she said. “From here out, I think we’re better defining your abilities by what you can do than what the theories say you can’t. Just because there’s never been a spiritist fluent it two aspects or domains doesn’t mean it’s impossible, I guess.”
I grabbed a handful of tall grass and stripped the seeds away as we walked past. We’d been slowly descending as we wandered our way out of the mountains, and low pines now grew in stands on shady slopes. Faint trails cut by animals followed burbling streams. Sometimes, like now, the paths were wide enough for two people to walk abreast.
“So I’m a freak, but maybe I’m a powerful freak. I don’t know about the Essence thing, though. When Sharders died during the battle, their auras vanished from my sight.”
Falla lifted her water skin and drank, squinting in the bright mountain sun. “It could be you just haven’t learned how to perceive them through the veil yet. You’ve never heard the whispers, right? I’ve only known one Essence spiritist, and she claimed that’s how her talent first manifested.”
My heart beat a little faster as I cast my thoughts back. “You mean, like voices?”
She shrugged. “She described it as a little rustling in her mind. Eventually, there were words, but not at first.”
The grass seeds crunched when I squeezed them. Rolling my fingers over my palm, I sprinkled them onto the trail. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to talk about this. “There may have been something when I was young.”
“Oh?” she said, not pushing, but clearly interested.
“Maybe,” I said shrugging. “It used to happen right before I fell asleep. I called them the night whispers. My mother said they were just the edges of dreams.”
“Interesting,” Falla said. “But you don’t hear them anymore?”
I sighed, chewing my lip. “They frightened me. I used to have nightmares…”
“You worked to force them away.”
I shrugged, then nodded.
“Well, that might explain it.”
What do you think? I said to Lilik. Am I an Essence spiritist?
I don’t know, Savra. This talk of domains foreign to me. But I think you are chasing the right answers when considering your past and the mental walls you may have built. Our minds are far more powerful than we allow ourselves to believe.
Did you hear the dead? I
asked.
A twist of amusement joined her thought. Oh, yes. A whole civilization of them. It was rather shocking the first time they broke through my barriers.
How did it sound? How would I know if they’re trying to reach me?
I don’t know, Savra. It’s different for everyone, I’m sure. But one thing caught my interest. The night whispers you mentioned… I had something similar. When I was a very young girl, I imagined voices in the alleyways and warrens of my home slum. I imagined they told me stories of the past. Later, I closed my mind to them—my mother abandoned us, and I needed to grow up and take her place in caring for my brother. But I couldn’t rid myself of the desire for more stories and adventures.
Or in her case, Raav cut in, misadventures.
Those too, Lilik said. In any case, once I learned to control and understand my ability, I realized that the voices had likely been real. The dead were telling a young child their histories because only she could listen. So think on those night whispers, and if you can, try to cast down the walls you’ve built. It’s possible you have no connection to the realm of the dead, but it’s a powerful tool if you can wield it.
I extended a measure of gratitude to her. Thank you for telling me, I said.
Her thoughts were tinted with wry humor when she responded. I’ve been stuck in this bracelet for more than a century, just waiting for the opportunity to be your wise sage. I should be thanking you for finally being born.
I smiled as I withdrew my awareness from her.
A pine bough hung over the trail, and Falla hopped up as we passed beneath it, plucking a pine cone from the branch. She started tossing the cone back and forth between her hands. “Back at the keep, you avoided my question about your teacher. I didn’t understand why you’d hide it until I put the puzzle together. I assume she’s connected to the conversations you keep having with your bracelet.”
Rise of the Storm Page 16