“Eighty. Maybe more. And we’ve had offers from friends in other towns. If you sent runners, you could gather a hundred more from this valley and the next.”
Sirez whistled. “When I spoke of recruitment, I’d hoped we’d find a few brave people to strengthen our ranks, not dozens. Though I’d never have wished to hear the tales you’ve shared today, I can take heart in our mission. We will unite the Provs, and we will topple Steelhold. Sharders, are you ready to march?”
As one, the Shard leaders stood from their seats. Even Joran’s eyes held the fire of coming vindication. Grim-faced, they filed out into the sunlight.
***
I’d thought I’d found the strength to handle my mistakes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the graves. Cerrold’s daughter had been innocent. Protectors working for an imperial snitch master had hanged her.
As I stepped from the stifling tavern, I looked up at the icy ridges soaring over the valley. How could they look so clean while my heart felt so soiled? For weeks, Stormshard had been telling me about the evils of the Empire, but I’d refused to believe it. In my arrogance, I’d thought my hours spent with Kostan proved he was different. I’d even known he’d been lying to me during those days in the Graybranch Inn, yet I’d still refused to believe he was the same sort of man as his predecessors.
I hadn’t even listened to my own father, the man who had abandoned everything he loved to protect me. How could I have been such an idiot?
In many ways, even the deaths of Cerrold and his family were my fault. The protectors had strung the nooses, and the snitch master had given the order, but I’d allowed it to happen.
As I stood in the village square, Stormsharders hurrying to and fro while they prepared to march, I wondered how they could even stand to be near me.
“Savra,” Falla said.
I jerked, having failed to notice her approach. I couldn’t look at her. My tongue was a dead thing, too swollen to speak.
“Oh, Savra,” she said. “I should have been thinking… You’ve changed your mind about Kostan, haven’t you?”
Swallowing, I nodded, head moving in little jerks.
“And I doubt it will make you feel better when I remind you that your father and I were fooled just the same.”
Finally, I dragged my gaze to hers. She was about my height but somehow seemed to look down on me as if I were a troubled child. Falla sighed and set a hand on my shoulder.
“Your guilt will fade. I swear it. But listen… until then, you need somewhere to channel your anger. Don’t put it on yourself.”
“But this is my fault!”
At once, her eyes threw daggers. “That, Savra Padmi, is the most self-indulgent drivel you could speak. You didn’t hang that young girl. You didn’t make the Decree of Functions. The Empire did this. And to say otherwise just makes them stronger. We need fighters like you. And if you spend your days wallowing in regret, we can’t use your strength.”
I bit off an argument. I’d already tried to tell myself the same things, but it didn’t change how disgusted I felt with myself. Eyes burning, I looked over Falla’s shoulder at the brave Sharders cinching straps and rubbing down horses. To one edge of the small square, Tendal was speaking with a handful of villagers. As he spoke, he tossed a furtive glance at Sirez and the other leaders. The conversation between the villagers seemed heated, and out of habit, I fell into my aura-sight. Amongst the Sharders’ steel-gray determination, the villagers’ auras were dark with apprehension.
Why? Had there been some untruth in the story? Or maybe an important omission? Was Tendal afraid we’d learn of his lie? I searched my recollections of the time in the tavern and didn’t recall any signs he’d been misleading us, but then again, I’d been distracted.
“Even if you can’t forgive yourself,” Falla said, “you can atone. Devote yourself to your abilities. I will do everything I can to teach you. We lost one chance to eliminate the Emperor, but we only had that chance because of you. Whether or not you want to believe it, you are one of our best chances to free the Provs and bring peace to the Empire.”
I submerged my aura-sight, focusing again on the woman before me. She was right about that, I supposed. I had created that first opportunity even if I turned around and destroyed it.
With a deep breath, I finally swallowed my guilt. I would help the rebels end this. Starting today.
“Thank you, Falla,” I said.
The skin in the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.
“What do you think those villagers are discussing?” I asked, gesturing toward them with my chin.
Falla turned and cocked her head. “I think we’re about to find out,” she said as Tendal raised a hand to get Sirez’s attention.
“There’s something else we’d like to offer you,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind a few minutes’ delay.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kostan
Central courtyard, Steelhold
IN THE GLARE of the midday sun, Steelhold’s central courtyard was a desert of white stone broken only by the liquid shadow moving in the black-sand fountain. I sat with Parveld on one of the stone benches shaded by Ministry Hall’s colonnade. Hidden from the harsh rays of the mountain sun, the air held a definite chill, a warning that the season was truly changing. But I knew how blazing a sunbaked bench would feel. It had been this way all my life. The high grasslands of Old Atal and the rugged valleys cleaving the Icethorns knew little of gentle weather. Whether hot, cold, dry, or drenched, the skies and air were harsh. Perhaps Atal brutality was nurtured by such conditions. Or perhaps the savagery of the climate had drawn the Atal here in the first place.
In any case, Chilltide was approaching. If I didn’t regain control of my Empire before the frost arrived in earnest, it would be too late. Stripped of their homes by earthquakes and given no help in rebuilding their shelters, legions of Provs would die.
“It’s fascinating,” Parveld said, gesturing toward the fountain. “How does it work?”
Stretching my legs, I crossed them at the ankles. “There’s no real trick to it. As you must have heard, the ferro mages have the ability to imbue black iron with certain properties. The sand is nothing but iron shavings enchanted to flow endlessly over the fountain’s rim, into the basin, and back through a hollow core in the center.”
Parveld grimaced. “The ferros. Of course. Have you ever considered where the energy for a creation like the fountain comes from? In all my studies, I’ve never encountered a mage who could create motion without force. There is always a source of power. A cost to the casting, particularly when the effect continues indefinitely.”
“No, I suppose I haven’t considered it. The ferros are secretive. I do know they converse with the dead.”
“I’ve heard similar things.” He sighed deeply. “In my homeland, we have similar magic. Well, we did at one time. The gift has faded over the generations, and that’s a good thing. There was a process we called nightforging where a spirit was compelled to give power to an object. This achieved many different effects, some terrible and some wonderful.”
“That does sound similar. But why do you treat it as distasteful?”
“To begin with, such enslavement is immoral. No one, living or dead, should be forced to do something against their will.” With that, he looked pointedly at me. I knew he was thinking of the Decree of Functions, but I didn’t bother to defend myself. Words were empty. I needed to act if I wished to prove my intents regarding the Decree.
“But with nightforging, it’s much worse than simple compulsion,” he continued. “The passage from the mortal realm to the aether is a bit like trading vitality for eternity. The dead live forever, if you don’t mind my choice of words. Imagine being imprisoned against your will. At the very least, death would be a release from your confinement. Not so if you’re already dead.”
As his words registered, I found myself staring at
the fountain with the same disgust I’d seen on his face. “That’s awful.”
He nodded. “Indeed.”
“So you think the ferro mages nightforge their black-iron creations to give them power?”
“I don’t know. From what I’ve learned so far, there are many similarities between metalogy and the magic which was prevalent during my youth. It seems likely.”
“Can the spirits be freed from their duties?”
He shrugged. “I can’t really say.” For a moment, his eyes seemed to grow distant. “And in truth, it may not matter if the worst possibilities come to pass. You wanted to talk about my visions, right?”
I bent my legs and cupped my knees with my hands. As uncomfortable as the revelations about ferro magic had made me, I preferred the distraction to the real reason I’d wanted to meet with him. Glancing over my shoulder at my honor guard, I sighed. There was little I could do about the lack of privacy.
“I did. We talked briefly about our visions, but I’ve been wearing my Bracer more often. I’m afraid for the future, and I know the visions can help me navigate it, but at the same time… I hate what they show me.”
Parveld plucked at his trousers, a melancholy smile touching his lips. “I know quite well how you feel. My visions were granted during a short period. It was… overwhelming. I nearly lost myself in them. But though it was difficult to have so many terrible futures battering my mind, I’m grateful the experience was so short-lived. I don’t envy you the daily choice of whether to—yet again—witness your Empire’s destruction in hopes you can avoid it.”
“As far as I’ve been shown, there is no avoiding the damage. The best I can hope is to save some of my subjects. I don’t know if that’s what troubles me most, or if it’s the actions I must take to minimize the devastation.”
“Has the Bracer shown you specifically what you must do?”
I sighed. “No, though I wish it would. All I have is this certainty that I must remain strong, the unbreakable core of the Empire. I must hold my subjects together. But I’m already failing in that. Why does it give me this knowledge without a specific vision of how to accomplish it?”
“Prophecies are difficult things. Perhaps if you knew your precise path, your fear of a misstep would keep you from moving forward. Or maybe fate only knows what must happen, but not how. It was much the same with mine. I saw the cataclysm. A brief vision of Savra came with the certainty that she was critical to minimizing the destruction. But I wasn’t given knowledge of how she was supposed to achieve that.”
“But the Breaking is certain, it seems. We’ve both seen it.”
He cocked his head. “It’s interesting how much our visions have in common. Yet…”
“Yet in your version, I wasn’t present,” I said.
Parveld stood and began pacing. His motion brought a quick reaction from my guards. Steel hissed as swords were pulled halfway out of their scabbards. When Parveld gave them nothing but the barest glance, the guards slowly settled back into restful attention.
“I’ve been considering that. It’s not that you weren’t present, exactly. It’s more like I had a vast gap in what I could see. After Tovmeil’s death, there simply wasn’t an Emperor in my vision, yet I was unable to realize how odd that was until I met you. It’s a strange incompleteness.”
“Savra was so important to your visions, but she never appeared in mine,” I said. As her name left my lips, I felt another sharp pang in my chest. I forced the hurt away. I’d already taken steps to make Stormshard pay for her murder. But my Empire depended on me. I couldn’t indulge my selfish grief while such grave threats sunk claws into my future.
Parveld, too, seemed to struggle with his emotions. He paced back and forth for a moment before nodding. “I think I understand it. Two hundred years ago, the events that shaped this world were distant. My foretellings gave the best approximation of probable events at that time. But your visions are much more accurate because they needn't account for centuries of change. In some subtle way, that gives me comfort. Tovmeil used the Bracer before you. If he’d received visions of Savra helping save the Empire, he would likely have devoted much to locating her, don’t you agree?”
“I suppose.”
“So by his actions, we can assume he didn’t see her in the Empire’s future. Her death was likely inevitable, written on destiny’s gilded pages long before I arrived to help her. At least, that’s how I’ve attempted to comfort myself.”
My brow furrowed. “This talk of different futures is difficult for me to understand.”
Parveld stopped pacing and stared at the fountain. “Prophecy is a cruel master. Difficult to interpret and painful in its enslavement.” Sighing, he stepped back to the bench and sat. “Describe to me the feeling you get about keeping the Empire strong. Perhaps I can help interpret.”
I tapped my foot against the courtyard stones, considering what to say. “It’s difficult to put into words. The visions of the destruction are clear and precise. I see war and earthquakes, all the things you mentioned. I sense a great darkness, always lurking at the edges, ready to drown us all. But when it comes to my role in the coming events, it’s almost like instinct. A gut feeling. When I remove my awareness from the Bracer, I am infused with the certainty that I must act to save my people and that my only hope of succeeding is to keep the Empire together. I must keep my people united, not disintegrated into separate Provinces or worse, isolated groups working toward different goals. Tovmeil felt the same pressure.”
“In many ways, that’s not so different from what I envisioned for Savra. As with you, it was a feeling more than a vision. I imagined her as the leader who moved an Empire with her words. With her quill and ink, she was meant to rally the people around a common goal. I believed she would lead an army against a dark tide, though I had no certainty of how or what form that darkness would take.” Parveld shook his head, shoulders slumped. “I was so certain it would come to pass. It was everything I worked for.”
“Perhaps portions of your vision might still serve to guide me,” I said.
“For centuries, I followed a prophecy that was a lie,” he said. “I fear any advice I might have would only steer you falsely.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Will you remain in Steelhold for a while, at least? Your information on metalogy is of interest to me. It’s not spoken of openly, but my hold on the mage orders is weak at best. I could use your expertise.”
He shrugged, appearing indifferent to the offer. “I have little else to do with my time.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Savra
A mountain village, Icethorns
JUST A FEW of us, me, Sirez, Falla, Joran, and another Shard leader, Charle, followed Tendal around the back of the town hall and down a packed-earth trail to a small barn and corral. As we approached the humble buildings, I summoned my aura-sight. Judging by his aura, Tendal’s mood had shifted from apprehension to certainty. I hoped that didn’t mean he’d had a trap laid and was now certain it would succeed.
Beyond the barn and paddock, a faint path headed for a thick copse of pine trees. Studded with rocks and carpeted with leaves, the trail didn’t appear to be used very often. When Tendal gestured toward the darkness beneath the boughs, Sirez hesitated.
“Forgive me, friend,” she said. “But would you mind telling us why you’re bringing us back here?”
Tendal swabbed a hand over his forehead. “It’s you who should forgive me. We’ve become so used to keeping our secrets from the Empire that it’s become a habit.”
At his words, Sirez’s shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. “And you won’t mind correcting that now,” she said.
“Of course not. Though it’s easier to see than describe. First of all…” He dug into a pouch at his side and pulled out a handful of polished red stones. “For safety, it’s best you each carry one of these.”
One by one, he dropped the stones into our hands. The small rock
was cool against my skin. Its bright banding, red and purple, reminded me of the polished spheres in the keep’s banquet hall.
Sirez ran a thumb over hers. “What are they?”
“You mentioned your battle with the Riftspawn,” the man said.
“You have a name for them? We’ve heard rumors of scattered attacks through the years, but never a proper name.”
“I don’t know about other towns, but they first appeared here in my great-grandfather’s time. A shepherd was found dead along with half his flock. The bodies were mangled, but it didn’t seem to be the work of wolves or hunting cats—there was no missing meat, no sign of gnawing. Around that time, another of our local boys found a cavern. Well, not a cavern. More like a crypt carved into a cliff face. There were dozens of stones like this inside. It was only luck that he grabbed a handful that day, because when he surprised one of the beasts on the trail home, he was certain he’d die where he stood. But the creature seemed afraid, and in fact fled when the boy advanced. The rest of the story is simple. Over time, we learned to protect ourselves by carrying these stones.”
“Why do you call them Riftspawn?” Falla asked.
“Because they appear after quakes. Most often near new cracks in the earth.”
I swallowed. That explained why they smelled like Maelstrom-spawn. The Maelstrom and the Breaking were related.
“So you learned to keep the Riftspawn away by carrying the stones,” Sirez said.
“Right,” Tendal said. “But even after we understood the stones’ use, we still lost occasional souls to the Riftspawn. Sheep mostly. So my great-grandfather and the other leaders decided we should do more than carry the stones as wards to deter attacks. We should actively rid our valley of the beasts.” He gestured toward the woods. “This was their solution.”
I hadn’t been focusing on my aura-sight, but now I pulled it forward. My stomach clenched. In the dark beneath the trees, a mass of corrupted auras writhed.
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