Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  I fell to my knees and laid a hand on the floor. It was cool, smooth.

  My brow furrowed. Could it be?

  I brought my aura-sight forward and gasped.

  Like the wardstones, the entire surface seemed to glow. The surface undulated just slightly, but the folds were smooth and polished, ripples that reflected the candlelight. I raised the lantern higher and finally noticed the banding in the stone. The lantern’s glow wasn’t strong enough to show colors, but I suspected the bands were deep red and vibrant purple just like the wardstones.

  This had to mean something. There had to be a reason that an agate the size of a house lay beneath Steelhold. The wardstones pushed back the corruption. Steelhold was the seat of the Empire, the center of the continent. When the mages had sealed the breach, had the stones been part of it? Was the seal somehow anchored here?

  And was there a strange white being dwelling inside this stone, too?

  I tugged a strand of hair that had escaped my braid. As soon as possible, I needed to talk to Parveld about this.

  I sat up straight. Of course. Parveld!

  I had to get word to Stormshard about Warrell’s plans and Kostan’s march. The town of Pascar had to be warned they were being used. And if that weren’t enough, I needed to get to Steelhold’s kitchen and stop the cook from serving a poisoned soup. Parveld could help me.

  Closing my eyes, I flung my awareness wide. Each time we’d spoken before, Parveld had contacted me. I didn’t know the trick of it. Nonetheless, I screamed into the vastness blanketed by my wide-flung spirit.

  Parveld!

  His voice boomed in my ear like the crash of a wave in a hollow cave. Thank the tides! Are you safe?

  I quickly drew my spirit closer, hoping to lower the volume of his voice. As safe as I can be right now. Listen, Parveld. You have to stop Emperor Kostan. He’s going to massacre a whole town. Get to Stormshard and help them intercept him.

  Why would Kostan massacre anyone?

  That’s the kind of man he is, I said.

  As I spoke, I hurried toward the stairs. With one guard ahead of me and one guard behind, I began the climb, my free hand trailing along the wall to give comfort with the drop yawning on the other side.

  Savra, I think you’re mistaken, he said. Kostan and I spent time together recently. We thought you were dead, and he was grief-stricken.

  Dead? Why would you think that?

  Because you vanished. Because you saved Kostan and ruined Stormshard’s plan. We assumed they took their revenge.

  I shook my head as I climbed. It’s a long story, but no. I was with them, but they didn’t harm me. Parveld, Stormshard is close. They’re bringing an army out of the mountains. They plan to attack Steelhold, but if you tell them Kostan is going to attack a town—Pascar is the name—they can help you stop him.

  Oh tides, Savra. I know this will be hard to hear, but Stormshard intends nothing good for the Provs. For so long, Kostan wanted to speak to them and find peace. But they’ve been feeding the riots. Everything Kostan does to try to help the Provs, Stormshard erases by spreading rumors to fuel their hate.

  I blinked. Stormshard hasn’t been spreading rumors—wait! Of course! Joran’s Shard has been spreading discord the whole time we were in the mountains. Parveld, it wasn’t Stormshard doing those things. It was just one man and those dumb enough to follow him. Stormshard only wants to end the cruelty against Provs. They want freedom for the commoners.

  But Kostan wants the same thing. He’s been trying so hard. The willingness to meet Stormshard in battle is his last resort. And if he didn’t blame the rebels for your death, I’m not even sure he’d be able to countenance it.

  Step after step, I ascended the staircase. I thought about the families taken from the mountain villages. There was no doubt it’d been imperial protectors behind those abductions. Was it possible that there’d been a mistake that had led to their actions? I needed time to think about this, but right now, I didn’t have it. Whether Kostan was innocent or not, Warrell seemed certain that his plan would lead to Kostan slaughtering a town of Provs.

  Either way, we have to stop Kostan’s army, Parveld. Joran’s Shard has laid a trap for him in Pascar. They believe their plan will lure him into attacking the townspeople in Pascar.

  Stop it how?

  Where are you? Can you get to him?

  Parveld was quiet for a moment. Possibly, he said. Though it may not be necessary. Last I spoke with him, he planned to avoid Pascar on his way to meet Stormshard. In either case, he needs to know he’s being manipulated. But even if I reach him, it may be difficult to turn him aside. Kostan is a determined man.

  You’ve spent time with him lately, right? Maybe he’ll listen more readily than you think.

  I suppose I must try, he said. When he learns you’re alive, it may give him pause. But Savra, what are you doing? Where are you?

  I glanced to my right where the drop now ended in nothing but darkness. I couldn’t say how far we’d climbed, only that I was certain we still had a long way to go.

  Heading into Steelhold. I need to warn the cook. There’s tainted water in a stream—

  I know about it, Parveld cut in. If it’s gotten into Steelhold’s kitchens, you must stop it. I’ll try to reach Kostan.

  Keep in touch, I said.

  Parveld huffed. About that… whatever you’ve been doing to hide from me, would you kindly not repeat it for the rest of the day?

  I thought back to the black-iron collar, discarded on the corridor floor far below.

  I don’t think that will be a problem, I said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Parveld

  Common room, Graybranch Inn

  PARVELD’S FRIEND, FISHEL, had changed in the space of a few short weeks. The smile that was once a permanent resident on his face now came and went like a nervous guest. He wore his concerns on his shoulders where they pecked at him like blackbirds.

  Lyrille smiled when the innkeeper laid the tray between her seat and Parveld’s. Gently patting, she located the teacups and the small kettle and poured a serving for each of them.

  “You like Kostan, don’t you,” Parveld said to the innkeeper.

  “Despite what those ruffians who wander the Splits would have me think,” Fishel said as he pulled out a chair, “I was fond of the lad when he stayed here, and I don’t believe the tales they tell about him.”

  “And you?” Parveld asked, touching Lyrille on the forearm.

  “If his ideals don’t send him to an early grave, he’s the Empire’s best hope.”

  Parveld nodded. “I have something to ask you.” He’d been thinking about it since he’d spoken to Savra. For nearly two hundred years, he’d lived with the terrible knowledge of events to come. He’d also known, through some inexpressible insight, that his role in helping Savra must be limited. He could teach her and protect her, but he could never influence her choices without dooming the future. Fate was a difficult mistress.

  On the other hand, Kostan had never appeared in Parveld’s visions. Parveld had no knowledge of the young Emperor’s future, and as such, he wouldn’t upset fortune’s wheel by advising the man.

  He hoped, anyway.

  Lyrille turned her masked face to him. “Go ahead.”

  “He’s been targeted in a plot,” Parveld said. “I need to reach him with a warning.”

  “If you’re asking whether I’ll keep an eye on this young woman,” Fishel said, “she doesn’t appear to need my help. But she’ll have a room here as long as she needs.”

  “Unfortunately, Kostan believes Jaliss itself is in danger in the coming hours. I suggest you take horses, ride east, and wait out the day. But first… I need something more from you. It’s not a pleasant process. I would not ask it if time weren’t so short.”

  Fishel shrugged. “Very little is pleasant in the Splits of late.”

  “If you’re in such a hurry, perhaps you could j
ust get on with it,” Lyrille said as she sipped her tea.

  Parveld smirked. In many ways, the young woman reminded him of Lilik when she was young.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I apologize in advance for the discomfort.”

  Focusing his awareness on the aether, he turned his attention to their sparks. They glimmered bright, lighting the vastness as only pure hearts could. That didn’t make his task any easier. Nonetheless, Parveld stretched his awareness and took hold of the sparks, gathering their energy and binding it to his own.

  In the common room, both Fishel and Lyrille gasped in pain. Parveld had never felt it, but it had been described to him many times over the centuries. The sensation of giving from your spark to power a dawnweaving was like having your heart and lungs pulled through your throat. It was Parveld’s curse, to be given such ability at such cost to others.

  Around him, the potential of the dawnweaving grew. He felt lit from within, brimming with power. The sensation was glorious. That made it all the more difficult.

  Finally, when he pulled as much energy as he could safely take from his friends, Parveld channeled it into his Want. He Wanted to be beside Kostan. He Wanted to spare the young Emperor the lifelong anguish of murdering thousands of people.

  Parveld’s Want exploded through the aether, unfurling in a scintillating carpet. He felt the thunderclap as the world bent around him, and within a heartbeat, he stood on a hill surrounded by death.

  His feet were planted on an open scrap of packed dirt beside the Emperor. Nearby, a few soldiers stared, stunned by his arrival. Their paralysis quickly broke when snarling townsfolk shrieked and leaped onto their suddenly inattentive adversaries. Weapons flashed and fell against flesh, and the battle roared back to action.

  Parveld staggered, releasing his bond with Fishel and Lyrille. As he fled the aether, he glimpsed the surrounding sparks. The lifelights of the soldiers were solid with determination. But every Prov fighting in the streets was infested with the Hunger’s corruption.

  “What? Parveld?” Kostan mouthed as Parveld turned a slow circle, taking in the scene. He’d seen battles. Sometimes from within. But this was chaos. Provs attacked both Stormshard and protectors. With stark-white grief on their faces, Stormshard rebels swung at townsfolk who attacked with wild eyes and bared teeth. Protectors sliced with practiced efficiency, severing limbs and opening throats.

  The horror of it rose around Parveld, threatening to drag him down.

  Desperate, Parveld threw himself wide to the aether again. Around him, sparks flared to life.

  Confusion swirled among the Stormshard fighters, imperial protectors, and even the aurum mages. But as for the Provs, only madness filled their sparks. Tentatively, Parveld reached his awareness for one of the ravaging people. The spark squirmed beneath his grasp, recognizing the threat. He stood for life and sanctity. The Hunger craved madness and blood, destruction and fear.

  Though their minds were already gone, the Provs’ vitality clung to this world. Parveld harnessed that life and pulled it close, performing a dawnweaving for the second time in as many minutes. He became a pillar of energy, a nexus of potential. The power filled him to bursting.

  Around him, Provs fought on despite the pain when Parveld pulled from their sparks.

  Blades and mallets and pitchforks struck. On all sides, people died.

  Parveld Wanted it to stop.

  And suddenly, motion ceased.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kostan

  A battlefield

  “WALK WITH ME,” Parveld said.

  I shook my head, blinking as if I could dispel the sight before me. The fighting had simply ceased. Men and women were real-life statues, frozen in battle. Droplets of blood hung in the air. A horse stood on one leg, his tail outstretched like a pennant, front hooves pawing the air. The stallion’s rider stood in the stirrups, armor tangled with the horse’s mane, weapon raised to strike. Beneath the glinting edge of the rebel’s sword, a Prov stared up with feral eyes. A strand of saliva dribbled down the man’s chin.

  “Parveld? What is this?”

  “We have time,” he said, “but not forever. Please, Kostan, walk with me.”

  The town’s streets were silent except for the crunch of our boots and the buzzing of insects. Somewhere out in the grassland, a few birds trilled. Time moved on even as the battle remained still.

  “Did you do this?” I asked.

  Parveld nodded. “I accomplished it with something called a dawnweaving. I once thought spiritists might evidence the talent, but I was mistaken. I believe I’m the last living person with this ability.”

  “It’s impressive.” Before us, a Prov and a protector stood frozen, hands locked around each other’s throats. I laid a hand on the protector’s wrist and noticed that he still wore the cuff of Maelstrom-silver. It would need to be cut free eventually. Beside the smooth metal, his flesh was still warm, but his pulse didn’t move through his wrist. “Will it harm them?”

  “The suspension of motion won’t, but the casting causes pain to those who lend power from their sparks. It draws from their vitality. After I release the weave, those from whom I stole will feel fatigued. In a few cases, they’ll remain ever so slightly diminished—you’ve shown tact in never demanding an explanation for my longevity.”

  “I assumed you’d explain when you were ready.”

  He shrugged. “The weaving is complicated. Their spirits become entwined with mine. It’s not always a simple matter to release every shred of life they lend me.”

  “I understand. So, when you release them, will they be too tired to fight on? That would be an easy way to end this.”

  He pressed his lips together for a moment. “I drew only from the maddened Provs in hopes I could achieve just that. Unfortunately, I doubt anything short of death will stop them. Of course, when I release the weave, some may die. A conjuring on this scale… I may have taken too much from them to power it.”

  I stopped, feet kicking up small puffs of dust. “Is there a way to know who may not survive?”

  Parveld clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head sadly. “Perhaps, but the skill is beyond me. The other times I killed this way it was entirely inadvertent. I do know that when drew from the townsfolk, I was far less cautious than I should have been. Perhaps my fate is fitting, considering.”

  “What do you mean, your fate?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “When I drew energy from the maddened Provs, I didn’t anticipate the Hunger’s grasp. It clung like rot to their vitality. It’s in me now—I feel its putrid roots like silken tendrils. I understand what happened here, too. Tainted water was added to the wells… I feel it throbbing in time to the darkness inside me.”

  “There is no way to cast it out?”

  He shrugged. “Unlikely. But I’ve lived far beyond my expected span. I don’t fear to cross the veil and join with the aether. I’ll need your help in that, my new friend. Once this is over, grant me a clean death. I don’t wish to lose my mind to the Hunger.”

  I grimaced. “I’m not sure I could bring myself to kill you.”

  “You see what I’ve done here,” he said, sweeping an arm to indicate the paralyzed battle. “This sort of power cannot fall under the Hunger’s control.”

  The thought sent a chill through me. “All right. I agree to end your life when this is done, but only if you devote yourself to considering all alternatives first.”

  “Consider it a bargain struck,” Parveld said as he strolled around a tumble of combatants. Two Stormsharders stood back to back, weapons drawn. Surrounding them, the Provs were like beasts. Three big men were frozen in the act of shoving neighbors to the dirt in their desperation to reach the Sharders. With teeth bared and blood streaming from scratches, one raised a meat cleaver in the still noon air.

  I stepped forward and put my face close to one of the Sharder’s. His eyes stared through me, fixed as they were on the
attacking madmen. What frozen thoughts inhabited the man’s mind? He was my enemy, but to me, he looked scarcely different than the man I saw in the mirror. “I knew this battle would happen,” I said. “I did everything I could to avoid it, yet here we are. What good are prophecies if they only describe the inevitable?”

  “I’m sorry, Kostan,” he said. “Sometimes I think we’re nothing but tools in fate’s plan. Who can say what would have happened if you hadn’t foreseen today’s events? Perhaps the alternative is far, far worse. Knowledge is a difficult—no, impossible—burden to bear. But I have something to tell you which will lighten your heart.”

  “Oh?” I asked, continuing along the road. We were traveling toward the north edge of town where Stormshard had entered the battle. Around a hundred paces ahead, the street petered out into patchy grass.

  “Savra is alive,” he said with a melancholy smile.

  “Alive? How?”

  He shook his head. “It’s ironic that I learned her fate with so little time remaining. Maybe it explains why I never saw a role for myself in the coming years. As for the explanation, it seems I drew the wrong conclusion from her sudden disappearance. Something else shielded her spark from my awareness.”

  “Where is she now? Is she safe?”

  “She’s the reason I came to you—in the past hours, she’s learned many things about today’s events. Foremost, Stormshard is not behind the riots. A small splinter group has been acting alone. One of its members spoke of a trap.” He gestured at the frozen combatants. “These Provs were poisoned to lure you into this battle. But the main Stormshard force had nothing to do with it or with the rioting in Jaliss. Savra still believes there’s a chance for peace.”