The Twelve Plagues (The Cycle of Galand Book 7)

by Edward W. Robertson

  THE TWELVE PLAGUES

  ALSO BY EDWARD W. ROBERTSON

  THE CYCLE OF ARAWN

  The Cycle of Arawn: The Complete Trilogy

  THE CYCLE OF GALAND

  The Red Sea

  The Silver Thief

  The Wound of the World

  The Light of Life

  The Spear of Stars

  What Lies Beyond

  THE BREAKERS SERIES

  Breakers

  Melt Down

  Knifepoint

  Reapers

  Cut Off

  Captives

  Relapse

  Blackout

  Cover illustration by Miguel Coimbra.

  Text and additional design by Stephanie Mooney.

  Map by Jared Blando.

  

  Mallon, Gask, and other lands.

  PROLOGUE

  He had always been.

  Before the oldest beasts drew their first breaths, he had thought about how they would die. Before the most ancient tree unfurled from its seed, he had walked where there was no ground at all. Before the mountains had sprouted from the roots of the earth, he had inflicted atrocities.

  Though he hadn't been asleep, he awoke.

  He looked out on the world. He wasn't yet himself and there was much he couldn't see but it was clear that little had changed. Just the fine details. The same way a beach holds its greater shape even as small dunes are raised and smoothed and countless grains of individual sand are washed away and replaced. He didn't know how many years it had been, because he didn't count his time by the turnings of the sun (and was he older than that, too?). But he had the sense it had been a long time. Long enough that even the mountains could feel it.

  Though little had changed, there was much more of it. But that meant there was more to burn through, didn't it now?

  Entity?

  He didn't have a head to turn in this form and he wouldn't have anyway: the presence was no surprise, it's what had stirred him in the first place.

  Yes.

  Do you wish to go to work? the presence said.

  I do not need your permission.

  I did not mean to suggest that you did, but rather as a means to—

  Speak, thing.

  The presence hesitated. Then it told him what it wished.

  Yes, he said. I feel this now.

  And you are able?

  You cannot do this for yourselves?

  Long ago, there was a pact. This limited our reach beyond even the limits placed on us when we manifest. So we are not able—but are you?

  Yes, the entity said. For this is why I exist.

  The presence wished to speak more, but he sent it away.

  From his place elsewhere, he looked out on the world. He didn't yet have his full powers, and wouldn't for some time; only when he was able to manifest in that realm would he be able to touch it directly. But his present smallness didn't mean he couldn't consider how he might carry out his work once he was more able: artful and subtle? Theatrical and elegant? Crude and overwhelming? Each means bore its own beauty, and there were infinite means to choose from.

  He felt something that he had not felt in a very long time: excitement.

  People moved across the face of the world just as they had for so many years. Soon, there would be nothing but stillness.

  He had always been.

  1

  She hung in the sky like a cursed star. Golden light washed from her skin. In the realm of the gods, this nimbus had been beautiful, a sign of the celestial order that had given birth to the mortal one.

  But now that it had come to the realm of man, it glared with golden malice.

  Dante bit the inside of his lip and tasted the tang of blood. Nether spiraled around his hands. "This is our land, not yours, Ka. You are not welcome here."

  Falling snow twirled around her, but none of the flakes were able to land on her. "My masters made this place. It is theirs to do with as they wish, and that is the very reason they have sent me here: to deliver the message that you have broken the covenant with the gods, and have been doomed for it."

  Blays scratched the back of his head. "So the only time the gods could be bothered to talk to us is when they're about to exterminate us? And they didn't even come in person? You guys are kind of pricks, you know that?"

  "We did nothing," Dante said. "The White Lich was set to destroy all of Rale—and Taim wanted him to succeed. It was the gods who broke the covenant with us!"

  Ka's expressions were often inhuman, but there was no mistaking the contempt that flared in her eyes. "Save your words and your indignation. I was not sent here to argue or to listen to your endless complaints. In your lords' final act of mercy, they sent me to give you a warning."

  "This ought to be good," Blays muttered.

  "Everything you know will soon be brought to an end. For some of you, that end will come within days. Few will see more than another month. And none will live to see the next year.

  "You must not waste what little time you have left," the angel implored. "Use it not to struggle against what can't be fought, but to spend time with your families and brethren. Use it to complete your last works and to speak truths you've been too afraid to utter until now. Use it to conquer cold mountains or return home to warm hearths. Use it to live, knowing that you will be the last to ever live."

  "With such little time left to us," Gladdic said, "should we not use it to make our peace with our gods?"

  Ka shook her head slowly. "That would be to waste it. For your actions have assured that there can be no peace between mortals and gods."

  Dante took a step through the snow, shadows trailing from his hands. "This is absurd. We've killed the Eiden Rane. That means our dispute with you is done with. If this is about the Spear of Stars, we'll return it. That was always part of the deal."

  "You do not really think this is about some mere weapon?"

  "The thing Taim nearly tore your realm apart to try to stop us from getting? I thought it might play a part, yeah."

  "The spear means nothing. Though it will do you no good to keep. For the fate coming for you cannot be fought by any weapon."

  "Why is Taim so hellbent on doing this? We got most of the other gods to agree that it was wrong. If we just go and speak to them right now—"

  Ka tilted her head. "You aren't listening to me. Again, I was not sent here to argue or bargain with you. I was sent here to deliver my message. Listening to you speak, I doubt you'll make use of it. But that isn't my concern. And as of now, neither are you."

  "This is insane," Dante said. "You can't just…"

  But she had already turned her back and begun to ascend into the sky. Dante's words trailed off like the globs of snow falling silently to the ground. He felt certain there must be something he could say or do to bring all this conflict to an end, but the angel was shrinking further and further into the bleakness. Then, at once, she was gone.

  "Suppose she's going to go and warn the whole rest of the planet, too?" Blays said. "Or are we that special?"

  "This is so stupid," Dante said. "If Taim is that angry about the Mists not working the way he intended them to, why not just create a new world? Why does he have to destroy ours?"

  "He knows that he is responsible for the failure of our realms," Gladdic said. "Having erred, it is his responsibility to correct it."

  "Or maybe he can't stand the thought that as long as we exist, he'll always be reminded of his failures." Dante shook the snow from his hood, gazing across the field of wheat they'd been doing their best to use the nether to harvest up from the stubborn earth. "Whatever army they'
re sending for us sounds like it will be here within days. We'll have to rebuild the city defenses the best we can."

  Blays moved some snow around with his foot. "You still want to stay here?"

  "For the week we agreed on, yes. But if we can find a way to gather enough food, we'll stay put for good. If we march out into the wilds and they hit us then, we'll be completely defenseless."

  "Then again, if we double-time it to Gallador before the divine host shows up, we'll have food, defenses, and allies."

  Dante rubbed his chill-bitten face. "Even if we start right this second, it'll take days before we're ready to travel. We'll begin preparing now, and with any luck, our move will be more obvious by the time we're able to make it."

  This was true, but it was an unsatisfying kind of truth. His list of responsibilities had felt long even before Ka arrived and might have just crossed into the impossible. Then again, that's what he had legions of subordinates, servants, and citizens for, wasn't it? To get them to do all the things he couldn't or didn't want to do? As important as it was to grow the wheat, then, his first act was to put everyone else to work.

  In some ways, there was less work to be done than he'd thought. As far as scouting for coming threats went, they already had a host of dead flies in the air and mice in the fields to keep eyes on the Blighted that were still stumbling around the forests. He'd already restored a lot of the defenses that had been torn down in the battle with the lich, and the grunt-work that remained could be accelerated by simply applying more bodies to the task.

  As he went around giving orders and making consultations, though, he was struck by how much fewer of his people there were to be put to work. Even if he'd wanted to, it wasn't a loss he could reduce to faceless masses, either. For when he went to gather his advisers to strategize potential plans of defense, he was reminded that his high general, Olivander, who he'd known since first coming to the city, was gone as well.

  All these affairs kept him so busy he didn't have time to return to the wheat field until the brink of sundown. He lifted his hand to the sullen stalks, then stopped himself. Did he dare to exhaust his powers? What if the gods struck at them that same night, before he'd recovered? Then again, it would be unlikely to be that night; Ka had made it sound as if they had at least a few days of reprieve.

  So he took a calculated risk—and made a modest hedge—by only spending somewhat more than half his strength to grow the crops. As before, though, it was much harder work than it should have been, and as he trudged home in darkness, mentally revising down the amount of grain he projected them to be able to grew, his steps grew heavier.

  Then, because he had the feeling he wouldn't be able to do so again for a very long time, he went and found Blays and got drunk.

  "Well," Blays said. "I can't say I never thought I'd be cursed to die by the gods, but this really wasn't the way I saw the year going."

  "None of this makes sense." Dante swirled his spiced rum. "Is Taim acting alone? Or did the coalition we built broke apart? If he couldn't stop us in his own kingdom, how does he expect to annihilate us here?"

  "He created this world. Why wouldn't he have the power to destroy it?"

  "Because I don't want him to."

  Blays leaned back in his chair, brandishing his mug to punctuate his point. "What you ought to be asking is what it means that he sent Ka in the first place. Why warn us of his plans?"

  "What? You think he might be bluffing? Why would he do that?"

  "Because he hates us and would get a good laugh out of watching us panic and cry? There's another possibility, though. He sent Ka because he's so confident in what he's going to do to us that it makes no difference if we know it's coming."

  "I think I prefer the bluffing one."

  Someone bumped into Dante's chair. The man turned, laughing, ready for an argument. When he saw who he'd disturbed, his sneer fled his face like a cat from a glass it's just knocked off the counter.

  "My lord, I didn't, I—"

  Dante waved him off. Under normal circumstances, he would have allowed the fellow to grovel a bit, if only to maintain the proper hierarchies, but rather than drinking ancient wine in the lofty heights of the Citadel, he and Blays had gone to the pub for the express purpose of mixing it up with the citizens. The place wasn't even a registered public house: instead, it was a collection of stalls that had spontaneously assembled in the days after the battle where people could buy or swap whatever goods they'd lost or been deprived of during the unusual times of the last few months.

  Dante had thrown a feast to mark the victory, but apparently that hadn't been enough for many people. Despite the cold, they'd begun congregating at the sudden market to chat and socialize. Some enterprising souls had recognized the opportunity at hand and started selling drinks of all kinds. Strictly speaking, none of this was legal, so Dante had decided to give it his blessing by attending it himself—and, of course, by sampling as much of its offerings as he could.

  "We need to get to the other side," Dante said. "Speak to Carvahal. Find out what's going on and what we can do to stop it. Are there any gateways closer to us? Or just the one in Barsil?"

  Blays looked around. "Are you asking me?"

  "The only other person here?"

  "I know about as much about magical gateways as the chicken on that fellow's plate."

  "Gods damn it. We can't ride all the way to Bressel to cross over. That means we'll have to count on someone from their side crossing over to us." He tapped his fingers against the side of his mug. "We'll also send a venture to the monks at Houkkalli. I doubt they have direct information about the location of other gateways to the Realm, but it's possible they might have that information and not know what it is."

  "Crossing the north sea in this weather? Who are you assigning to captain that mission, that guy who just bumped into you?"

  "Naran, maybe. I'd like to go with someone more expendable, but I'd also like to make sure the job gets done." Dante finished his drink and lifted it to call for another. "Suppose I'll have to decide fast."

  "I thought we had a week. Barring any sudden divine smitings."

  "It didn't hit me until I went back to the fields. If I pour all my nether into growing wheat, and then Taim's legions descend on us, what happens then?"

  "You bribe him with the biggest loaf of bread he's ever seen?"

  "We'd die like dogs. The spectacle would be too shameful for the gods' poets to even write victory verses about."

  Blays shifted in his chair and nearly fell out of it, but he grabbed for the table with the quickness of a striking snake. "Are you feeling all right? Whatever you're drinking is turning your humors blacker than a crow's ass."

  "I'm not trying to despair. What I'm saying is that it's too risky to harvest more grain. That means that every day we stay here, the more we deplete what little food we've got left."

  "So what?"

  "So unless you have a good recipe for boiled Blighted, we're going to starve."

  "What are you going on about? The plan was always that if we couldn't find more food, we'd leave for Gallador, right? You're saying we have even less to eat than we thought. So…just leave."

  Dante opened his mouth, ready to object that it couldn't be that simple. But on the other hand, maybe it was? The situation had shifted. Their plans must shift to match.

  They were ready within two days. Faster than he had expected. He said his farewell to Captain Naran, who had accepted the mission of sailing to the Houkkalli Islands in search of lost lore for traveling to the Realm of Nine Kings, then Dante gathered up the people by the many thousands and led them toward the south gate. A small fraction of the citizens had refused to leave, insisting on staying in their homes instead; they'd simply had enough, and as far as Dante could tell had decided to pretend that things had gone back to normal rather than to hell.

  He'd considered arresting them and dragging them along with the migration, but dealing with their intransigence for the entirety of the trip
would put all the others at risk. They'd made their decision. And he had made his. The only thing he could do was hope some of them would still be alive whenever he was able to make his return.

  As the last of the houses fell behind them, he turned for a look at the now-quiet city. He wondered if he would see it again.

  "Looks like we're not the only ones going hungry," Blays said.

  Dante turned. Beyond the fields, Blighted moved throughout the pine forest, their bodies nearly as pale as the snow under their bare feet.

  "This is the first time they've threatened us since the lich died," Dante muttered. "What's gotten into them?"

  "If they don't get out of my way, about six feet of spear."

  Blays drew the weapon from his side. It was currently no more than a short metal rod capped by the apple-sized purestone, but as he lifted it high, it sprung to its full length. White light flashed across the snow, accompanied by a sharp clap.

  As well-trained as Blays' destrier was, it reared back, spooked by the light, threatening to spill him until he wrestled its reins and brought its hooves back to earth. Dante hadn't seen the Spear of Stars since Blays had wielded it to destroy the Eiden Rane, and the sight of its splendor made his eyes water.

  "All right, you bastards!" Blays called. "Do you really want a second dose?"

  He charged down the frozen road. Dante followed after him, drawing the shadows to his hands. Ether dazzled from the spear like captive lightning, shining on the snow. The Blighted gathering on the fringes of the forest stopped moving, staring dead-eyed at Blays.

  While he was still hundreds of feet away, those at the front stumbled backward, rushing for the shelter of the trees. The mob broke apart, scattering to the four winds, leaving no presence but footprints in the snow.

  Blays pulled to a halt, steam gushing from his horse's nose. "About time I got the respect I deserve."