An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3)

by J. D. L. Rosell

  An impact, and the fingers loosened.

  Garin twisted away, wheezing for a breath. Blessed air filled his lungs. He opened his eyes and found his vision filled with a thousand stars. Hauling himself to his knees, Garin fought against the nausea and pain and looked up. Figures brawled, silhouettes framed against the burning body of the Nightelf. He glimpsed Wren, her petite features twisted in a snarl, as she lashed at her assailant. Two others grappled further back among the trees.

  Staggering upright, Garin braced his still-bound hands against a tree and tried ordering his scattered thoughts. He listened to the Song and felt it sweep him up. Sorcery, so far away under the scarred man's assault, came within reach again. He leveled his hands at Wren's assailant as they broke apart.

  "Jolsh!" he wheezed.

  The little air in his lungs was stolen away as a gust whipped free of him. The man fighting Wren went staggering under the cantrip. She seized the opportunity at once, leaping atop him and plunging a pilfered weapon into his chest.

  But shadows ringed the woods. The pounding of feet and angry shouts broke through the triumphant Song in Garin's head as Ravagers poured in around them. He briefly contemplated further resistance, but it was too late.

  Unseen hands seized him and dragged him backward. Someone hit him in the gut, doubling him over and leaving his tortured lungs again bereft of air. He was defeated, but that didn't stop them from reinforcing the lesson. Garin stumbled as the hands shoved him into the darkness and toward an uncertain fate.

  Bastion of Empire

  Tal hardly raised his head in their four days of travel. Only when one of his pair of guards muttered to the other, "'Bout damned time. Gloomy company, this," did he look up.

  Before them, the walls of Kavaugh rose from the plains. Their dull tan, like rainwater filtering off a muddy thatched roof, betrayed the sandstone of which they were made. Farms littered the way to the city, and the land lay fallow for the winter. He glimpsed their owners moving about their daily tasks of chopping wood, hauling water, and caring for the livestock. They were humans for the most part, though the sporadic minotaur appeared as well, often acting as the beasts of burden they resembled by pulling wagons and heaving bales of hay over their broad shoulders. The snow proliferating through the mountains had largely disappeared at this lower elevation, leaving the land brown and barren.

  Tal lowered his gaze again. Kavaugh and its surrounding countryside could not hold his interest. He bobbed along on his lended horse, feeling like a leaf tossed about in an inescapable wind.

  The arrow wound in his chest had long ago sealed over. Though he had momentarily resolved to leave it in an act of self-flagellation, it had been too difficult to sleep with the thing poking near his heart. After he pulled it, his sorcery swiftly scabbed it over, then healed it entirely. Since the sorcery acted of its own volition, it seemed not to violate the terms of the Binding Ring.

  Still, the agony's disappearance did nothing to ease the guilt that boiled inside him.

  As promised, he had not attempted to escape. Hashele had spoken truly back upon Valankesh Pass: he did not know if he could break the artifact's hold. When he concentrated, he could see the windings of enchantment through the crystal, beautiful in their braiding, yet so intricate as to be impossible to unravel. The enchantment resembled a knot where he could find neither end, but only coils layered upon more coils. Each strand of sorcery reinforced the next, so that even a brute attack of cutting through the hex would likely prove unsuccessful. Even if he could manage it, it would not be a swift or simple task. And if the torment it inflicted upon him when he escaped did not put him in the ground, Hashele and her ready dagger would. She kept a close eye on his hands, which were now forbidden gloves despite the chill bite of the flatland winds, always assuring herself that the Binding Ring remained where she had put it.

  I could sever the finger again.

  The Extinguished had forbade it, but all that meant was enduring more of the same suffering. He might even be able to accomplish it without a knife; he could summon stone just as sharp, or perhaps file a gust to a cutting edge.

  He clenched his hands over his saddle's pommel. Not yet. He could not defy Hashele until he knew the others were safe. It was too risky.

  Once they are free, he promised himself. Then you can fight to the last. That brought a smile to his lips, embittered as it might be.

  There was a fortunate irony to the way things had turned out. Kavaugh had been his party's original destination. Their capture only meant they would arrive at the capital in a rather less comfortable fashion.

  Perhaps the Whispering Gods are watching out for us after all.

  But Tal had never been one to keep faith.

  Hashele's guards flanked Tal. One of them held the reins to his horse, taken from another of the Ravagers — likely one of those he and his companions had killed. Strangely, the Easterners seemed to hold little resentment for the battle. Little love was lost between the headhunters of the Empire. They treated Tal with a carefulness verging on respect, but teetering toward fear. They had overcome him, but not before witnessing how, were he unfettered, he could easily destroy them both.

  The Extinguished herself rode just ahead, straight-backed in the saddle, her black cowl pulled over her horrific features. She had barely spoken two words to Tal in the days of travel. Of her intentions for him, and why she brought him to Kavaugh rather than to Yuldor himself atop Ikvaldar, he had not the faintest idea. He didn't dare hope that she, like Pim, harbored dreams of rebellion. Though his one-time companion was far from trustworthy, only against Wren had he shown the proclivity for violence the other Soulstealers seemed to share, and only then for his greater purpose. Hashele far more resembled Soltor and the Thorn than the black-sheep Pim.

  Still, even as he burned with hatred for her, he kept the tiny hope tucked away in his breast. Little as it was, it kept him in the saddle.

  The road, largely unpopulated to this point, grew congested as they drew near the walls. Imperials of every Bloodline littered the way, with humans in greatest supply. Tal glanced at them, unable to fully kill his curiosity. The populace did not seem as poor off as he might have suspected. Throughout its western half, the Empire of the Rising Sun had seemed an impoverished place; now, some of its prosperity came to light. While most of the throngers were peasantry, some few carriages cut through the crowd with the usual callousness of fair-blooded citizens. Merchant wagons could also be seen, and horses, mules, and other beasts of burden were more common than among the farms of the East Marsh.

  Tal lowered his head, mulling over the discrepancies with his previous notions. Just like with most rumors, they hold far more lies than truth. The East hosted its fair share of monsters, to be sure, and a callous god set atop a mountain. But in the plains and valleys, it was a land just like any other, full of people trying to make decent lives in a harsh World. They did not seem an evil breed bent on the destruction of the Westreach, but ordinary folk.

  Why do we wage war at all, then?

  As futile as the Eternal Animus seemed now, the thought summoned another hint of hope. That, without Yuldor, perhaps the East and the Westreach would no longer quarrel.

  But his fledgling hopes plummeted as they traveled through the peons. The people parted at once before their company, and upon seeing Hashele, many prostrated themselves in the frozen mud. They held their hands above their heads in a cup, as if begging for coins or water from the sorceress. The ghost of a mocking smile tugged at his lips. Here he had been hoping for peace, while the Imperials beheld the Extinguished with unrestrained reverence. Killing their god was likely to provoke further war than stop it.

  Even with their passage to the city quickened by the crowd's parting, it was slow going. The sun, only a quarter of its ascent through the sky when they came within the shadows of Kavaugh's walls, neared noon by the time they entered through the gates. The guards bowed before Hashele in a similar manner as the peasants, though they did not descend to
their knees. Instead, they remained at erect attention until the Extinguished was a dozen paces past.

  As the shadow fell away and dull sunlight shimmered through the cold air, Tal found that the mud of the road had been replaced with stones. They were smoothed with use and riddled with cracks and mud, but the very fact that stone had been used on such a frequently trafficked road awoke his curiosity once more. He looked up and found himself captivated.

  Kavaugh rose all around him. Buildings to either side blocked his view, while the road ahead ran as straight as an arrow until it reached an ascent. There, it wound up the hill like a glistening white serpent. The edifices grew ever grander as the metropolis went higher until finally, at its apex, sat a golden castle.

  The Sun Emperor's palace.

  It boasted more spires than seemed possible for the building to support. Glass windows shone across its face like the thousand eyes of a queen spider watching over her brood. He wondered if the yellow hue was from sandstone or if the entire facade was gilded with gold.

  If that's where the Emperor lives, he thought, what must Yuldor's home look like?

  Hashele glanced back as they continued forward, seeming eager to read Tal's first reaction to the city. He carefully smoothed his face but for the smile, which he sharpened to elegant disdain. The sorceress' features moved minutely, but as she turned away, he thought she had taken his message and been displeased. Given the situation, he could have asked for no greater victory.

  His act fell away as he continued to study the city. The street they traveled upon, as with every main thoroughfare, boasted impromptu markets all along it. City guards marched past at regular intervals, only pausing to bow before the Extinguished. Drawing in a deep breath, he found the winter-kissed air cleaner than in Halenhol, but entirely lacking the wholesomeness of Elendol. Still, considering the size of the place, he found himself impressed. By the intermittent gutters and the arches of the aqueducts they passed under, the Eastern capital had far more infrastructure in place than Avendor could ever aspire to.

  A poor country, indeed, he thought wryly. I wonder what you would say to see it, Aldric.

  While the buildings did not possess the grace of the Sanguine City, it did not fare poorly against Elendol. Parks appeared at occasional intervals, a welcome respite from the bustle of the city, even if the vegetation was brown and withered with the season. Most of the homes and shops were constructed of timber and shingle, but stone edifices were not infrequent. Those upper-class citizens he glimpsed were richly dressed, overflowing with fabric and ornamentation in bright and luxurious colors. Prosperity was not only present on the palace, but among its people as well.

  My first glimpse of Paradise, I suppose.

  Hashele led Tal and the two Ravagers to the base of the hill, then followed the road up through numerous switchbacks. As they gained height, Tal glanced back and saw Kavaugh splayed out below. The city seemed built in a perfect circle, though he could only see a portion of it. Considering the logical layout of the rest of it, he could not imagine it would be otherwise on the opposing side. Like an architect designed it, he thought. He wondered if the architect was the divine being he suspected. Yuldor's hand touched everywhere in this city.

  Up and up, they ascended. The population and buildings grew steadily more lavish with their gain in altitude. The nobility, almost a frequent sight on these high streets, bowed just as the peasantry did, albeit with less deference. Their eyes followed Tal, daring to stare openly where no peon would. Tal gave them the same smile he had before, though he scarcely had the heart for it.

  Another set of walls appeared halfway up, and a third as they neared Kavaugh's pinnacle. The palace loomed over them. Now, its immensity seemed like the bulk of an overgrown dragon, jealously eyeing those who dared to come near its treasure trove.

  At the final gate, the palace guards bowed before Hashele, bending to her will the same as their fellows in the city below. Tal wondered who held the greater authority in the Empire, if the Emperor was no more than a puppet to the puppets. The worshipfulness of Kavaugh's citizenry certainly seemed to indicate whom they held in higher regard.

  They passed through the gate and emerged into an assiduously manicured park. Despite the season and the frigid wind that clawed through fur and cloth, green reigned in the imperial gardens. The bushes, evergreens, were trimmed with precision. The amount of skill and effort that went into the presentation baffled Tal.

  What else could be accomplished, he thought, how many people helped, if as much care went into ruling a state?

  Yet he thought of what he had seen of Kavaugh and found he could not fault the Sun Emperor overly much. In comparison to King Aldric, the ruler of the Empire was still holding up favorably.

  They walked their mounts down the long, perfectly maintained stone tiles to the palace steps, thirty paces astride. There, grooms materialized and took charge of their mounts. The steps rose another twenty feet, and Tal sighed and labored up them, the guards flanking him as ever. Before they reached the top, however, Hashele turned toward Tal.

  "Look." The Extinguished pointed behind them, exposing the coral stoniness of her skin as her sleeve drew back. Tal debated not looking just for defiance's sake, but his curiosity won out. Yet another startling sight greeted his eyes. The city below was no longer visible, hidden behind the palatial barricades, and the fields beyond were shrouded by low-hanging clouds. But far away, something loomed out of the landscape. It seemed a painting, the details hazy with distance. Yet as he felt no heating of his blood, he suspected it was not an illusion.

  Ikvaldar.

  The mountain rose high above the World. Its peak was broad rather than pointed and must have spanned the width of all of Kavaugh. But it was not only the vastness and height of the peak that impressed him. The rest of the East's mountains had been covered in snow. This summit defied the natural order of the seasons and glimmered a brilliant green. It was as if the enchantment that covered Elendol had been moved and expanded across an entire mountaintop, and a jungle proliferated where it had no right to be.

  Paradise. Yuldor's Paradise.

  Even having read Hellexa Yoreseer's accounts and heard Pim's stories, he had not expected the sight. Something unfamiliar filled him, and it took him a moment to recognize it. He had been a poor follower of the Creed all his life. Yet for the first time, he thought he understood what good believers felt.

  Is this what men and women encounter when they kneel before their gods? he wondered. The disbelief? The terror? The awe?

  But this was not faith's reward; it was potential fulfilled. All his life, the sorcery that flowed through his veins had been used for violence and destruction. Now lay before him evidence of a different use, a better use. Part of him yearned to be part of it, to spread this bounty across the World. Yet the thought came edged with fear.

  If Yuldor can do this, what can he not do?

  In that moment, even after all of his hard-won knowledge, he had difficulty believing the Enemy was anything less than a god. Tal turned back to Hashele and found her expression twisted into a forgery of a smile.

  "Futile," she said, then turned and set up the stairs again.

  Having little other choice, Tal followed, the Ravagers keeping pace beside him. They entered the palace through a smaller portal set in a pair of towering doors that would have required two trolls to haul open. The interior was no less impressive. Gold lined the columns, the balustrades, and every door and window frame. Gold flecked the tiled floor. Tal found his vision dazzled by the opulence and lowered his gaze. There was wealth in the East, true enough, but the flagrant waste was beginning to wear on him.

  Watching his feet rather than the sumptuous sights, Tal followed Hashele's heels. They passed through chamber after chamber, the illumination shifting from natural light to flickering fires to sorcery, betrayed by the flushing heat in his blood. He wondered if he was to meet the Sun Emperor just then, dirtied from travel and bound with an ancient artifact. Profane
as that would be, a throne room seemed the most logical place to put at the end of the long hall.

  Finally, after what felt a thousand paces, they turned aside. Tal raised his head to glimpse a low archway under which lay a small door. The Extinguished opened the shadowed portal, revealing a dark room beyond. As the door unlatched, werelights flickered into life, and a fresh wave of sorcery bloomed in Tal's blood. He shuffled inside, and the guards began to enter behind him.

  "No." Hashele turned, her haunting eyes falling on the Ravagers. "Leave us."

  Tal felt their hesitation in the moment's pause. But only a fool says no to the Extinguished. A small smile curled his lips as he heard the two men depart, closing the door behind them.

  The smile lingered as he studied the floor. It was layered with rugs, red-hued instead of yellow like the rest of the palace. He had never seen the designs that were woven into the thick rugs, yet they teased his interest, evoking strange feelings within him. He wondered if they were unfamiliar runes writ large, and what effect it might have to be sewn into fabric rather than carved into stone or wood. He had never heard of such a practice before.

  But that has never stopped impossibilities before.

  "Bavay made." Hashele answered his unspoken question with as much impatience as she issued her commands. "By Banjit Dam Ocha, the finest weaver in all the Empire."

  Tal raised his gaze to meet hers. "How fine to hear of its history. It gives me all the greater pleasure in soiling it with my boots." He ground his heel into the fabric to illustrate his point.

  Her lapis swirls spasmed, and her eyes burned colder.

  "You taunt and you jape," the Extinguished said in a low, harsh voice, "even with all your friends' lives on the line. I would not mind slitting that boy's throat, and the elf woman's as well. What was the name Thartol knew her by… Ashelia Venaliel?"

  The hard knot in his stomach twisted tighter. She was right; what could he gain from provoking her? But still, a smile forced its way up.