Bayan gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance, then stood and looked in all directions, illuminating the area with a larger burst of light. Sabella clung to his leg the whole time. But he couldn’t see anyone else or any sign of civilization at all, in any direction. He knelt again. “I think we’re alone. I’m not sure where we are, but it shouldn’t take me too long to find out. I can’t leave you alone, though. Here, you can sit on my wind disc.”
Bayan eased his magical platform forward into the chill wind, heading down the gentle slope of land in hopes of finding a river and a town, or even a small fishing village. Though she was sightless, Sabella formed a wind barrier before them, blocking the chill as they traveled.
Still reeling inside from the events at the smeltery, Bayan had little concept of the passage of time. Had they been skimming the ground for only a short while, or was the night nearly gone? And depending on where he was, what did dawn mean as far as the passage of time? He recalled his exile to the east, nearly two years ago, and how traveling to the Corona had brought full night and the moonrise in an instant. If he had truly traveled approximately that far in the other direction, dawn might be much closer than he expected.
A narrow, dark shape rose against the relative paleness of the clouds, and Bayan veered away from it before realizing it was actually some way ahead of him. “Bayan, what is it?” Sabella asked.
“Not sure yet. Some kind of monument, I think.” He brought the wind disc to a halt and settled on the ground, then helped Sabella to her feet. With her hand in the crook of his elbow for guidance, he walked across the sandy flats between two nearby hills.
The monument was a spire of black rock piercing the sky in the form of an enormous sword. Shivers sparkled across his shoulders, having nothing to do with a biting wind.
“It’s a memorial, Sabella. I read about it at the Academy. This stone blade marks the final battle in the War of Steel. It pays homage to the sacrifice of the last Master Duelist the Waarden Empire ever possessed. Master Duelist Helma de Rood gave her life here, defeating the steelwielders. Somehow, Ordomiro’s spell and his last warning about steelwielders seem to have dumped us here.”
Sabella leaned in to Bayan, sharing his warmth. “And where is here, exactly? Is there a town nearby? I’m freezing.”
Bayan took a moment to recall his imperial geography. “We’re in Pallithea, one of the Akrestan provinces. In the north.” A new thought surfaced, followed by Ordomiro’s last words. Save your people. “In fact, we’re not too far from Alini, the village that supplies the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies. I can fly us there, and one of their chanters can look at your eyes. After that, I need to have a few words with the First Singer.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still so confused. Ordomiro moved us to the Waarden Empire? How? He’s an Inkmage. He can’t portal. Are you sure you didn’t just miss him in the dark?”
Bayan pulled her close, enveloping her in a strong hug. “Ordomiro had a way with magic that even I don’t understand. He could make the sacred motions with his ink, and then, like you, he could make them dance. He opened his veins and painted his magic against the air to save me. He’s gone, Sabella. He died saving me. Saving us. I couldn’t stop him. All the magic I can do, and I couldn’t stop him. He died telling me what was coming. I have to do what he asked.”
Sabella sagged against him, closing her lids over those horrible red eyes. Her hands made fists in his clothing, crushing the velvet of his vest. Her mouth opened in a ragged gash, and for a long moment, she wailed silently, caught in the throes of sudden mourning. Then she recovered her voice and cried loud and long into Bayan’s shoulder.
He had shared too much with her during his time in the Corona to resist the empathetic pull of her emotions. Bayan felt various beads on his necklace go hot or cold as his emotions trembled and swirled within him. He sank to his knees, drawing Sabella down with him, and clung to her as tightly as she clung to him. And still it built, that dangerous surge within him.
The ground trembled, wriggling in waves unlike any Tremor spell he had ever released. Emotions and magic twined together and filled the air and the earth, flowing away from him, spilling into the world. Warm sand pressed against Bayan’s legs, hot from a nonexistent sun, and was quickly replaced with flowers whose spicy scent filled the air and then by short desert grass. The air snowed, then thundered, then rained, and then all was brushed away by a sheeting wind. Trees shot from the ground with violent force, their leaves exploding with woody cracks.
The nearby monument swayed then rose as the earth around it formed a natural stone base several strides high, studded with enormous natural crystals in all the colors of the rainbow. The sky overhead lit with a golden hue, as if sunset had permanently taken up residence directly above them. Lava pooled from the stone base and bubbled for a few moments before cooling and crisping with hoarfrost, leaving glimmering bubbles across its glassy black surface. Pools, fountains, and streams sucked at the earth, then vanished, and the monument began to spew water from the tip of its sword blade. It cascaded down the smooth stone sculpture and collected amongst the crystals and the glassy bubbles before forming a new stream.
Spent and empty, Bayan came back to himself. He pulled away from Sabella and her wide, red eyes.
“What did we do?” she asked.
Bayan looked around. A new glade, beautiful and eerie, surrounded them and the memorial stone. Unearthly ground formations and strangely shaped trees blossomed in the warm, summery air. “I can’t even describe it, Sabella, but I think you’ll like it. Once your eyes are healed, I’ll show it to you.” Feeling cleansed of the harshest part of his grief, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Now, let’s get moving. I can’t let Ordomiro down, and we have two empires to save.”
His wind disc formed beneath his feet and lifted him and Sabella into the air. In moments, they were high above Ordomiro’s memorial glade, speeding eastward toward the dark, rocky spires of the Spineforest.
The Ruby Bottle
As the caravan approached the outer wall of the sprawling palace grounds, Eward managed to keep a straight face, but his neck craned from side to side. He’d only been to the Kheerzaal once before, and everything had been a bit of a blur then, since he and his hexmates had been trying so desperately to save the emperor’s hide.
Now, riding in atop his sturdy brown horse, Eward had time to savor the sights and enjoy a bit of pomp. High arches draped with blue and white banners rose one after the other, leading the procession closer to the emperor’s residence. Each set of gates was higher, shinier, and more ornate than the last. Shrubbery became more exquisitely crafted, taking on shapes impossible in nature—a sign of trade duelism woodcraft. Erinando’s constant prattling on about the glories of the Corona finally ceased, and he simply rode, looking straight ahead. Eward shared a relieved smile with Azhni.
An honor guard of a dozen Imperial Duelists jogged out and escorted Erinando on foot, guiding the caravan to the courtyard attached to a nearby multistory building rimmed with white columns and silken blue swags. The courtyard bore effusive Corona decorations in honor of Erinando’s arrival. Flags fluttered from rooftops and banners alike, and a small choir of young children sang a song of welcome. Dakila organized his guards to circle the outmost edge of the courtyard.
The slender diplomat’s face was wreathed in smiles at the sight of his glorious welcome, and he actually dismounted without waiting for his gilded stepstool. Eward, Azhni, and Imee dismounted as well.
Erinando’s gaze rose up the façade of the pale marble building. Downward-curling sint-fingers drooped from corners and downspouts, gleaming dully in the cloudy spring afternoon. More banners swayed from the central row of shuttered windows on every floor. “Is the emperor within?”
A plump Kheerzaal eunuch stepped forward and bowed. For a split second, Eward thought it was Philo because of the man’s curly lavender wig, but the man’s fingers were bare of rings. Just another tool in Philo’s box.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” the eunuch proclaimed. “This building has been secured for your entourage, and His Imperial Majesty’s generous hospitality awaits your every need. Within, one of our Trio Singers is prepared to craft a portal to transport you the moment you are ready to visit the negotiating chamber, which lies elsewhere with in the Kheerzaal. The emperor has been informed of your arrival and will be there momentarily. If you’ll follow me?” The eunuch bowed and ushered Erinando toward the low steps into the building’s foyer. But the diplomat paused and turned back.
“Would it be impertinent of me, I beg favor, if I were to invite my most gracious caretakers to accompany me, as a token of my respect for their generous efforts on my behalf?” His eyes flickered toward Eward.
The eunuch’s thin, painted eyebrows rose, but he bowed in assent. “Of course, Your Grace. As you wish.” He stood straight and beckoned imperiously with his fingertips.
Imee tucked her hand through Eward’s elbow, smiling brilliantly, but Erinando didn’t even glance at her as he shook his head. “No, I pray pardon, but I refer to Azhni the chanter, who dispensed with my seasickness and a slight cough as if it were of no inconvenience to her whatsoever. Let her accompany the duelist.”
Eward lurched to a stop. Imee’s eyes had gone wide, possibly with fury at the slight to her status, and Eward didn’t blame her. As Azhni approached his other side, he bent to Imee’s ear and whispered, “I’ll see to it that the emperor knows of your generous services.”
Imee jerked her head in tense assent, and Eward decided to move on quickly. He offered his other arm to Azhni, who rested her fingertips atop it. Together, they strode to catch up with Erinando, taking a position behind him.
The diplomat nodded and smiled like an artist displaying a still life finally arranged to his exact specifications and led the way up the stairs. Within the spacious foyer with red silk walls bearing golden stamps of the Corona circlet, Eward was surprised and pleased to recognize the waiting singer as Tala.
She nodded in greeting to Erinando and introduced herself. “I humbly welcome you to the Kheerzaal, Your Grace. Are you ready to visit the negotiation chamber right away? Or would you like to recover from your journey first?”
Erinando stiffened at the implication that he wasn’t impeccable enough for the emperor’s presence at that exact moment. His fingertips flicked imaginary motes of dust off his green silk ensemble, and he straightened his fall of lace and tugged at the bottom of his short jacket before responding. “I am certainly ready, Singer Tala. I have waited many, many days for this opportunity, and I have been ready on every one of them. If you please, take me to your emperor.”
Tala nodded, turned around, and stepped through to a large, open chamber beyond the foyer. She took a pair of long, black crystals out of a deep pocket, fixed them horizontally atop slender brass rods, and began to sing. In the moments it took her to perform her spell, Eward relaxed, his duties discharged. He listened to Tala’s clear soprano voice and sighed in appreciation of its artistry.
Tala’s portal opened, a ring of white light wide enough to step through. On the far side, a long, narrow room stretched away with benches rising up each of the long walls. A cluster of scribes worked at their desks in the middle. Men and women wearing the colors of the Kheerzaal sat on the left benches, and a dozen emissaries from the Corona sat on the right side. At the far end of the room, an elevated, golden throne dominated the view, contrasting vividly with the dark paneling on the walls and flanked by a pair of stoic Imperial Duelists. Emperor Jaap perched attentively on its front edge, leaning his elbows on his knees and seeming to listen intently to the loud debate that filled the air before him.
The appearance of the portal drew everyone’s attention, and the debate died midair. Emperor Jaap smiled and rose from his chair, offering a beckoning arm of welcome. “And here, at last, we see our final member. Sir Erinando, Your Grace, I am pleased to bid you welcome to our negotiating table. We have been eagerly awaiting your presence and are most interested to hear your latest news from Yl Senyecho. Please, join us.”
Erinando stepped through the portal first, bowling deeply to the emperor, then to the Kheerzaal representatives, and finally to his own countrymen, who each placed their hands over their hearts with their first and last fingers extended. He returned the gesture briefly, then drew forth the small, inlaid box he had protected deep within his robes so judiciously during the journey. “Your Imperial Majesty, I have guarded this box with my very life, as it is a gift for you from your imperial counterpart, Yl Senyecho, ruler of all the jewels in the Corona, given to me by his own hand and placed in this secure box. May I approach and offer it most humbly to your Imperial Grace?”
Jaap eyed the box, and for a moment, Eward was not sure he would accept it. Negotiations must be going more poorly than I thought. But then the emperor nodded and gestured Erinando forward with a two-fingered twitch. Erinando clasped the little jeweled box to his chest and trotted forward like an obedient puppy, dropping to one knee at the base of the broad golden stairs that led to the emperor’s throne. He bowed his head, held the box atop one forearm, and fumbled with the clasp on its lid with his other hand.
The emperor descended his golden steps and reached into the box. Eward could barely contain his curiosity. His fingers itched, eager to flick out a Wind mirror so that he could see inside the box from the other end of the room. Emperor Jaap lifted out a small, glittering object then held it high and dutifully displayed it for both sides of the room.
“Is it covered in rubies?” Tala murmured.
“I think it’s one single ruby,” Eward replied.
Erinando raised his voice so that all the room could hear him. “A most precious and rare gift from Yl Senyecho to His Imperial Majesty Jaap voorde Helderaard, in the hopes of a most profitable future. The bottle was formed of a single gemstone, mined and hand tooled by the best jewelers in the Corona. Its contents are most powerful, guaranteed to benefit the imbiber with immortality. Perhaps His Imperial Majesty would care for a taste?”
Jaap glanced aside to the Kheerzaal representatives, and they chuckled quietly. He returned his gaze to Erinando and said, “It is not my policy to drink from untested containers. Perhaps, for your long efforts, you would care to drink first?” The emperor offered the ruby bottle to Erinando.
Eward’s lips twisted, and he muttered under his breath. “My opinion, that foppery fool doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air that surrounds his precious little bottle.”
Erinando froze for a moment, his body language seeming to shout surprise that the emperor would deign to offer him a sip of his own emperor’s beneficent gift. Then, very slowly, he set the box down on a golden step and stood before the emperor. With both hands, he reverently accepted the hollowed-out ruby. He half turned and addressed his countrymen, who all leaned forward in interest. Lifting the ruby bottle, he saluted them. “All our efforts have brought us to this moment. Long live the emperor. Long live Yl Senyecho, and long live the Corona.” He turned back to face the emperor and raised the ruby bottle to his lips. Instead of a sip, he seemed to drink long enough to drain half the bottle. The emperor’s expression closed with disapproval.
Then Erinando spat straight up into the air, dropping the ruby bottle unheeded to the stone floor. Several thoughts shot through Eward’s mind in close succession. Something’s wrong. Is he sick? And then, as the first, white-hot flames burst against the ceiling and devoured its wooden panels—It’s a trap!
“Tala, portal!” But the flames scoured the ceiling far too quickly, blazing down with unbearable heat. They clawed their way to the tops of the walls as the members of the negotiating sides cowered and clung to the floor, screaming as they tried in vain to escape the heat. The imperial duelists in the corners near the emperor lunged forward, beginning their complex spell motions. Their magic would arrive too late.
In a chamber with no doors, the only way out was Tala’s portal, but the fire would kill everyone in the room before
she had time to sing, consuming the air she needed for her spell. Eward needed time. No. Time is not my problem. That fire is my problem.
His necklace went hot against his skin. He flung all of the emotions boiling behind his eyes at the fire: terror, fear, pain, and, as always, a soaring hope for a positive outcome. They blended into a visible white mist that permeated the flames, turning them in an instant into crackling, fogging ice.
The room went completely dark, its lamps crushed and melted by the fire and then obscured by ice. The black air filled with of cracks and pops as the ice crystals twisted and spun across the ceiling and down the walls. Tala’s voice trailed off to nothing.
Azhni clutched at Eward’s sleeve. “Light. I must see to the emperor.”
Eward flicked a bright light within the ice, and its eerie glow played over the bizarre scene. Erinando was coated in ice, but within it, his body was already burnt to a crisp, a human ice stalactite, connecting floor to ceiling in the middle of the room. Azhni dashed past him to see to the emperor, who was cowering, arm across his face, sleeve smoking, sprawled atop his golden stairs.
The two imperial duelists stared at Eward with fascinated horror.
The representatives began to clamber to their feet, singed and smoking, some with ice crystals in their hair and clothing. All were wide eyed, but those from the Corona turned their eyes toward each other with a strange, intense focus.
Eward’s stomach contracted.
As one, the dozen Corona representatives pulled small flasks from beneath their ceremonial robes and brought them to their lips.
No! Eward hurled his Earth avatar straight upward, and the crystalline cluster smashed a hole up through the ground to the surface of the Kheerzaal campus. He doubled his wind disc formation, creating one beneath himself and Tala, the other beneath Azhni and the limp emperor. Even as the Corona casters began to spew forth their liquid magic, Eward propelled the emperor up the newly created escape shaft and tore after him with such speed that it drew tears from his eyes. Chasing his ascent through the tunnel came a deep, bass roar of elemental flame.
Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) Page 12