Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  I sat up straight, abruptly remembering what I’d seen from the stones. “Falla, can you sense anything in the wardstones?” I asked.

  Brow knit, she shook her head. “Like what?”

  “It’s—when we first received them, I sensed something similar to an aura. But when they were used against the Spawn, the stones… I’m not sure. I think they summoned some sort of beings to drive the Spawn away.”

  She raised a brow in surprise. “Beings, huh?”

  “They were white. So bright. They drove the corruption out of the creatures.”

  She cocked her head. “You are full of surprises, my young friend. I’m looking forward to the day when we understand your magic.”

  Beings, Lilik said, shoving her way into my thoughts. Summoned by stones? I’ve never heard of something like that.

  “But listen,” Falla said. “We’re almost to the grasslands. With you half-dead the last three days, we’re out of time for discovering new facets of your talent. Best to hone the abilities you do have.”

  “I’d hoped we’d discover something that would turn the fight in our favor.”

  She shrugged. “You’re already among the most powerful spiritists. But if we don’t solve this problem of losing consciousness when something you’re controlling dies, I can’t allow you near a battle.”

  I winced. It wasn’t that I wanted her to mince words, but still… “Am I really more of a risk than a benefit?”

  “It’s not that. It’s my vow to your father. Sirez wasn’t exaggerating. You might have died without the healers, Savra. Unless we can eliminate that vulnerability, I will do whatever it takes to keep you from the fight.”

  My hand crept to the back of my neck and squeezed. Sure, I believed that I’d been unconscious for three days. But I didn’t feel like I’d been near death. Still, I recognized the steel in her voice—if I wanted to fight for Stormshard while Falla was part of the organization, I needed to solve this problem.

  “I don’t even know why I lost consciousness,” I said. “Makes it difficult to find a solution.”

  “That, at least, is something I can answer, I think. Though you’re in control of the other’s aura, the binding flows both ways. You feel their pain, among other things. No matter your constitution, you can’t bear to experience their mortal wounds. Instead, you lose consciousness and your control snaps. But the real danger lies in a person dying while under your control. If the death were swift enough, I don’t think you’d black out from pain. I think you’d follow your victim across the veil. Or maybe just part of your aura would, which might actually be worse.”

  “So how do I keep it from happening?”

  “I have some ideas on that, but the day is wasting. Are you strong enough to march?” She gestured toward the trail, and I noticed the rear guard had reined up to wait for us.

  My head spun when I stood. Though I didn’t feel like I’d recently escaped death, I certainly wasn’t at my strongest.

  “Do you think there’s a chance I could—”

  “Ride?” She snorted. “I planned to see how far you’d stagger before admitting you needed it.” She nodded at one of the guardsmen who promptly dismounted. “Maybe you’re slightly smarter than I’d judged. Mount up. The healers forced you to swallow food and drink while you drifted, but it was hardly enough. You’ll spend the rest of the day riding and eating to recover your strength.”

  ***

  At camp that evening, I sat in a nook between age-smoothed boulders and gnawed on a strip of dried meat. My bedroll cushioned the rocky ground beneath me while the buzz of the camp filled my ears. My thoughts kept returning to the silvery beings summoned by the wardstones. The power they wielded against the corruption inside the Spawn was tremendous. If only it were so easy to banish the evil in the hearts of men. I sighed and took a swig from my waterskin then glanced up to see Falla approaching. A group of sullen Sharders and Prov recruits trailed behind her.

  “Evening, Savra,” she said. “My friends here made the mistake of indulging too deeply from our wine stocks. We can’t have that when we’re so close to the grasslands.”

  “Evening,” I said, unsure how to respond. Why was she telling me this?

  “So, to make amends, they’ve volunteered to help in your training.”

  I scanned the faces of the delinquents, noticing a stark difference between the Prov “volunteers” and the Sharders. Judging by their glowers, the veteran rebels had a notion of what aid they’d be lending, while the wide-eyed newcomers were ignorant. I suppressed a groan. When Falla had spoken of honing my abilities, I’d forgotten I’d need subjects upon which I could practice my compulsion.

  I met her eyes. “Falla, I—” I grimaced. “It’s not something I like to do.”

  Bending and straightening the arm she’d broken in the earthquake, she shrugged. “These exercises aren’t particularly pleasant either. But if I don’t build my strength before the battle ahead, I might as well admit I’m going to lose. And make no mistake. Losing means dying.”

  I scanned the gathered crowd of so-called volunteers, my aura-sight flaring to life. The Provs shifted on their feet, their spirits confused. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see the effects of the alcohol in their auras—I’d hoped the drink had numbed them. As for the Sharders, resentment painted their auras a smoldering red.

  My mind rebelled at the thought of compelling these people. But Falla was right. By taking control of the imperial soldiers, I could save Stormsharder lives. Maybe even the lives of these so-called volunteers.

  With a deep breath, I stood from my comfortable seat amongst the boulders. “All right,” I said. “I suppose we should get on with it. What do you suggest?”

  “Let’s make sure we understand your limits. If we solve the problem of your vulnerability, it will be advantageous to know them, don’t you agree? How many auras can you hold?”

  During the night of Kostan’s Ascension, I’d taken hold of three guards at once and compelled them to serve my will. Beyond that, I had no idea how many auras I could command. Better to find out now than in the middle of a battle.

  “I’m terribly sorry about this,” I said to the volunteers, swallowing the sickness rising in my throat.

  Exhaling, I shot a spear of aura into the nearest Prov. She gasped as my lance pierced her soul, but when I exploded the spear into thousands of splinters that lodged deep in her aura, her voice cut off. The life vanished from her gaze while her arms went limp at her sides. At my command, she marched across the jumble of grasses and age-rounded stones to stand alone.

  I clenched my jaw as she battered at my control and lanced the second volunteer. He, too, stepped across the meadow to join the first woman.

  One by one, I bound the rebels to my mind. As their number grew, first to five, then ten, then surpassing a dozen, my aura began to feel stretched. I envisioned myself as not just one body, but as many. Focusing my awareness on one of my thralls at a time, I found I could control their movements with incredible detail, but when attempting to command all twelve at once, cold sweat sprang from my pores, and my limbs began to shake.

  “Amazing,” Falla whispered as I forced all of them to march forward three paces then sidestep. From behind me, footsteps crunched. I turned to see Sirez draw a surprised halt. Behind her, the three remaining volunteers—all Provs—stood wide-eyed. I didn’t blame them, but at the same time, I pitied them in their ignorance. Though nervous at the sight of their brethren’s dull-eyed obedience, they had no idea of the real terror they’d feel if I took control.

  “Can you control the rest?” Sirez asked.

  “Not very well,” I managed, my tongue thick in my mouth. “It’s… it’s a strain.”

  “Try,” she commanded.

  I gagged as I sent two more spears into the waiting volunteers. My aura stretched painfully, thinning until I felt near to panic. Still, I focused on the two newcomers and sent a mental request for them to join the others. H
altingly, they obeyed.

  That’s all I can do,” I croaked. “Too dangerous otherwise.”

  “Now,” Falla said suddenly, “Release.” As she spoke, she sprang at my thralls. On instinct, I tapped into the closest woman’s aura, sensing the reflex her body wished to follow. Her arm raised to block Falla’s kick just in time, but Falla wasn’t stopped so easily. Drawing a blade, she snapped it to the woman’s throat. A line of blood formed on the Sharder’s neck.

  “Release!” Falla growled.

  Cold fear gripped my spine as I tried to unwind my aura from the woman’s. When I’d released the gate guards and later, Joran, I’d focused on the splinters of my aura, pulled them together, and retracted the lance. Otherwise, I felt the fragile tendrils would break, shattering and leaving fragments of my soul behind.

  “I can’t,” I squeaked through gritted teeth. “Not like this.”

  Releasing the woman, Falla sighed. “One at a time, then. It’s no use controlling twenty enemies if the first one slain will break your mind.”

  Shaking, I closed my eyes again and focused on my aura. One by one, I slid my control away from the volunteers. As each regained control, they fixed me with a look of pure hatred.

  When Sirez noticed, she stalked over and slapped a rebel across the face. “You will remove those glares from your faces,” Sirez said. “You will turn to Savra, and you will thank her for learning the techniques that may save your lives in the days to come. And you will stay here and serve as assistants in her training until she is too exhausted to continue.”

  The man who had been slapped nearly vibrated with rage, but after a moment, he managed to collect himself.

  “As you command,” he said.

  “Let’s start with him,” Falla said. “Now, take control.”

  ***

  I sat, hugging my knees, unable to cry but wishing I could. The sun had set hours ago, and a half moon peeked over the forested mountain ridge opposite our encampment.

  My soul hurt. Again and again, Falla had forced me to control and release the Sharders. With their auras laid bare before me, their hatred had been as naked as if it were written on their faces or spoken aloud. No matter what Sirez commanded, she couldn’t control their emotions.

  And the truth was, I couldn’t blame them.

  When I’d finally lost the ability to take control, knees buckling as I failed to form my aura into a spear, Falla had dismissed the Sharders with a nod. The Prov volunteers had been sent away hours before; no sense in losing allies we’d so recently gained. When the final Sharder had staggered away, I’d expected Falla to praise me for my efforts. I’d worked so hard, and it had hurt so much.

  But she’d simply pressed her lips together and glanced southward. Soon, the road would leave the cover of the foothills for the wide expanse of the plateau. Falla was thinking of the impending battle. I’d be no help to Stormshard unless I made more progress; despite the evening’s efforts, I hadn’t been able to release control fast enough.

  “Get some rest,” she’d said. “We’ll likely make camp one more time. You improved tonight. We’ll just hope tomorrow’s training will get you where you need to be.”

  With that, she’d stalked toward the nearest fire, leaving me to collapse onto my bedroll. But I couldn’t sleep. Not after what I’d done. So I’d pulled my cloak over my shoulders and stumbled past the sentries, making the excuse that I needed to find some grass to water.

  I hadn’t wanted anyone to hear me cry. As it turned out, my soul was too wrung out even for that.

  Heart empty, I dropped my forehead to my knees. Falla was right to push me. But where she thought I still had the potential to learn, I knew I would fail. Death could happen so fast. And no matter the strength of my control, I simply couldn’t gather the shards of my aura fast enough to retreat when the killing blow fell. But sitting out here feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help either. The least I could do was keep trying to sleep so that I could train again tomorrow.

  With a heavy sigh, I planted my hands on the night-cool grasses and got ready to stand.

  The footsteps behind me were just a whisper. Whoever approached had hidden their presence well. By the rustling sounds, I guessed they were no more than five paces away.

  Pulse slamming in my veins, I did my best to pretend I hadn’t heard them. This late at night and beyond the sentry perimeter, the person—people?—behind me surely had nothing good in mind. As if weary with the need to sleep, I yawned while I rose.

  When the first running footstep vibrated the earth, I sprang.

  Or rather, I tried to spring. Exhausted by my efforts in training, my body couldn’t obey the command. I managed a single footstep before the world spun. I staggered, narrowly catching my balance before falling on my face.

  Rough hands grabbed me. A callused palm clamped over my mouth, sealing in my scream. As I kicked, weakly, I forced my aura-sight forward. It felt like dragging my soul through a field of broken glass. But even as auras bloomed in the encampment, tranquil in their sleep, I sensed nothing nearby.

  I stiffened when Joran breathed in my ear. “I told you to be careful, didn’t I? But here you are with no one to help you.”

  Growling, another figure moved forward. The other man was as invisible to my aura-sight as Joran.

  Finally, a tear spilled down my cheek. I had no illusions what would happen to me next.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kostan

  Emperor's chambers, Steelhold

  “I’VE LOCATED STORMSHARD, your eminence.” The Snitchlord didn’t bother to knock before entering my private chambers. I knew I should punish him, but instead, I simply touched Lyrille on the hand to let her know I was moving away. She turned her head to track my movements, a habit from her years as an ordinary, sighted girl no doubt.

  “You may speak freely in front of my guest,” I said.

  I hated the knowing look that came over the Snitchlord’s face. His lip curled in a manner nothing short of lecherous. Emperors were expected, or at least allowed, to choose a wife-consort. The woman would share the ruler’s bed and perhaps even provide a small measure of companionship. But since heirs to the throne came not from the Emperor and spouse, but rather from the calculations of the astrologers, little attention was paid to whether an Emperor sired a bastard or two upon the serving staff. I had no such intentions with Lyrille, of course. I merely enjoyed her company, and occasionally, her advice.

  I took a deep breath to keep from defending Lyrille’s honor. She was perfectly capable of defending herself. She might even see my attempts as condescension.

  The Snitchlord seemed to enjoy the suspense as he crossed the room and ladled a measure of water into a stone cup supplied for my needs. Again, I paid the insult no mind. Instead, I crossed to the window and looked out over Steelhold’s grounds. It was mid-afternoon, and as always, the servants were busy with their tasks. The alleys and courtyards brimmed with hurrying figures. Steelhold hardly needed such a large staff, but one of my first acts after Ascension had been to request as many laundresses, cobblers, tailors, and barbers as could be accommodated within our servants’ quarters. I could do little for the Provs still down in Jaliss, but at least those sheltering inside Steelhold’s walls were spared the hunger and cold that plagued those living in the shadow of the spire.

  “You show a surprising lack of interest, given the urgency of your request,” the Snitchlord said, a faint hint of pique in his voice.

  I turned, pleased despite myself for finally landing a small blow against his pride. “I was merely waiting for you to wet your throat before reporting. I’m sure you taxed yourself in your rush to bring me the information.”

  His smile was entirely insincere. “Of course. If I may?” he asked, gesturing to one of my richly upholstered chairs.

  “Go ahead,” I said. I chose not to sit.

  After he settled into the embrace of the chair, he adjusted the ever-present wad of shre
dded leaves beneath his lip. “There are two items of interest. First, I’ve discovered the nest where your agitators are hiding. It’s in Pascar. That’s a middling settlement not far—”

  “I’m aware of its location,” I said, fighting sudden vertigo. In my vision, I’d battled the Provs in a small town located about the same distance from Jaliss as Pascar. I remembered well how I’d stood on a low hill in the town’s center, watching in horror as Steelhold toppled onto Jaliss and crushed everyone within.

  “It’s a rather small number of rebels. I haven’t determined whether they’re under the guidance of a larger arm of the renegade organization. But if you were to have your soldiers surround the bakery they’ve chosen as a hideout, you could likely eliminate their influence with scant danger to your forces. There are around ten Atal merchant families living in the settlement. You could have them evacuate in case the raid were to turn violent.”

  “What about innocent Prov citizens? How far is this bakery from the edge of the town?” If there were truly just a few agitators, I certainly didn’t want to march into the town with a large force. That would only give the Provs more reasons to call me a tyrant.

  The Snitchlord made a small moue with his mouth. “Unfortunately, it’s central to the settlement. Any action will probably bring out renegade sympathizers.”

  “Does that mean the townsfolk are associated with Stormshard, too?”

  He shook his head, gracing me with an expression that seemed to ask whether I was really that stupid. “Law-abiding Provs across the Empire would defend Stormshard if asked to. They may not be official members of the organization—the distinction between a rebel and a Prov is more a matter of actions than loyalties. But make no mistake: Provs are like trapped badgers right now. If you poke them, they’ll fight back.”

  “So why did you claim that the danger to my forces would be minimal?”

  He shrugged, taking the opportunity to examine Lyrille. “She’s an attractive one despite the mask,” he commented.