Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  “I can take care of myself when it comes to Riftspawn,” she said gently. “I’ve learned a lot about my abilities recently. But I can’t beat them single-handedly, so kindly get back and figure out how to work that thing.”

  “Work what thing?” I mouthed almost silently.

  She laid a hand on my breastbone, pressing the Heart of the Empire against me. “It’s bound to you,” she said. “I can see the bond as clearly as I see your face—it needs you to be the conduit. You need to go back, stand in the middle of that red thing, and open yourself.”

  Her eyes widened as she commanded me, showing no self-consciousness over daring to give orders to the Emperor of Atal. My mouth turned up in the corner. I’d liked her before, but I liked the changes just as much. “Yes, my lady,” I said.

  I bowed, and as I straightened, she was already running down the hill, sword raised.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Savra

  Merchant's Quarter, Jaliss

  BEHIND THE HALL of Registry—the building where I’d once imagined I’d begin new life—an iron ladder was bolted to the stonework, allowing access to the building’s roof. Good. If I had any hope of surviving the coming onslaught, it started with taking the high ground.

  Slate shingles roofed the building. Massive black-iron spires soared from the peaks of its roofline. As I glanced at the spikes, I forced away a legion of questions born during my time in the cathedral of the dead. Later.

  From the forward edge of the roof, I looked over the city as it fell away to the grasslands. To my right, Lowtown spread in dilapidated squalor, fire leaping from building to building as it slowly ate its way through the district, burning the structures which had been fortunate enough to escape the last blaze.

  As the flames rose through the streets, so did the layers of shadow spread by the Riftspawn. Their shrieks pierced the air. Wood splintered and rock walls tumbled as they tore through the rubble. Here and there, a few brave defenders yelled battle cries and rushed to meet them. The fights didn’t last long.

  I focused on the Spawn’s auras. So many of them. I didn’t see how we could hold. Perhaps in the end, those standing on the Heartstone would survive. But the rest of us? Unlikely.

  Before me and to the left, the streets of the Merchant’s Quarter descended toward the Splits. Lowtown was already lost. But maybe I could delay the beasts’ advance into the other districts.

  I chose a group of advancing Spawn and sent a portion of my aura forward, planting it before them and stretching it across the street. Next, I imbued the shield with the repelling technique I’d used to move about Steelhold unnoticed. In Steelhold, I’d been deflecting attention from my presence. Now, I focused my intent to convince the Spawn that something blocked their path. Something pressed them backward, making it too difficult to continue.

  After a moment of confusion, the corrupted auras stopped moving then turned aside. Ten Riftspawn diverted. Only thousands more to stop.

  ***

  A half-hour later, sweat drenched my brow. I held twenty barriers in place, but my strength dwindled. My spirit was fading, and soon it would collapse. Where Lowtown met the Heights, soldiers defended a few streets. But at most intersections, only my aura held back the horde. Again and again, they crashed against my boundaries, a dark sea determined to batter me down. The moment my control broke, the city was lost.

  Splayed on the rooftop, I kept fingers pressed into the gaps between the slates to keep from sliding down. The fires in Lowtown were getting close, now. I felt their heat. As I raised an arm to wipe the stinging sweat from my eyes, a massive wave of Riftspawn struck one of my boundaries. My breath hissed through clenched teeth as my first shield stretched then shattered. The whipping snakes of aura snapped home. Dizzied, I lost purchase and started sliding for the lip of the roof.

  As my heel caught in the gutter, sending a shock up my spine, my remaining boundaries collapsed. The returning aura slapped hard blows against my soul. I groaned and rolled over, too tired to move. I’d given my best. It hadn’t been enough.

  Above, the wide blue sky stretched clear and clean. Evening approached, and the color above the eastern horizon had begun to purple. Beautiful, despite it all. Not a terrible place to wait for the end.

  My eyes began to close when suddenly, Lilik sent a jolt of cold shooting from the bracelet.

  “Hey—” I began before my words died.

  Before my eyes, a radiant white being rose from the Heartstone, brilliant against the sky. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  I couldn’t breathe as the woman, a shining warrior nearly as tall as Steelhold’s spire, raised a gleaming sword. With a cry like a thousand silver bells, she swung her blade into the city. I sat up, head spinning. The woman’s sword cut through the streets, skimming above the ground. It passed through buildings and the auras of the soldiers defending our city, but where it contacted the Riftspawn, colors exploded in my aura-sight. The sword eviscerated the Spawn’s corruption, severing the darkness and splattering strands of it back toward the rift. Over and over the woman struck, reaping the monsters, leaving their tangled auras confused and stumbling.

  With a roar, the city’s defenders surged forward. Did they see the shining warrior? I banished my aura-sight, and the woman vanished. The glow left the sky. The soldiers couldn’t see her. Why the sudden push?

  Glancing at the closest battle, a fierce group of Sharders defending a narrow alley, I understood. The feral intensity had abandoned the Riftspawn. Some swayed on their feet while others made stumbling attempts to flee. Soldiers cut them down, and unlike the battle at the keep, the monsters died, their auras seeming to sigh with relief at the last moment.

  Pace by pace, street by street, the soldiers pressed the Spawn back. Sitting on the rooftop, I cradled my forehead in my hands for a moment before standing.

  The battle was over. All that was left was giving the Riftspawn peace. I wrapped my hand around the hilt of my sword as I clambered toward the iron ladder leading to street level.

  I had some monsters to kill.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Kostan

  Common room, the Graybranch Inn

  “IT’S NOT MUCH,” Fishel said as he set the plates of steaming food before us. “Not for the saviors of the city.”

  I stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend,” I said. “And thank you for giving us sanctuary. The city is a mess tonight.”

  Beyond the door, shouts of joy and grief mingled. Festival drums competed mourning dirges. It would be weeks before we could restore order. Not to mention, I dreaded learning how the quakes had affected the Provinces. Deep in my heart, I already knew what our scouts would find.

  But for tonight, we could rest in the knowledge that whatever emotions filled the city, Atal and Prov were feeling them together. Peace finally reigned in Jaliss—for now, anyway.

  “Indeed it is,” the innkeeper said. “You have much work ahead of you.”

  I couldn’t argue that. If the visions were true, the worst was yet to come for the Empire, and I had little idea where to begin in defending it. According to Savra, we’d receive no more wisdom from Parveld—she’d been so anguished at my mention of the man that I hadn’t pressed her for details. I doubted I’d ever recover the Bracer of Sight, which meant neither Savra nor I had visions or sages to guide us. My throne was rubble and my leadership scattered. Savra’s family—if any still lived—were somewhere out in the Provinces; she hoped to find them but, like me, didn’t know where or how to begin.

  But tomorrow, we would begin. And I hoped we would do it together.

  “Ale?” Fishel asked.

  Savra’s cheeks colored. “I’m afraid I have a poor constitution when it comes to alcohol.”

  He knuckled her gently in the shoulder. “All the more reason to partake. I’ll water yours by half. And you?” he said, glancing at me.

  In truth, I already felt lighthead
ed sitting beside this woman.

  “Just say yes,” Fishel said. “I can see you’re impatient for me to leave the two of you alone.”

  “Fine. But water mine, too.”

  The man rolled his eyes before stepping toward the small keg on his counter. He tapped measures that I thought were awfully generous before dribbling in a little water. I caught Savra’s eyes as he plunked the mugs down before us. She shrugged as if to suggest we wouldn’t get far arguing with the man. I was inclined to agree.

  “So,” Fishel said, stomping back to his counter and pulling out his heavy ledger. He carried the massive book over and dropped it between us. “I hope to hear you’ll be abolishing the inspections, your eminence. Because I’m fairly certain neither of you is related to a strange wine merchant from Ioene, and I’d hate to be caught in a lie.”

  “No more inspections,” I said with a smile.

  “Then there’s just one thing to settle,” he said.

  “I’ll have to go dig through the rubble of Steelhold if you need payment tonight,” I said.

  He waved off my comment. “I trust you’ll settle accounts eventually. This is just bookkeeping. You see, I need to know whether to write you down for one room or two.”

  My ears went hot. I couldn’t speak.

  After a moment, Savra cleared her throat. “We wouldn’t want to take advantage of your generosity, Fishel. I think one room will be fine, don’t you, Kostan?”

  She laughed when I stuttered, but after a moment, I finally managed to spit out the words. “One will be just fine.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Parveld

  Atal Plateau

  PARVELD TRUDGED FORWARD, night breezes ruffling his hair, his legs weary. Around him, moonlit grasses bent their seed-laden heads. To the north, the distant Icethorns cut the horizon, their frozen summits silver against the sky. He couldn’t see the torch-glow of Jaliss; by his reckoning, he’d come somewhere to the east of the capital. Near the boundary with the Wildsends, perhaps.

  It mattered little where his weaving had sent him, of course. He’d only Wanted to be away. Far, far away from that searing warrior who had towered over Jaliss like agony made real. Even now, he shuddered at the memory. Just gazing upon the radiant executioner had turned his blood molten, a white-hot inferno of pain.

  Fortunately, there’d been a few, scattered lifelights near him when the glowing warrior rose from Steelhold’s rubble. Enough for a dawnweaving to enable his escape.

  The breeze blew harder, and Parveld shivered. This close to Chilltide, his clothing offered little defense against the night air. Ahead, though, a campfire burned, sending sparks swirling on the breeze. A handful of tents made angular shadows against its glow.

  Herders, most likely.

  Parveld focused on their sparks, but his sense of the aether wavered. The lifelights shimmered in his inner vision then dimmed. Shaking his head, he released his grasp on the aether. His reserves were tapped, his abilities as weary as his body. Plus, he was still off-balanced by his newfound power, his connection to something bigger, deeper.

  Parveld sighed. He’d been a fool. For centuries—tides, centuries!—he’d traveled the world, studying myths and histories and legends about the rifts. He’d dedicated his life to defeating the Hunger.

  Even now, his face heated with shame at his ignorance. The Hunger wasn’t some evil realm or malevolent presence. Nothing of the sort. It was the penultimate aim of existence. A condition beyond the wearying struggle of individual souls. Once joined with the Hunger, all life became one. All the pain and heartache disappeared, leaving only the joy of ultimate understanding and communion. Much like his belief that magic was a single force, so too was life and existence. The sea, the stones, a toddler’s bubbling laugh. All the same.

  Parveld had been so mistaken, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that his studies of the rifts were not futile. Far from it. By learning how the Hunger’s rifts had been sealed, he understood how to tear them wide again. Across the known world, he would rip the fabric separating humanity from its ultimate destiny.

  Connectedness. Community. Peace at last.

  The path would not be easy. Parveld had long disdained violence. It would be so much easier to just show his fellow souls what he now experienced, to teach them how things might be. Across the Empire, he could sense his brethren rising from the fresh chasms gashing the land. Legions crawled forth, driven to bring more souls into their communion. Bonded to the Riftspawn by the Hunger’s tendrils, Parveld was greater than himself. His heart sang with the desires of a hundred thousand beings. And their souls responded to his yearnings.

  All one.

  But humans would not accept what the Hunger offered. They were naïve—Parveld knew, because he’d armored himself with the same innocence for decades. Men would raise armies to confront the tide swelling from beneath the Empire like a flood rising through the floorboards. Worse, the Spawn were vulnerable. They hadn’t joined the Hunger with the same strength of knowledge as Parveld had, and so they fought without strategy or direction. They needed a leader, someone whose heart beat with the same need to, at last, bring peace to an existence crushed by millennia of suffering, hatred, and war.

  Parveld would be that leader.

  In the days and weeks to come, he had much to learn and accomplish. The Hunger was weak against the searing force of Steelhold’s wardstone and the cruel warrior it had summoned. Though Parveld had spent his life studying humanity’s fight against the rifts, he knew little of the wardstone’s secrets. Before he could lead an army in a final assault, he needed to learn how to defeat this infernal power.

  And he needed to learn how to command his legions. He had an inkling already—in fact, he sensed a group of Riftspawn on the opposite side of the herders’ camp. They were small beasts, around the size of large rodents. His awareness of them was different than his perception of human sparks. When Parveld spread his mind to encompass them, the Spawn became a portion of himself. Another limb to wield. Another manifestation of his desire.

  Parveld was cold. He desired warm clothing, a hot meal, a campfire to banish the night’s chill. Under other circumstances, he might achieve this Want with a dawnweaving—casting his mind back over the years, he had to scoff at how infrequently he’d used his talent. He’d been weak to the pain it had caused others. But now, he knew that life in the mortal realm was pain. Anything he did to show his human brethren the truth of their existence only furthered his plans to save them.

  For now, though, his ability to weave was exhausted. But his new Riftspawn companions were eager and strong.

  Like clenching a fist, he gathered the Spawn into a coordinated group. On paws and hooves with teeth and claws bared, they advanced on the herder’s camp. Parveld already felt warmer as they neared the fire, its glow transferred across his awareness.

  The herders were sleeping, not inside their tents, but in a contented circle around their fire. Parveld hesitated, wondering whether he should give them a chance. Perhaps he could explain to them what the Hunger promised. But he knew their answer already. Better they died quickly, too surprised to feel fear. Their souls would cross the veil where they would wait in relative peace for the Hunger’s final assault.

  Parveld’s cause was righteous. He had no doubts in its purity. With the deliberate certainty that only the most noble could feel, he struck.

  The humans didn’t scream for long.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Rise of the Storm. I really hope you enjoyed it! As a working writer, I utterly depend on readers to spread the word on my books.

  Please consider leaving a review on Amazon (click here) for this book and for other authors you enjoy. I promise that I read every review (yes, even the critical ones). Sometimes, they help me shape the story to come, and often, they are the reason I get out of bed and in front of my computer long before the sun rises. Thank you!!

  If you
would like to grab some free goodies and join my reader community, head over to CarrieSummers.com and join my reader group. This is something I’m actively growing, and I expect to have some super fun things going on this fall and winter. The group is how I let readers know when new books are out.

  Speaking of, the next book in the series, Fate of the Drowned, is coming Fall/Winter 2017. Click here for more info.

  Finally, for the story of Parveld (once known as Paono), Lilik, and Raav, check out my Shattering of the Nocturnai series:

  Nightforged

  Shadowbound

  Duskwoven

  Darkborn

  Thank you so much!

  Carrie