I peered through the door. The cavernous room was empty. In the hearth, the soup cauldron bubbled. I commanded a thug to hurry inside and overturn the pot. The tainted mixture hissed as it doused the coals. I sighed in relief at a task accomplished.
The rumble grew to a roar that rolled over Steelhold. More shouts rose as a dust cloud drifted over the spire. Running figures passed me as they streamed toward the north walls. Shrugging, I followed.
Rumors traveled the crowd, but the words confused me. How could the mountains beyond the chasm have been flattened into a road as wide as Jaliss?
At the north edge of the Hold, people packed the walls and others jammed the stairways waiting for a turn to view. I didn’t bother. Instead, I commanded my bodyguards to work the winch that opened the Chasm Gate. In case anyone objected, I prepared another aura-lance.
With a squeal, the iron portcullis slid upward. Next, the pair of heavy steel doors swung open over the chasm. A fresh wave of vertigo struck me at the sudden view of so much empty space. While I recovered, a few people rushed into the gap. Someone stumbled, shrieking as they nearly went over the drop, and the onlookers quickly made space around the gate.
I stared across the chasm, dumbfounded. The mighty mountains that had once hemmed Chasm Road were nothing but heaps of broken talus. Between them, a flat plain reminded me of a ballroom floor. It gleamed in the sunlight, broken only by a small huddle of horseback riders approaching at a gallop.
I stood, both awed and confused, as the group reined up on the other side of the chasm. The leader dismounted and waved cheerily. Along the wall, a few people raised their hands in response, but most continued to stare, dumbstruck.
“Hello!” the man called. At least two hundred paces separated the Chasm Gate from the gorge’s far edge. Though it was faint, something about the man’s voice was familiar.
“I wish to speak to the Emperor of Atal,” he yelled.
The wind blew through the chasm, a low hiss. The crowd of onlookers shifted, their clothing rustling. I cocked my head. Where had I heard the man before?
“Hellllooo,” he called again.
On the wall, a small group of mages huddled, their silken robes a mix of colors from the three orders of metalogists. With confused silence blanketing Steelhold, their murmurs floated through the alleys. Finally, one of the mages nodded, a ferro dressed in a journeyman’s tunic. He stepped to the edge of the wall and pulled out a black-iron rod with carvings along its length.
He held the rod aloft. “You may request an audience at the Sun Gate.” When he spoke, his voice boomed, echoing off the far wall of the chasm.
“That’s quite a trick,” the man called from across the gorge. “Nice trinket. But you see, I’m not interested in traveling to the Sun Gate. I’ve come all this way already.”
“Apologies, but petitions are accepted only at the Sun Gate,” the ferro mage called. He cast a nervous glance back to his peers. One of the aurums shrugged.
Finally, I placed the voice. Storms. Why had it taken me so long? I’d seen Havialo’s power at work when he stopped the landslide on Twenty-Turn Hill during our journey to the capital. The effort had taxed him greatly. I glanced at the low hills where mountains had once stood. Clearly, his abilities had increased.
Havialo hated the Empire even more than he hated my father. If he would level mountains to get attention, what would he do to the seat of his greatest enemy’s power if his demands weren’t met?
Sidestepping to a nearby servant, I leaned close to her ear.
“Evacuate Steelhold,” I whispered. “Hurry.”
She stared at me, brow knit in confusion. Pulling my aura-sight forward, I focused on her spirit and nudged. As if shaken from a trance, she blinked, nodded and turned. Moments later she was whispering in the ears of others.
I commanded my henchmen to clear a path up a staircase leading onto the wall. As the big men brushed servants and Atal aside, I grasped wrists and repeated the warning in their ears. “Leave Steelhold as quickly as you can. Your life may depend on it.”
The Provs hurried to obey, especially when I prodded their auras. As for the Atal, the best I received was an offended look, and the worst was a muttered threat. I shrugged. I couldn’t force them to heed my warning.
From up on the wall, I got a better count of Havialo’s group. Around twenty people stood behind him. Their auras were strange, unthinking loyalty edged with just the barest traces of fear. Somehow, Havialo had slaved their wills to his. But to what end?
“Let me speak to him,” I said when I reached the cluster of mages.
A high-ranking mage looked down his nose at me. “Excuse me?”
“I know this man. If you wish to live, let me speak to him.”
Something in my tone must have convinced the man because he nodded to the ferro. “Go ahead and let her try,” he said in a faintly beleaguered tone.
With a shrug, the ferro mage handed over the rod.
“How does it work?” Heat flooded my cheeks when my voice echoed over Steelhold’s grounds. “Nevermind,” I muttered.
With the black-iron rod in my hand, I stepped to the railing. Across the chasm, Havialo cocked his head as if curious.
Savra, Lilik whispered, a touch of awe in her voice. Do you feel them?
Feel what?
The spirits. Parveld always suspected they were the secret behind ferro magic. The black-iron objects channel the energy of the dead.
I focused on the hard metal clutched in my palm. It was still warm from the ferro’s grip, but I could sense no life inside.
I just don’t think I have the ability, I said.
I wouldn’t be so sure, Lilik said. You can hear us, can’t you?
I thought that was because you were a spiritist. That, or I’d assumed it was the bracelet’s magic, not mine.
And if I told you I lost my magic long before my death? The power comes from you, not me. You are much more than a Mind or Essence spiritist, Savra. You just have to stop imagining barriers where none exist.
“I hope you plan to tell me the Emperor is on his way,” Havialo called, cutting the discussion short. As if to punctuate his sentence, he gestured to his left. A massive sheet of stone cleaved from the cliff and plummeted into the chasm. Behind me, the mages shifted and whispered. Maybe they were starting to understand the severity of the threat.
“The Emperor is currently occupied,” I called. “Perhaps I could deliver a message.”
Though I couldn’t quite make out his face, I could swear Havialo smiled. “I thought I recognized that voice. Why, hello, Savra! I figured you’d be dead by now.”
“I’m glad to have exceeded your expectations.”
“Well, I commend your fighting spirit. I suppose you inherited it from Evrain.”
“Why are you here, Havialo?”
“I think you know.”
“I suppose I do. What the Empire did to your daughter was unforgivable, but those who were involved are dead now. Would you punish innocent people for the actions of others?”
“Oh really? Evrain is dead? Stormshard is no more? The protectors who marched my precious Cartilla to the gallows—they’re gone too? The order might have come from the throne, but many people bear responsibility for her murder.”
“It was your disagreement with Stormshard that brought you—and Cartilla—to the Empire’s attention. If you blame the rebels, shouldn’t you accept responsibility for the role your stubbornness played?”
I knew I’d gone too far when Havialo’s aura turned black with rage. I set down the speaking rod so I wouldn’t be overheard and turned to the mages. “Evacuate Steelhold now,” I commanded.
To my abundant shock, the mages obeyed. At once, people streamed from the wall and ran across the grounds toward the Sun Gate. I wondered if I should follow. But then who would deal with Havialo? I’d spent much of the last weeks fearing for my life—no reason to turn coward now. I’d been pulled from
Stormshard’s army before I could join the fight, but now I had a chance to save innocent lives.
I grabbed the speaking rod and faced the geognost.
“Forgive me,” I said, hoping to gain some time. “I am often quick with words but slow in thought.”
Havialo’s anger quieted, but only slightly. I judged the distance across the chasm. Though I’d tested my limits when it came to the number of souls I could command, I hadn’t discovered how far I could stretch a bond. I knew from my time commanding Joran that control faded as I moved too far away. If the distance separating us was too far, Havialo would overthrow my bond.
But no one else could reach the man—the only other access to Chasm Road required a day’s ride through the mountains. I needed to try something before he lost patience and attacked.
Focusing an aura-lance, I closed my eyes and speared it toward Havialo’s glowing aura. The tip of my javelin pierced the outer edge of his spirit and then stopped as if hitting an iron wall. Moments later, frigid spirit daggers streaked across the chasm and lodged in my chest. I gasped, staggered, and whipped my aura away. Coughing, I formed a clumsy shield of my spirit. A pair of daggers slammed the barrier, and then the barrage stopped.
Havialo laughed. “Do you think I would march on Steelhold without protections against metalogists and spiritists?”
The geognost spread his arms wide. The stone blocks beneath my feet began to tremble then shudder. Dust puffed from cracks in the walls of the chasm. I slapped my palms onto the low railing to keep my balance.
Behind me, more shouts filled the grounds. I glanced over my shoulder to see the last servants and Atal draining away through alleys near the Sun Gate. Closer, a group of armed men burst from an aisle between the palace and an adjacent building. They looked about in confusion, weapons raised with no one to fight. I shook my head. Warrell and his cohorts had arrived.
As the earth continued to tremble, I cast an aura net over the members of Joran’s Shard and projected a thought.
Leave if you value your safety.
I reeled in the strands of aura before sensing their response. No doubt some of the newcomers were ignorant of much of Warrell’s plot. They didn’t deserve to die for the mistake of joining Joran’s Shard. But I couldn’t force them to leave.
The spire jolted hard to the side as I turned back to the earth mage. I hefted the speaking rod, wracking my memories for words that might give him pause. If I could just gain time, the evacuees might make it down and away from the spire before Havialo vented his rage.
“I’m not lying, Havialo. Kostan isn’t here, but he’ll return. If you…”
My words died as the earth’s rumble abruptly stilled. In the silence that followed, spears and shards of rock detached from the gorge’s cliffs. As if pulled by strings, the massive chunks of stone floated upward, coming level with the railing before me. Broken boulders and jagged pebbles began to fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, forming a span across the chasm. Gaps closed and cracks sealed, and within moments a seamless bridge the width of my forearm stretched away from the railing, arched high across the chasm, and landed delicately just two paces from Havialo.
“Let’s talk, Savra,” he said, voice light. “I don’t enjoy yelling.”
I looked down into the chasm, a dizzying height. No way.
“I saw you whispering to the others. You’ve probably told them to get out. Get somewhere flat and safe and far away from fortresses that could topple on their heads. That was a wise decision,” Havialo said. “But they’ll never escape unless you do something to delay me, right? Let’s. Talk. Savra.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Just give me a moment.” My chest felt tight. When I lifted my hands from the railing, they shook. Swallowing, I commanded one of my thugs to clamber onto the bridge. One solid footstep after the other, he crossed. The span didn’t collapse.
I looked back at Steelhold’s grounds. I couldn’t see anyone, but the descent from the Sun Gate to Jaliss was long. At least a half-hour at a light run, which was as fast as I thought anyone could safely make it.
With a deep breath, I pocketed the black-iron rod and climbed onto the span, crawling forward on hands and knees.
Havialo laughed. “Afraid of heights?”
I ignored him. I ignored the sight of the chasm floor thousands of feet below. All that mattered was the granite span in front of my face. One slow crawling pace after another, I advanced across the bridge.
When I reached the high point, the span began to tremble. I fell to my belly, and Havialo snorted. “Just checking your reflexes,” he called.
Pressing my lips together, I took ten slow breaths while hugging the small walkway. Finally, I gritted my teeth, inched up to hands and knees, and then shifted my weight onto my feet. I stood, locked eyes with Havialo, and walked the rest of the way across the chasm.
The area on the new-formed plain smelled of static electricity, the strange scent of rocks banged together. A faint haze of dust still hung in the air. I set foot on the smooth ground in front of the earth mage and couldn’t resist crouching and running fingers over it. Viewed from close up, where the sun’s glare didn’t hide details, I could see different substances making up the flat surface. It looked as if the ground had been pressed flat by an immense iron, worked over until not a single nubbin broke the perfect expanse.
As I stood, I sent a quick mental command to my other bodyguard. He jumped up onto the railing and started jogging across the span.
Rolling his eyes, Havialo sighed. “It’s already crowded over here, don’t you think?”
A grating sound filled the air as the bridge came apart. The henchman threw himself at the tendrils of my aura that bound him to my commands. He thrashed at my control as he began to fall. I felt the air rushing around him, his stomach rising and tumbling as his body cartwheeled through the air.
Oh, storms. If I still held control when he died…
I snapped my attention to our bond, focusing on it as I had when training under Falla. Thread by thread, I began to withdraw from his aura. Still, he fell. In his eyes, the jagged boulders loomed. He recognized his approaching death, and his spirit quieted, but still my aura remained twined with his.
Heat rose from the sun-warmed talus at the bottom of the chasm, washing over his skin.
At the last instant, I yanked my final tendrils free, staggering and colliding with Havialo as I heard the distant thud followed by the clatter of stones.
“It’s nice to see you again, too,” Havialo said.
I recovered and stepped away from him, grief over the man’s death blooming. Regret pressed hard against my heart. But I had to forge onward.
“Cartilla wouldn’t want you to hurt people,” I said.
“And I wouldn’t need to if your glorious Emperor would agree to my demands.”
“You haven’t even given him a chance,” I said.
He shook his head as if saddened. “Your innocence is charming, Savra. If not for Evrain’s blood in your veins, I might spare you in the end.”
Talking wasn’t working. I commanded my henchman to draw his blade. Instantly, the young woman beside Havialo raised a hand. My guard began to choke. I forced him to drop the knife, and the young woman smiled, lowering her hand. “You’re a spiritist. Master Havialo wishes to free us from persecution,” she said. “Why would you try to stop him?”
I ignored her. A look of faint concentration came over Havialo’s face, and the ground began to tremble.
“I can help you speak to the Emperor once he returns,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll feel as angry as you about what happened to your daughter.”
Havialo whipped his head to glare at me. “How dare you suggest he’d feel anything close to my pain.”
“I don’t—I mean. He’s a good man. He would never harm an innocent child.”
“Lies!” Havialo yelled. Eyes locked with mine, he raised his hands high. The ground began to shudder, an
d from deep within the earth, cracks reverberated. Around us, the polished surface crumbled, fragments bouncing like water droplets in a hot pan.
Hoarse cries rose from Steelhold’s spire. An ache spread through my limbs. Perhaps some people had finished the descent, but not everyone had escaped. Stones began to fall from the Hold’s outer wall. Cracks peppered the air as the three immense towers of the Hall of Mages swayed.
I fell, knees pounding the hard ground. “Please, Havialo,” I said.
With a boom that pressed my eardrums inward, a sudden rift in the earth opened to the west of Jaliss. The black gash severed the grasslands and the hard-packed dirt road that traveled along the foothills of the Icethorns. The edges of the rift widened, the great crack yawning and swallowing down earth and grass.
From deep within the new gorge, shrieks echoed. The first of the Riftspawn clambered up the raw earthen wall and threw contorted limbs over the edge.
“Now, watch,” Havialo yelled.
“No!” I cried out in despair as a massive panel of stone fell from Steelhold’s spire and plummeted toward the edge of Lowtown where shanties and half-burned warehouses lapped against the great pillar. It crashed down in a cloud of dust and explosion of debris.
The earth beneath me shuddered and shook as the entire spire began to tilt. Blocks detached from the tops of the mages’ towers, rolling through empty air before smashing onto the grounds below. Steelhold leaned away from the chasm, the great column groaning and grating. From the far side, a massive dust cloud billowed.
Desperate, I commanded my thug to leap at Havialo. As if batting away a fly, Havialo made a fist in the air and swung it toward the charging man. A chunk of earth lifted from near the geognost’s feet, whizzed through the air, and took the thug in the stomach. Pain flared across our link as the man fell to the earth. I gagged and stumbled. When the thug hit the ground, alive but winded, I extracted tendrils of aura, leaving just enough to command him to lie still.
A roar from the spire joined the rumble in the earth. It leaned farther, looming over the city like a headsman’s axe. If it fell, it would obliterate the Heights, the Merchant’s Quarter, the Splits. Tens of thousands would die.
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