Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  “Lyrille, you may leave,” I said. “You need not endure this treatment.”

  “Fear not,” she said. “I’ve heard much worse. Both before and after I was blinded.”

  “As you wish,” I said before turning back to the Snitchlord. “I believe I asked you a question.”

  “It should be obvious, I would think,” he returned. “Armed protectors hardly need fear a contingent of angry Provs. The townsfolk will be unarmored, untrained in combat. It’s just the Sharders you need to be concerned with.”

  I made a slow fist with my hand then uncurled it. This man might be my best hope for finding Stormshard, but I hated him all the same.

  “Please provide exact information on the bakery’s location to the Prime Protector. Include known details on the rebels and any information on lookouts they may have stationed around the town. She and I will determine tactics without your… advice.”

  The man had the gall to sneer. I took a deep breath.

  “And the other information you’ve gathered?”

  “Yes, well,” he said. “That. Unfortunately, it seems that while my attention was focused elsewhere—that was your doing, as you’ll recall—Stormshard has built themselves quite an army. In an interesting turn of events, they’re marching to attack.”

  “What? How soon?” My thoughts whirled to consider my forces. Readily available, I had the protectors assigned to Jaliss and Steelhold plus the nearby garrisons. I assumed the aurums were still at my disposal. Subtracting the small force I’d need to leave to defend Steelhold’s walls, I calculated around a thousand fighters at my command today. Given a week, I might gather ten times that number.

  A look of false dismay spread over the man’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t have great news in that regard. You see, by the last report, the Stormshard army was two days away.”

  I whistled. Storms. That was close. But I could work with it. I seriously doubted Stormshard had gathered more than a few thousand fighters. Moreover, many of those people had likely never seen a real battle. Combining my protectors and aurum mages, I could easily win this.

  “Which direction are they coming from?”

  “The mountains, your eminence. They’ll exit near the Westpass Cut. Not far from Pascar and the nest of agitators, in fact. But I wasn’t quite finished explaining the situation. You see, the last report had the army two days away. But the messenger who brought this news had to travel that distance to carry word to us. She was mounted, of course, and was therefore much fleeter than an army weighed down with supplies and foot soldiers. Nonetheless, I’d estimate you have less than a day before they spill out of the mountains like the storm they claim to be.”

  His words struck like a sudden gale. So soon. “And you waited until the end of our audience to share this,” I said, fists clenched. Why had he even bothered with the information on Pascar? I certainly wasn’t going to worry about a handful of agitators while an army marched on the city.

  The man shrugged. “How was I to know which information would most interest your eminence? As you suggested just moments ago, perhaps I don’t have a head for tactics.”

  Controlling my temper, I whirled to Lyrille.

  “Please see the Master of Information from my chambers. If he gives you difficulty, call for the protectors. I will instruct them to heed your cry.”

  “Of course, your eminence.”

  “And Lyrille?” I said, remembering my vision of Steelhold toppling. Despite my intent to ignore the situation in Pascar for now, the town’s resemblance to the settlement in my vision concerned me deeply. I felt that events were moving beneath the surface of what I perceived.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll be sending a friend to your chambers shortly. His name is Parveld, and I plan to escort you away from Steelhold. In the coming days, I believe you’ll be safer taking shelter elsewhere.”

  “As my liege desires,” she said.

  I’ll give warnings to Vaness and Azar as well, asking them to leave the Hold. It was the best I could do. Spinning on my heels, I ran for my door and the corridor beyond.

  ***

  “The army is the bigger threat,” the Prime Protector said. “We can deal with the agitators later.”

  “I agree. It sounds as if Stormshard’s forces could be out of the mountains as soon as tomorrow morning. The Snitchlord was baiting me with the other information, I believe. Though I am concerned about one thing: Pascar is near Westpass Cut. The Provs in the town may witness our battle. If nothing else, we must make sure we fight with honor. No protector will strike someone who surrenders.” Again the Bracer’s vision of a fight within the town echoed in my thoughts. Was it inevitable? And if so, was Steelhold doomed to fall?

  The Prime stalked toward the far side of her office, twirling her dagger as she considered. “A worthy consideration. Perhaps we should also send a few argent mages into Pascar. If the agitators leave the bakery and try to rile the population, the argents could strike the rebels with a quiet mental assault.”

  I winced as I remembered the agony Argentmaster Yevinish had inflicted on my mind while interrogating me on behalf of the Ministry.

  “A wise plan as long as the argents restrict their attacks to the agitators,” I said.

  As the Prime turned to pace the other direction, a sharp rapping came at the door.

  “Prime,” a young protector said when the leader opened the door, “we’ve finally tracked down the source of the toxin.”

  I snapped to attention. With everything I’d just learned from the Snitchlord, I’d nearly forgotten about the poisoned arrows. I hurried across the room. “Where?”

  “Pascar, your eminence,” she said, averting her eyes as was customary when a protector spoke to the Emperor. “It’s a town near—”

  “I’m aware of its location. Thank you, protector.” My head swam, and I steadied myself with a hand against the door jamb. Pascar, again. The Bracer’s vision swelled at the edge of my awareness. I could almost smell the blood soaking into the earthen streets.

  “Go on, protector,” the Prime prompted. “How did you receive the information?”

  “An investigator from the Western Garrison heard the story. After a recent quake, the stream that runs near the town became tainted. A few sheep sickened and died shortly after the shake, but few noticed the loss. Around twenty days ago, a number of people grew ill and eventually went mad. They tracked the problem to the stream because most of the sickened were the laundresses who scrubbed clothing in its water, earning raw knuckles that allowed the poison into their blood.”

  “This is good news, your eminence.” The Prime Protector paced toward her desk. “When we eliminate the agitators, we’ll also put a stop to the threat of poison entering Jaliss. After we take care of Stormshard, we can go to Pascar in force. We can even explain it as a necessary measure to ensure the safety of the townsfolk—we’ll bring casks of fresh water and aurum healers to examine any who have been sickened.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I tell her I’d foreseen the battle for Pascar and that it ended in Steelhold’s destruction? If I marched an army into the town, I’d be fulfilling the prophecy.

  “There’s more, Prime,” the protector in the door said.

  “Oh?” The Prime said, turning with brows raised.

  “We don’t know the full extents of the plan, but soldiers in the nearby garrison saw barrels of stream water being loaded onto wagons. Some have already left the town, bound for Westpass Cut, while at least one load is on the road to Jaliss.”

  “Storms,” the Prime whispered. She turned to me. “If those wagons reach Stormshard, every fighter in their army will be able to kill with just a scratch of a blade.”

  “I’m guessing we wouldn’t fare well in that situation.”

  “With so little time to prepare, I don’t think we could possibly win. We must stop the town from aiding our enemies.”

  “I’m concerned about a marc
h on Pascar,” I said. “It’s—Through the Bracer of Sight, I’ve seen dire consequences resulting from such an act. What if we were to remain here and defend Steelhold from within its walls?”

  The Prime seemed to accept my words about the prophecy without argument, but she shook her head at the suggestion. “We’d be sacrificing every Atal in the city. We could allow some of them into the Hold, but we don’t have space for them all. We might withstand a Stormshard siege for a few weeks, but in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, the collapse of the Empire will continue. You’re right. It wouldn’t serve any purpose.”

  The Prime’s face was grim as she nodded.

  “How long before reinforcements could arrive? Could we allow the siege only while we wait?”

  “Possibly. But frankly, your eminence, hiding in the Hold will win you no hearts. Your people already think you’re weak.”

  I sighed. Indeed, I was a far cry from the strong core the Bracer’s visions commanded me to become. I couldn’t hide behind Steelhold’s gates. The Ministry had done that following Tovmeil’s assassination, and as a result, Lowtown had burned.

  Ice filled my spine as I straightened and met the Prime’s eyes. “Send your fastest squads ahead to intercept those wagons. Tonight. Even if we can’t stop the first loads of poison, we’ll blockade the roads to prevent the next ones from reaching their destinations.”

  “And then?” she asked.

  “We’ll form ranks before dawn and prepare to march for Westpass.”

  “So we’ll fight even if the toxin reaches Stormshard?” the Prime asked.

  “I would rather die in an attempt to save the Empire than cower while it crumbles beneath me.”

  I gritted my teeth at the other reality of the situation. It wasn’t just me who might die tomorrow. A thousand protectors would fight by my side.

  At the door, I caught the attention of a page. “Inform Argentmaster Yevinish that I must speak with him immediately. It regards the protectors’ oaths. I wish them to fight with me tomorrow, but I will not take slaves to their deaths.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sirez

  Sharder encampment in the Icethorn foothills

  WEARY AFTER ANOTHER day’s march, Sirez leaned back against the single, sturdy pole that held up her tent. Except it wasn’t just her tent anymore. With Stormshard now gathered at the very edge of the plateau, hidden from the wide expanse by just a few folds of the terrain, the canvas structure was now the command tent for the Stormshard army. Soon, the members of the conclave would filter in to line the walls, hunching to avoid the press of canvas against their backs.

  No doubt the discussions of strategy would go long into the night. Tomorrow might bring war.

  Sirez looked up when the canvas flap at the entrance shifted.

  “I’m sorry, Sirez,” the lead scout said as he pushed into her tent. “I haven’t found any sign of the girl. But I did discover that Joran went missing around the same time.”

  Of course. The scout’s words were like daggers slipped between Sirez’s ribs. This was her fault. She should never have believed that Joran would give up his vendetta against Savra. He’d always hated Stormshard’s practice of giving women equal say in the rebel group. But with Savra, it was worse. She was scarcely more than a red-haired girl, and she’d gained the loyalty of some of the most powerful Sharders.

  But there was something more than his dislike for women driving Joran’s new hatred—Sirez just hadn’t been able to figure it out. Joran’s usual anger was a dim ghost compared to the rage he’d exuded since the day he’d voted for Savra’s innocence.

  Joran had won that day by earning Evrain’s expulsion from Stormshard, yet for some reason, it had only made him more hateful. Now, it seemed he’d decided to take some sort of revenge.

  She blew a few stray hairs from her face. Savra’s loss was a major blow, and not just because of the promise Sirez had made to her father. Stormshard had just a few spiritists among their ranks, and all but Falla were skilled in the Body domain. A handful of those had aptitude in healing, which was useful but required them to work in complementary pairs of the Sensing and Control aspects. The Body fighters had increased endurance and combat reflexes, but the magic didn’t run very strongly in any of them. One man, Grenn, had the ability to weaken an opponent’s body. Compared to the others, his skill was a rare boon—whichever squad he fought with usually won. Still, the advantage was a bee sting compared to Savra’s battering ram.

  Falla’s abilities were closest to Savra’s, but only because they both operated in the Mind domain—or was Savra’s Essence? Falla’s explanation had been confusing. In any case, when Stormshard had been a clandestine organization, Falla’s mind reading had allowed her to dig up many useful secrets. But unless she could get close to the imperial commanders to pluck battle plans from their thoughts, she offered little more than another sword arm in the coming battle.

  But Savra… Sirez couldn’t stop thinking of how easily she’d made puppets of the guards at Steelhold’s Shadow Gate. Apparently, she’d done that without any prior training. How tremendous could Savra become with a proper teacher and a chance to practice?

  She shook her head. It was no use dreaming about that sort of ally when the girl was lost. “Keep trackers looking for her. If there’s any chance we can find her, it’s worth the effort.”

  Still standing at attention, the scout nodded.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Two things. First, one of the rangers roving behind our force spotted a large number of tracks crossing our trail. Unfortunately, given the mix of prints, he believes the trail was made by a large band of Riftspawn. He wasn’t eager to remain near, so he hurried back with the information.”

  Storms. As if things couldn’t get worse. Sirez pulled her knees close. “Messenger!” she called.

  Moments later, a low-level Sharder stuck her head into the tent.

  “Tell Megeald to double the rear sentries. And make sure everyone on watch has a wardstone in hand.” When the messenger vanished, Sirez returned her gaze to the scout. “What else?”

  He sighed. “More bad news, I’m afraid. We sent advance lookouts to get a vantage on the road between Jaliss and our exit onto the plateau. It seems Emperor Kostan may be expecting us.”

  “How so?”

  “About an hour before dusk, two small squads of protectors left Jaliss by the western road. Fully armed and armored, riding fast.”

  Sirez tapped her foot as she considered this. “Destination?”

  The man shook his head. “Too hard to tell once darkness fell.”

  “But the lookouts believe it’s a threat to our plans?”

  “It’s hard to say. But the squads could be riding for the outlying towns and garrisons, rallying forces. Or maybe they plan to take up positions where Westpass Cut exits the mountains. A preemptive pincer attack would harm our advance.”

  “Or it could be a coincidence.”

  The scout nodded. “That would be the best case.”

  Sirez sucked her teeth. Stormshard had known they’d meet resistance within the day. She’d hoped to enter battle on Sharder terms, but if necessary, they would adapt.

  “The conclave won’t enjoy hearing that we may have the Riftspawn at our back and the Emperor blocking exit from the mountains.” She smirked. “Care to stay and deliver the news yourself?”

  The scout quickly raised his palms and stepped toward the exit. “I’m sure they’d much rather hear it from you.”

  Sirez shooed him out of the tent and leaned her head back on the post. They were between the hammer and the anvil, it seemed. Yet… she started scuffing a heel back and forth in the dirt as she considered. Maybe there was a way to turn the situation to their advantage.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Kostan

  Central courtyard, Steelhold

  STANDING BESIDE THE Prime on a hastily erected dais
, I surveyed the ranks of protectors gathered in the predawn gloom. Around nine hundred in number, they represented the bulk of my army. Even if we stopped the poison from reaching Stormshard’s army, the men and women standing before me seemed an exceedingly small force to take into open battle. The aurum mages would help, of course, and the ranks would swell as we pulled fighters from Jaliss and the Western Garrison.

  Still, we would need more than those added reinforcements to win. Fortune would need to bless us today.

  And I was about to make fortune’s job more difficult.

  I nodded at Argentmaster Yevinish. The mage stood outside the Hall of Magic surrounded by more than a dozen high-ranking argents. I waited, pulse throbbing in my temples, for his response. This was a true test of his loyalty; the man had protested my request, calling it idiotic at one point. But I wasn’t going to back down. For all I knew, every soldier who marched out of Steelhold would die today, driven mad by Maelstrom corruption.

  I would not force them to risk that fate. The choice must be made of their own free will.

  Finally, Argentmaster Yevinish nodded, pinched-lipped. He leaned to the argent mage on his right and spoke in a low voice. The command passed through the argent ranks. Confusion showed in knit brows as the argents shifted. Finally, Argentmaster Yevinish spoke loudly, voice carrying over the square.

  “Your Emperor has made a request. I suggest you obey.”

  Quickly, the argent mages moved into the rows of protectors. With eyes closed and hands grasping the wrists where bracelets of Maelstrom-silver bound the protectors to follow me with unwavering loyalty, the argents released the soldiers from their magic-enforced vows. One by one, protectors coughed and staggered and looked about with confusion. A few fell to their knees, hands pressed against temples. Guttural cries peppered the air while tormented gazes turned to the sky.

  When all the soldiers were free from their enslavement, I nodded at a group of palace servants who moved among the men and women with waterskins. The argent mages continued to weave through the ranks, probing the fighters for signs of broken minds. According to Argentmaster Yevinish, many would be unrecoverable after so long under the Maelstrom-silver’s spell.