Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  “Hey,” one of the two remaining men called, “shouldn’t we wake him or something?” He jabbed his thumb in Joran’s direction.

  Warrell shook his head. “Let him sleep off some of that wine. Maybe he’ll be close to sober by the time we’re ready to move.”

  “How long?” the thug asked.

  “Midday, no later. If I’m not back with our attack force by then, try to secure the upper exit.”

  With his last words, Warrell peered at the cavern's back wall where the dark fissure opened in the cliff. I stiffened—he’d spoken about a secret entrance into Steelhold. Did the crack in the wall lead there? My sudden motion pushed my wrists harder against the sharp edge of rock. With a faint tearing sound, one of the loops of cord binding my hands parted, and the rope immediately loosened. I started to topple backward and sucked in a breath as I pawed at the jumbled rocks behind me. My heart thudded. Surely, one of Joran’s men had heard the tearing sound or the subsequent clatter.

  My hand caught on a stone which rocked slightly. I coughed, hoping to cover the sound. Moments later, another loud snore reverberated off the stone walls.

  “Storms,” one of the thugs muttered. “I hope he rolls over soon.”

  A shaky breath left my lungs when the other men nodded.

  With a wave of his fingers, Warrell stepped into stark daylight. Prast’s lumbering form followed. Following their exit, Joran sucked in another immense snore. One of the remaining thugs picked up a small stone and prepared to throw it at the big man, but his companion laid a hand on his arm.

  “Warrell’s right. Let him rest.”

  The first man dropped to a seat and pressed his head against the overhanging rock slab. “Almost makes me wish I’d stayed in Guralan.”

  “It’s not like logging camps are quiet.”

  “True,” the first man said, sniffing his armpits. “But at least there’s time to jump in the river every few days. Weeks marching around those storms-cursed mountains, fighting rotted monsters with pig’s heads and the bodies of wolves, and now I have to sit here in my own stink. I hope they have scented baths up there in Steelhold.”

  Again, he glanced at the fissure behind me. I was careful not to follow his gaze. Instead, I opened and closed my fingers, working blood back into them. Could I escape the men if I ran for that crack in the wall? What if it was just a shallow break in the cliff face? Escaping through the entrance to the cavern was a safer choice, but two men were between me and the gap. Three, counting Joran.

  I glanced at the pile of supplies, an assortment of traveling gear and cooking equipment. Aside from a heavy skillet, I couldn’t spot anything that would serve as a weapon.

  If you’re ever in a fight, figure out a way to flee. My father’s words came back to me. You’re at too much of a disadvantage. Put distance between you and your attacker so you can use your spiritism.

  Since I didn’t have a way to put distance between the men and me, and my spiritism was negated by the collar, I needed another plan. As I scanned the cavern, my gaze landed on the belt knife Joran kept sheathed at his side. True, I couldn’t fight either of the thugs, but in his current state, Joran was an easy target.

  Carefully, I brushed the loops of rope that had fallen from my wrists into a crevice between stones. I didn’t want them to get looped around me when I sprang. As I shifted my weight to get my feet beneath me, one of Joran’s men looked over and gestured at me with his chin.

  “Say Warrell doesn’t come back on time and we head out to secure access to Steelhold,” he said. “What do we do with her?”

  The other man stared at me for a moment, sucking his teeth. “Evrain’s whelp. Doesn’t look much like him, does she? Too pretty. Anyway, we can’t leave her, and she’d just slow us down. Joran might have wanted to keep her around, but I don’t see much reason for it.”

  When he finished speaking, he cast me a cruel grin before turning his attention to the cavern’s exit. I sprang and landed beside Joran, sending rocks clattering. My hand fell on the belt knife and I yanked it free. The brutes at the door leaped to their feet.

  Joran’s eyelids fluttered when I pressed the blade against his throat.

  “Huh?” he said, coming groggily awake.

  “Come closer, and I slit his throat.” It was a gamble because I didn’t know how loyal the men were. My heart climbed into my throat as I waited for their reaction.

  The closer of the two laughed. “And what if you do?” he asked. At that, Joran turned his head, causing the blade to bite into his skin and raise a line of red. He clenched a fist, ready to strike at me.

  “Get her off me, you idiots,” he growled.

  “I will kill you if I must,” I said, pushing harder on the knife. He let out a strangled cry. “Now, tell your men to back off.”

  He blinked, still clearing the drink’s haze. I changed the angle of the blade to bite harder into his skin.

  Gagging, he waved the thugs back.

  Crouching over the man with his life in my hands, I felt a strange sort of power. It was different than when I’d controlled someone through their aura. His pulse throbbed beneath my knuckles. Seeing the man helpless before me, I remembered the look on my father’s face when he’d given up his place on the conclave. Joran deserved to be punished for that. But as much as I hated the man, I didn’t want to kill him. It wasn’t in my nature. Besides, I wanted him to regret his actions. Dead men had no regrets.

  “Where’s the key?” I asked.

  “Key?”

  “You know what I mean,” I said, sliding the knife and causing more blood to well. “The key to my collar.”

  “Do you think I’m a fool?” Despite his nap and the rude awakening, his words were still slurred and his motions slow.

  “To be honest, yes. But I’ve thought that for a while. Give me the key, and I’ll let you live,” I said. While I spoke, I scanned his body. I rotated my knife hand to check his neck; Sirez had worn the key on a silk cord. Joran’s neck was bare. I ran my eyes over the pockets on his vest and trousers. If I were to guess, Joran would want the key on his person rather than leaving it hidden in a backpack. I started patting down the pockets.

  I knew I was close when his bloodshot eyes widened. He’d reacted when my hand neared a small pouch fastened to his belt.

  Across the cave, one of the thugs sprang with a grunt.

  I didn’t have time to think, only act. Following his henchman’s movement, Joran grabbed for the dagger. His hand never reached his neck. As I snatched the small belt pouch, yanking with all my might to rip the stitching holding it to his belt, I pressed hard on the knife. The cartilage in his windpipe resisted then gave way with a pop. It reminded me of cutting through the tough skin of a cucumber to feel the blade sink through the softer flesh beneath. Joran’s breath gurgled through the wound in his throat, and a spray of arterial blood soaked my arm. I held down vomit as I backpedaled, my heel catching a stone that sent me tumbling. At the sight of their Shard leader thrashing, lifeblood pulsing from his throat, the thugs froze.

  It wouldn’t last. Scrambling with the pouch clutched tight in my fist, I lunged for the crevice in the back wall. When darkness closed around me, I pawed at the pouch’s drawstring and shoved my hand inside. My fingers closed on the coolness of black iron as I stumbled forward, blind. Behind, the men roared in anger. Metal clattered, and an angry shout punctured the air as the faint glow from the chamber was abruptly snuffed. They must have kicked over the lantern.

  I breathed as quietly as I could and continued forward, probing with my toes before placing my feet. Inside the confines of the passage, the floor smoothed. The rubble outside had fallen from the cliffs over the period of centuries, but few stones had tumbled from the walls of this fissure. I fluttered my fingers over the collar until I found the keyhole, and the key clicked against the opening as I shoved it inside. I nearly fumbled the small piece of metal as I twisted it, freeing the collar’s clasp. As the collar ca
me free, I coughed in relief and threw the infernal thing to the ground.

  My aura-sight flared to life as I whirled to face my pursuers. Though the passage was pitch black, their auras shone like beacons, red with rage. Without hesitation, I formed aura-lances and impaled their spirits, exploding my control into their souls. Immediately, their pursuit ceased while their imprisoned spirits battered at my confining aura.

  With a cry of relief, I sank to my knees. Thank the skies.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Kostan

  Pascar

  HOW HAD THIS happened? The people living in Pascar, understood the danger of the stream water. How could they all have sickened? Standing in the midst of the fight, I felt nearly paralyzed by my lack of understanding.

  When the crazed townsfolk had first attacked, the rearguard of protectors had formed a wedge, shields up, with spears bristling through the gaps. Marching in time to the cries of the Prime Protector and the generals she commanded, my army now advanced, pressing the ravaging citizens backward. I could scarcely stand to watch.

  Five thousand people lived in Pascar, and it seemed that every one of them had succumbed. The swath of land between the town’s perimeter and our army boiled with shrieking madmen and women. They clutched makeshift weapons—kitchen knives, sticks, and pitchforks. Their faces were smeared with dirt. I didn’t know why, and I supposed it didn’t matter. Slowly, the army was gaining control of the battle and pushing the townspeople back. Two or three protectors had fallen early, and the supply mules lay dead behind us, blood still leaking from their wounds as flies gathered. The boys who’d so recently brought water to thirsty soldiers had escaped unscathed, or so it appeared. But I couldn’t shield my eyes from the bodies of the slain Provs, their blood-soaked tunics and ragged, rough-spun trousers.

  I shook my head. I’d seen this all before.

  At the edges of the battle, the aurum mages whirled and struck, nearly invisible as they stung and darted away, leaving victims toppling in their wakes.

  I ached to call a halt to the fighting, but how could I? The crazed mob, driven mad by forces far more powerful than any one of us, would never cease. Only death could bring them peace.

  When the roar of battle ebbed so that I could attract the Prime's attention, I shouted in her ear. “Stormshard will hit us from the flank once we cross into the town.

  She looked at me, her true emotions showing. I was stating the obvious, her eyes said.

  I shook my head. “Not the bakery rebels,” I yelled. “The main force. They’ll lead with their horses.”

  “Why do you say that?” she shouted.

  “The Bracer.”

  Face abruptly grim, the Prime caught hold of one of her generals and passed along the word. “Beware a strike from the northern flank.”

  The man nodded acknowledgment then returned to directing the battle.

  Slowly, steadily, we advance through the melee. Now and again, a shrieking farmer or hammer-wielding carpenter managed to break through the ranks. Each time, a dozen soldiers formed a shield around me. I felt like a child standing behind the wall of guards, blade drawn with no one to fight.

  The tenor of the battle changed when we entered the town, the wood walls of the humble structures throwing back the clash of steel and groans of death. Just as I’d envisioned for weeks, the low rise in the center of town provided the best defense. The generals and protectors aimed for it. My heart trailed behind as I trudged to the center of the mound, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers and thousands of Provs fighting and dying. Already, at least half of the maddened Provs lay lifeless on the earthen streets. The battle would end quickly if not for the charge I knew was coming. When I heard the drumming of hooves on the grasslands, I didn’t look toward the thundering advance of Stormshard’s ragged cavalry, but rather toward Steelhold. A symbol of the Empire, it soared over Jaliss, proud and defiant. I hoped Parveld had gotten Lyrille to safety.

  In my vision, there’d been a gap between the Stormshard attack and the handshake that somehow brought Steelhold toppling onto the city. How would it happen? Was there anything I could do to defeat fate’s plan?

  Shouts went up from the ranks of soldiers as first the dust cloud, and then the snorting wall of horses slammed into the fray. Protectors fell beneath spiked cudgels and steel maces and razor-sharp short swords. A crazed Prov squealed with glee at the chaos and jumped at a horse’s neck, sinking teeth into sweat-slicked fur. The Stormsharder shouted in sudden confusion, and the first of the rebels fell from his horse to be swallowed by the chaos of ravaging Prov and stolid protector.

  I drew my sword.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Savra

  A passage far below Steelhold

  I COMMANDED ONE thug to return to the cavern and search the chamber for the overturned lantern. The other I brought toward me. As unpleasant as the training had been on the night of my abduction, it had hardened me to the revulsion I felt over taking control of these men. They struggled against my control, but unlike previous times, I was able to build a shell around my emotions. I considered them dispassionately.

  As dispassionate as I’d felt when I cut Joran’s throat? I shuddered at the reminder. Had I really grown so callous?

  Or perhaps you’ve only done what you needed to survive, Lilik said into my mind.

  Wait. You can read thoughts now?

  It doesn’t take much to imagine what you must be feeling, Lilik said gently. I remember the hours and days after I first killed someone.

  As do I, Raav added.

  You were brave, Savra.

  I leaned against the corridor wall. Cool air soaked into my skin and reached for my heart.

  I don’t feel brave, I said. I feel sticky with a dead man’s blood. I feel terrified of Warrell’s plan. I feel betrayed by Kostan. I feel guilty for what I did to my father. I feel lost in this dark tunnel.

  Yet you’re still moving forward, Lilik said.

  I swallowed. Well, technically, I’m waiting for a lantern.

  Lilik laughed. Okay, technically you’re not moving forward. But I assume you intend to continue in a moment.

  Does it get easier? I asked.

  Killing?

  Yeah.

  I suppose it does. A little, Lilik said. But not that much easier.

  Good, I said. I don’t want it to be easy.

  It’s important to learn how to isolate yourself from your emotions. You will get better at that, with time, she said. But when you follow that path, always remember how to find your way back.

  I nodded. Thanks, Lilik, I said.

  In response, she sent a tendril of comfort across our bond.

  Back in the cavern, the thug had finally managed to locate the lantern. Digging through the rucksacks, he came up with another flint and managed to strike sparks onto the wick. Through the link formed by my aura, I noticed that the lantern was disconcertingly light; it seemed most of the oil had spilled when it had overturned. But I didn’t recall seeing another flask of oil among our supplies.

  I issued another command, compelling him to hurry back to me.

  The thug who’d been feeling his way forward in the dark was finally able to speed up when his friend caught up with the light. Moments later, they stood before me, the lantern flickering dimly in the passage. Above us, the fissure pinched off to a hairline crack. Ahead, the corridor twisted, cutting off our sight.

  “Does this lead to Steelhold?” I asked, at the same time commanding one of the men, the burlier of the pair, to answer. I hadn’t tried such a technique before, but it seemed to work. He opened his gap-toothed mouth and grunted assent.

  I pressed myself against the wall and forced the men to go ahead of me. If Kostan knew about this passage and had left protectors to guard it, Joran’s thugs would be the first to discover them.

  I expected the path to rise—after all, Steelhold perched thousands of feet above the bottom of the chasm. But for at
least three hundred paces, the corridor zig-zagged into the deepest heart of the spire. I kept my aura-sight lingering in my awareness, partly to keep watch on my bond with the thugs, and partly because it might allow me to spot attackers before they saw us. It took me a while to notice the dull glow growing in my awareness.

  “Do you see that?” I asked, issuing the same command that they must obey and answer my question.

  “See what?” the smaller of the thugs, the lantern-bearer, asked.

  “The glow.”

  “Can’t see anything but the lantern.”

  Confused, I drew my brows together. “Shutter the lantern for a moment.”

  Pinching the brass tab, the man slid the shade over its light. The tunnel turned inky. Yet the smoldering light still burned in my vision.

  I chewed my lip and dismissed my aura-sight, leaving just the barest thread of awareness monitoring my control of the men.

  The light vanished.

  Do you sense anything? I asked Lilik.

  Only vaguely, she responded. It’s as if the spire has a spark.

  Like Parveld, Lilik called auras “sparks.” But that didn’t explain how the spire could have a soul.

  Returning my aura-sight to a low smolder, I compelled the man to reopen the lantern, and we advanced. Regardless of what I did or didn’t see with my aura-sight, the oil in the lantern wouldn’t last forever. We needed to find our way into Steelhold before we lost our light.

  After another hundred paces of winding corridor, a cavern opened ahead of us. Unlike the fissure we’d been following, this chamber seemed crafted, its walls hewn smooth. The lantern scarcely breached the darkness, and the far end was lost in shadow. To our left, a staircase climbed a gently curving wall. At the sight, the base of my spine tingled. I’d never been great with heights, and the stairway had no railing.

  Before we climbed, I wanted to understand the extents of the chamber. Grabbing the lantern, I left one of my new guards inside the fissure in case Warrell made a sudden appearance. The other followed on my heels. With the lantern outstretched, I shuffled across the empty space. Rough granite scuffed at the soles of my shoes until suddenly, the surface beneath my feet was smooth as glass. I stopped short and looked down. Beneath me, polished stone rose to a low dome in what seemed to be the center of the room.