Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  “Sirez,” I said, one hand grabbing the neck of my cloak as if the garment could protect me. “There are beasts in the trees. I can’t tell how many.”

  At this, Sirez whirled on Tendal. “Explain quickly,” she said, hand straying toward her dagger.

  He raised his hands. “Yes, there are Riftspawn in the trees. But they won’t hurt you.” He glanced at the ground behind her. When Sirez had spun, she’d dropped her stone. The agate lay on the thick layer of pine needles. “You should be safe even without the wardstone. But I suggest you bring it for extra protection.” The man licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I was trying to explain what we’ve done without angering you. Your group lost many friends to the Spawn.”

  I held the agate—the wardstone—before my eyes. It was about half the size of a chicken’s egg, striped with vibrant colors. No indentations marred the glass-smooth surface. As I stared, I realized that it was glowing. A deep hue like a ripe currant berry. I blinked and peered closer. As I did, the colors seemed to swirl, almost like an aura.

  Interesting. I banished my aura-sight, and the glow from the stone vanished.

  Finally, I pressed my aura-sight into the forest again, fighting nausea at the sight of the Spawn’s corrupted auras. As I focused on them, a faint sensation spread from the stone. I felt calmer as the feeling traveled up my arm and into my chest. More, the sense of corruption infesting the Riftspawn’s auras dimmed. The putrid color still roiled in the mix of spirits, but it held less power over me.

  “Would it help if I entered the trees first?” Tendal asked. “Please believe I mean you no harm.”

  “Falla? Savra?” Sirez asked, no doubt looking for insight from our spiritist’s abilities.

  “I believe he’s telling the truth,” I said. “There is magic in stone, and it seems to press against the beasts.”

  With a growl, Sirez nodded. Like a cat retreating from a fight against a rival, she stalked back to the stone and picked it up.

  “All right then,” she said. “Show us what you have hiding in your woods.”

  As if holding scraps of night beneath their heavy boughs, the big pines pressed close over the trail. Between their exposed roots, clusters of mushrooms pushed up the soil. Daylight faded just twenty paces into the grove. If not for the auras lighting my vision, I wouldn’t have known which way to go without Tendal’s guidance.

  I smelled the Riftspawn around ten paces before we stopped at a fence of sharpened stakes marking the edge of a dark pit. Sickly sweet, the scent of rotted fruit. Traces of sulfur and metal. I grimaced even as it reminded me of home.

  “Whenever a beast gets near our herds or homes, we call the Wardens,” Tendal said. “It’s a task passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. This far from Jaliss, the Registry is lazy, and unless someone dies, children receive the same Function as their parents. My great-grandfather was a scout, which made it difficult for him to be named Warden. But the tavernkeep and the shepherds who work the closest pastures are near enough to hear the summons bell.”

  “The summons bell?”

  “It’s in the town hall attic. When we ring it, the Wardens stop whatever they’re doing and bring their herdstones to the town. They’re like wardstones, but we picked the most effective from our collection and gave them to the Wardens.”

  I joined Sirez where she peered over the row of stakes. Though I couldn’t make out many shapes in the darkness, the roiling auras told me the pit was no deeper than I was tall. It was about twice that across. In the center, twisted shapes moved, strangely silent compared to the shrieks and wails I remembered from their attack. I wondered why none of the Riftspawn were trying to escape until I fell deeper into my aura-sight. When I did, faint spots of red glowed from the trunks of the surrounding trees. Stepping away from the corral, I slipped over to a tree and laid a hand on the glowing spot. A niche had been carved from the bark, and a wardstone inserted.

  “The stakes don’t really do anything, do they?” I asked.

  “The fence is more to keep us out than the Riftspawn in. We don’t want someone stumbling into their midst on accident.”

  “How many are there?” Sirez asked.

  Tendal threw a pine cone into the pit. The Riftspawn didn’t react. “Half a dozen now. You’ve seen for yourselves how hard they are to kill. Few of us have the fortitude to hack one to pieces even if we could manage it without being harmed. So we keep them here. They do die eventually, all on their own. It’s as if they run out of whatever twisted magic fuels them.”

  “I can understand why you’d fear our reaction. Why did you decide to show this to us?”

  “The town borders are defended by wardstones we’ve installed around our perimeter. The boundary is not much different than this enclosure, but it keeps the beasts out rather than in. We sent around half our spare stones with the group who are pursuing the protectors and their captives. We’d like for you to take the rest.”

  “We’re heading out of the Icethorns,” Sirez said. “Aside from the group that attacked us, the Riftspawn don’t seem that common. I doubt we’ll encounter any.”

  Tendal shrugged. “We’ve heard rumors from farther west. A massive incursion of Spawn near the geognosts’ monastery.”

  “Then why give up your defenses?”

  “Because the next earthquake may bury our fields or homes. Things are getting worse in the mountains. The Empire is crumbling, quite literally, and the throne does nothing. So if we wish for our children to live to adulthood, we have to put our hope elsewhere. Stormshard offers our best chance to see the Empire toppled and order restored. We have enough food within the perimeter to last our small group through Chilltide. If our loved ones—and the other half of our wardstone supply—haven’t returned by then, we have little hope anyway.”

  “If a landslide buries your homes, you’ll need to flee the mountains. You’ll want your wardstones for the journey.”

  He shook his head. “A handful of adults defending dozens of children and elderly. Wardstones or not, we wouldn’t make the journey. Please, take the stones for whatever defense they can supply.”

  Tendal unbuckled the leather pouch from his belt. The wardstones within clicked as he held it out. “There’s around forty more inside. Not enough to protect every fighter. Not even close. But if the rumors from the west are true, you’ll want any help you can get.”

  Sirez extended both hands to receive the pouch, a gesture I recognized from my time in Jaliss. I’d seen it only when someone wished to convey the deepest gratitude. When displayed by merchants, it had seemed almost sarcastic, a falseness. But when Sirez followed the motion by dropping to a knee, there was no doubting her earnestness.

  “We will stab the Empire through the heart,” she said. “And after that, I will not stop until I know your village is safe. Whether from Riftspawn or bandits, you’ll never fear such danger again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kostan

  A healing chamber, Aurum Wing, Hall of Mages

  THE SICKROOM IN the Aurum Tower smelled of medicine and the alcoholic spirits the aurums used to clean wounds. On the boy’s bedside, a single candle burned. Two layers of blankets covered his small body.

  His eyes were wide and staring.

  I stopped short. “Is he…” I feared to speak the words.

  Beside me, an aurum apprentice shook her head. “His eyes opened yesterday, but he still won’t respond to conversation. He’d have died days ago if we weren’t able to trickle water down his throat. The body responds automatically—he swallows, but only when the alternative is choking.”

  I stepped to the foot of the bed, followed by Parveld. I didn’t know how the man could help the situation, but it had been seven days since the poisoned arrow had pierced the boy’s narrow chest. The aurums had no ideas, and they’d run out of tests to administer days ago. Perhaps Parveld had seen a similar case in his long life.

&n
bsp; As I shuffled forward to stand near the child’s head, I ran a hand along his bare arm. The Aurum Trinity had determined that whatever poison afflicted the boy, he wasn’t contagious. I was grateful for the knowledge, though I couldn’t approve of their methods. For the first three days after his arrival, they’d forced a chambermaid to spend every moment in the sickroom with the boy. She’d bathed him, spooned water into his mouth, and changed his chamber pot. After a subsequent three-day period of isolation, the only ill effect from her ordeal was a severe case of boredom.

  The boy’s skin was warm, if sallow. Though I’d imagined I might somehow sense the sickness inside his veins, I felt nothing.

  “Good morning, my friend,” I said, remembering that speaking to him might help his recovery.

  The boy’s eyes remained fixed. Blank.

  “How long again?” Parveld asked as he stepped up beside me.

  “Seven days, I believe.”

  “Might we have a moment alone with the child?” he asked, turning to the apprentice.

  “Of course, my… my lord,” she said, clearly unsure what sort of status my foreign friend enjoyed. With an awkward bow, she retreated through the door and closed it behind her.

  “Do you have a theory?” I asked. His request for privacy surprised me.

  But Parveld didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, eyes closed, face slack. After a moment, his mouth turned down in a frown.

  “Do you have guards on his room?” he asked. “Such a small body. I doubt he’d be a threat.”

  “Guards? He can’t even move.”

  “I suggest at least two. It may not be necessary, but when dealing with the Hunger and its twisted methods for affecting our world, it’s best to be safe.”

  “I assume you’ll explain,” I said.

  Face grim, he nodded. “But not here.”

  As if mourning a loved one already dead, Parveld reached past me and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  With a shriek, the child woke. Parveld shoved me back as the door to the chamber exploded open. My knees hit the seat of a chair, sending me reeling. I hit the floor and caught a glimpse of the aurum apprentice running for the boy’s bedside before she somehow ended up on the floor, eyes wide and breath gurgling through a crushed throat.

  “Guards!” Parveld yelled, dragging me away from the bed. At the same moment, a pain unlike any I’d felt clawed my chest. I felt as if my lungs and heart were being pulled through my throat.

  “I’m sorry about the pain,” Parveld said through gritted teeth. “And for this, too.” Abruptly, I felt as if my body were weightless. Parveld grabbed me under the armpit and heaved me toward the door. I flew through the opening and hit the wall on the far side of the corridor. My head cracked stone as a dozen protectors sprinted for me. Parveld rushed out the door, slamming it behind him.

  “You’ll need shackles,” he said. “Possibly a gag that can’t be chewed in half.”

  Seeing me slumped against the wall, the protectors had no interest in heeding his words. Swords drawn, they rushed at him.

  “Wait!” I yelled. “He’s no threat!”

  Immediately, the guards halted. The closest sword point was just a hand’s width away from Parveld’s heart.

  “The child,” I said. “Do as Parveld says. Shackle him and secure the room until you receive further orders.”

  ***

  The Prime Protector looked up from her desk, startled, when I burst through the door with Parveld on my heels.

  “Your eminence!” she said, jumping to her feet.

  “The protectors who were injured by the arrows. Where are they? Are their barracks secure?”

  She blinked, confused. “Their condition was unchanged, last I knew. The listlessness grew worse, and eventually they stopped rising from their beds. It’s particularly confounding because their oaths should compel them otherwise. Once the Trinity declared they had no more research to perform—basically, admitting that they were giving up—I’ve left them in peace. Their fellow protectors provide them water, but we see no reason to nurse men and women who are beyond our help. We can only allow them to die with dignity if that is to be their fate.”

  “Sound the alarm,” Parveld said.

  Though the woman had spoken to me with respect, her eyes flashed when she whirled on him. “Your eminence, it went against my counsel to allow this man the freedom to roam Steelhold’s grounds. Unless you’ve raised him to serve in an official capacity, I suggest you instruct him in the hierarchy here.”

  “Please, Prime,” I said. “We can discuss this later. For now, it is imperative that you send more guards to the barracks where you’re keeping the injured. Restrain them if it’s not too late. However, please prepare your soldiers to confront resistance.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “The poison? How?”

  “It appears to drive them mad. Parveld has information on this, and I’ll be speaking with him now.”

  “Can they… infect others?”

  Parveld shook his head. “If I may, Prime. Forgive my impertinence earlier. But there is little time. They cannot pass on their affliction, but if you don’t hurry, you may find a trail of corpses leading from the barracks.”

  The Prime Protector needed no more encouragement. With a curt nod in my direction, she ran out the door. Moments later, the alarm gong tolled, setting my molars vibrating.

  Apparently unconcerned with the offense he might cause, Parveld sighed and took the seat she’d just vacated. “You should get comfortable,” he said. “It may take me a while to explain.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the doorway. It didn’t seem right for me to sit in this chamber while a battle might soon be waged inside Steelhold’s walls.

  “You’d only make her job harder,” he said. “If she must commit more guards to your defense, they cannot focus on the threat.”

  I knew he was right, even though I hated to admit it. Loosening the buckle on my sword belt so I could sit more comfortably, I took the chair across the desk from Parveld.

  “Under other circumstances—if you hadn’t jumped to defend me, I mean—I might accuse you of waking whatever… ferocity dwelt in that child. He did attack right after you touched him.”

  “Most likely, it was my fault,” Parveld admitted freely. “All I can say in my defense is that the awakening would likely have happened within the hour anyway. And, of course, my part in it was entirely inadvertent.”

  “What did you do?”

  The man’s gaze grew distant as he fiddled with a sheaf of papers. “I’ve mentioned that my magic resembles spiritism, yes?”

  I sighed. “You have, but I’ll be frank. I don’t know a storm-blown thing about this spiritism. Your mention of it was the first I’d heard. Though…” I hesitated as the thought coalesced. “Savra’s trick at the Shadow Gate—I assumed she’d used some sort of device, perhaps black-iron, to control the guards. Is she…?”

  “Quite talented, too. In any case, spiritism is similar to metalogy in that a mage can affect the mind, body, or spirits of the dead. But spiritists have no need for tainted metals. They are born with the ability. I believe it arose naturally in the Provinces to counter the corrupted magic of the Maelstrom.”

  “So should I think of you like a metalogist without Maelstrom-metals, too?”

  He shrugged. “It gets complicated. But yes, I’m intimately acquainted with some of the abilities exhibited by your metalogists. But as with spiritists, my magic is innate.

  “Magic is strange, your eminence. Sometimes branches of its evolution manifest similarly, like close cousins. Other times, as with the geognosts, there are abilities which bear no resemblance to magic in other times or places. Yet I feel there is an underlying truth. All magic seeks to harness or change energy. Perhaps someday, a truly gifted mage will understand how to bring the many manifestations into a single, joined pursuit.”

  I nodded. The philosophy went a bit beyond me, but Parvel
d’s passion for the subject was clear. “Something you said caught my attention. This wasn’t the first time I’ve heard that the Maelstrom-metals are tainted. Can you explain?”

  “I’ll do my best. It’s related to the corruption of that poor child anyway. You see, there’s another realm which exists outside of our understanding. It’s a dark place, the embodiment of greed and avarice, madness and destruction. In my time, we called it the Hunger. The Hunger lies beyond a barrier which is ordinarily impregnable. But because it covets our life and vitality, it wants nothing more than to sunder that barrier. Occasionally, it succeeds.”

  I grimaced. “What happens then?”

  He shook his head. “Almost every civilization has a history of a rift somewhere in its shrouded past. The effects vary each time—or maybe the passing of the story from mouth to mouth alters it, I can’t say for sure. In the case of the Atal Empire, the boundary was torn about a thousand years ago. From what I’ve learned in your history books, civilization was nearly eliminated. If that had happened, I don’t believe the Hunger could have been stopped. It would have swallowed the continent and gone on to consume all existence. But in the end, a gathering of mages managed to join their powers and seal the rift—almost. Unfortunately, the seal leaks, and that’s how the Maelstrom was born. Not only does the Hunger nibble at our world, it also sends back some of that it has taken. But the things that return are twisted. Tainted.”

  I leaned forward, elbows on my knees in rapt attention. “Why is this history not taught?”

  “As I mentioned, the event nearly destroyed the last civilization who settled these lands. It took me decades to piece the story together, and even then, I was guided by my vision. I knew what was coming here, and so I was able to make intelligent guesses about the events leading us to this juncture.”

  “Where did you find the information?”

  “The largest troves—and by trove, I’m speaking of a few moldering scrolls and rune-carved stones—were deep in the Icethorns. I suspect that the mountains were the final strongholds where the mages gathered and finally managed to push back the Hunger’s influence. Many of their ruins still stand, but they’re largely ignored by the current inhabitants.”