“Most can’t rise to greatness. They just need something to believe in, something divine. Something beyond themselves.”
“Why?”
“So when the storm destroys their home, the flood their cattle, the pox their child—they can take comfort that there is a reason for it. A reason they don’t need to understand, but can simply accept. They need a god they can worship, pray to, ask for solace or direction. Even if it’s a god on earth, they must believe it’s divine.”
“And you have someone in mind?”
“I do. You.”
This time it was Jak who raised his voice. “What? That’s absurd, Kluber.”
“You’re already the leader you described, my friend. You’re idolized by every one of those refugees. You have the power to command earth and lightning, and you know more about what’s really going on than anyone else in the empire. At least above ground.”
Jak could not stop shaking his head. This was not at all a conversation he was prepared for, but he knew he had to stamp out his friend’s misconceptions before they went any further. “I can’t command earth and lightning. I can only ask other forces and hope they listen.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I ask the devils, Kluber—our enemies. I can do nothing by myself.”
“Have you tried?”
“I...” Jak stopped. This was another thing he had never let himself consider.
Now he did. Many times he had touched the beating pulse of the living world, and the more he did so the stronger the connection. I’ve communed with it, he thought. Why did that sound familiar?
“I’m not a god…”
“You could be, if you wanted. That family you saved would worship you, without hesitation.”
“Just because someone worships another does not make them a god.”
Kluber raised an eyebrow. “Does it not?”
“He’s right, Jak,” Calla’s sleepy voice added. She remained reclined, eyes closed, and she might have been speaking from a dream. “You chose this task, remember? If you take away their belief, you owe them a new one.”
The growing sound of hoofbeats cut short any attempt at a reply. Unsurprisingly, they came to a stop just outside the tent. A moment later, the scowling face of Leny appeared. “Henrikson. The Third wants you, immediately.”
Instinctively, Jak knew this visit would be less pleasant than the previous. He looked at his companions, Calla slowly pushing herself up from the mat, Kluber nodding reassuringly. “We’ll catch up later. The king needs your advice. Remember, trust in yourself.”
Jak reluctantly climbed onto the back of Leny’s mount, not really any more comfortable with horses than he had been the last time. Wrapping his arms around her as she galloped away, he asked if she could say what the audience was about.
By way of reply, she pointed to the dawning skies above the city, where scores of black shapes circled overhead. Shapes too large to be birds.
He gulped, and asked no further questions, afraid of the answers he might receive.
She stopped beside Nicolas’ headquarters, and helped him down with more courtesy than he expected. He thought she would ride off then, but instead she leaned down close.
“I’ve heard talk about you, that you know things. That you saved the refugees from the demons.” She glanced up at the shapes in the sky. “Your friend is right. Trust in yourself.”
She kicked the horse’s flanks and rode away, leaving him alone to face the next step of his task. He felt stinging sweat run in his eyes, and his belly swam with growing nausea. Yet the worst discomfort came from his hand, which now ached as much as it had when he had put it to flame. He felt lightheaded, and the entrance to the tent began to move in circles before him.
Jak looked back toward the dark shapes. They still circled, staying high above the range of bolt and arrow. Now he noticed clouds in the distance behind them, to the north and west. Not the sort of clouds that would bring rain and relief, but the sort that brought thunder and lightning, darkness and death.
The image of a woman being devoured by a velbat flashed through his mind. Screams and yells, a wedding turned nightmare. Calla’s father falling. Pikkel’s flute laying on the street. Terrors Jak thought he had forgotten, or at least put behind him.
He could not breathe. Ripping his eyes from the sky, he faced the ground, only to find that it, too, moved in circles. He was dizzy, about to faint.
The tent opened before him, a figure emerging. Lima. She put her hand on his shoulder, but that was not enough. He pushed himself against her, felt her one arm encircle his feeble body. He pressed his face to hard chain and began to cry.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s the strain. It gets to us all.”
How long he cried, he did not know. A few seconds, he hoped. Less than a minute, for sure. Then he straightened himself and looked into her imperturbable face. “Lead on.”
The king’s tent was filled with the same visitors as before, plus a few additions. Since the first time he saw them, Jak had asked about the identities of Generals Reikmann and Koblenzar and Captain Anika. Now this group was augmented by General Boisson of the Dauphi army and one of his aides who had been present at the original parley between the armies, several days and countless worries ago.
And there was one more, a young soldier in Akenberg livery covered in dirt and dust, his cheeks covered in unkempt stubble, exhaustion as visible as the bloodstains on his tunic. From the way he stood before the king’s desk, all eyes upon him, it was clear that his presence carried enormous gravity.
King Nicolas met Jak’s eyes as he came in, acknowledged him with a faint nod, then returned his attention to this haggard soldier.
Lima whispered into Jak’s ear. “A messenger from General Cottzer, in Vilnia.”
Vilnia? What was happening in Vilnia? That was far to the east, as safe from the demons as anywhere in the empire.
“And when you reached Halfsummit, Private? What then?” The weariness that Jak felt was given voice in the king’s question.
“We did not reach Halfsummit, Third. The invaders met us on the plains beneath.”
“They left a fortress to fight in the open? That strikes me as a mistake.”
“Aye, we thought so, too. General Ariens of the Vilnians was in command, of course. Second Garrett deferred to his judgment. General Cottzer advised attacking before the moment was lost, and the Vilnians agreed. We deployed at the end of the long march, as day turns to eve.
“Without a night’s rest, then,” the king said, resignedly.
“We thought the opportunity called for alacrity. Morale was high, for the barbarians are known to be inferior fighters compared to Imperials. They haven’t the skill or discipline we do…
“Only it was no opportunity at all. The battlefield was chosen for a reason.”
“Their tactics were different than the generals expected, were they not?”
“Aye, Third. The tribes have never lacked for courage, but their strength was always individual combat. We did not expect them to function so well as units. Not up to Imperial standards, by any means, but well enough to hold a line against the first direct attack. Well enough to buy time.”
“Until night?” Nicolas asked, but the soldier shook his head.
“Nay. Not a true night, anyway. The weather was…unusual. Clouds gathered, the sky darkened prematurely, rain began to fall.
“Still, the advantage was ours. Both in numbers, and in maneuver. We were pushing them back, and thought we might reach the fortress that eve.”
Jak noticed the man’s chest heaving, some anxiety inflicting his recollection, though his voice remained calm. A messenger committed to his duty.
“The mountains had fallen behind cloud and fog by then. Soon the fortress itself became shrouded, as well. The fighting became less organized, and Ariens slowed the advance in order to dress the lines.
“And then the fire came. And the lightning. The sudden winds, impos
sibly cold. One moment we were so overheated we thought we might collapse, the next we had ice in our beards.
“The sounds…and the smells. I’ve never known anything like them.”
“Sorcery,” Reikmann said.
“Aye. There was powerful magick all around us.” The messenger looked from face to face, then finally back to the king. “But we fought on, Third. Fought harder, more desperately. Akenbergers and Vilnians, side by side. The call to fall back came down the lines. The tribesmen pressed in on all sides, but we held them at bay. Withdrew as many as could be saved.
“General Cottzer deployed his companies with the rear guard, covering the main retreat. Thankfully, the barbarians were tired, as well, for they did not pursue. Second Garrett himself joined our brave soldiers, Third. A most spectacular sight—”
“How many casualties?” Nicolas asked.
“Of our company? Four wounded, three dead.” The messenger paused. “And six missing.”
“And the Vilnians?”
“I…know not, Third. Hundreds.”
The king betrayed no emotion, but he said aloud, “Theus bless their souls.”
Don’t say such things, Jak thought. These gods don’t bless anything.
“At least we know where the main attack is coming,” Koblenzar said. “This cannot simply be a diversion.”
“So it would appear,” Nicolas agreed. “I know you’re tired, Private, but I must ask you to remain, for the moment. We may have more questions for you while we discuss…events.” He stood and bent down, then folded his chair to lift it over the desk. “Here, why don’t you use this for a while.”
The soldier was taken aback, but quickly accepted the chair and retreated to a corner of the tent as the others shuffled about in agitation. A circle of the officers began to form around the king, Lima and Pim receding into the background.
Jak moved to join them, then was stopped by Nicolas. “I want you to join us.” He found himself pulled into the circle.
The others gave him space, but some of their faces made it clear they were not happy about doing so.
“Who is this man, My King?” Koblenzar grumbled.
“He is the wisest person here,” Nicolas replied. “Not that that matters, General. I decide whose advice to heed, not you.”
He faced Jak. “What can you tell us of these flying creatures?”
Jak opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was aware that everyone stared at him now instead of the messenger. That soldier had been trained for this, however.
I don’t belong here. I’m just a thrall.
The eyes bore down on him. Some expected him to know all the answers, when in fact he knew next to nothing. Others expected him to fail. They were the smart ones.
I don’t belong here. I’m just a thrall. I don’t…
Nicolas waited a moment, then frowned. “Are they devils?”
Jak shook his head.
You want to tear down their beliefs, but you have to replace them with something else.
You, Jak. People will worship you, if you ask.
No one would worship him. That was a nonsensical idea born from sheer desperation.
“Do they have a weakness?”
He shook his head again. “I…don’t know.”
He forced himself to think of the attack on Everdawn, painful though the memory was. He and the others had run, first into Calla’s home, then to the shrine. They had only run, never once fighting back. And they had survived, somehow.
Not somehow. Because of Disciple Lukas. The image of the tragic young man, a shepherd in way over his head, burning his own hand down to the stump. His final words. So many souls, Jak. So many souls.
“Fire, I think. Light.”
“Light,” Reikmann scoffed. “It’s light now.”
Not for long. The clouds are coming, and with them the darkness.
Jak looked at Nicolas. Why are you doing this to me? “I need to research,” he said.
The king nodded. “You have one day. Go.”
Jak resisted the impulse to run, but he immediately felt relief as soon as he exited the tent. The morn was not yet half over, but the heat was already sweltering.
Yet that was nothing to the intensity of those stares, the weight of expectations, the impact of realizing that he was an imposter.
Kevik was the hero. Nicolas. Eberhart. Not me.
“Are you feeling better, Jak?”
He was alone with the king as eve settled into night. With no unfriendly faces to contend with, no disapproving glares unleashed upon his fragile mind, Jak found he could speak and think clearly again.
“Aye, thank you, Nico.”
The guard outside—not Leny, but someone who seemed to recognize him anyway—had let him enter without confrontation.
“You have something to tell me?”
“I do. Though it is not what you wish to hear.”
Jak had spent the morn in the Archives, alone, doing just what the king commanded. But there was so much knowledge contained in that sanctum that he had given up. He might spend a tenday or more before he would find any genuinely helpful lore about the velbats, who were but one of a thousand species of monster.
The devils, however—they were everywhere in those volumes. Without even trying, Jak found more information that would aid the goal he had set for himself. One item, in particular. A place to start looking.
The afternoon had been spent with his companions, seeking their advice. Gaining their consent. And failing to mend Calla’s broken spirits. Jak had a good idea what was wrong with her, but he had no notion of how to help.
“I’ll be leaving, on the morrow.”
“With your friends?”
“Aye. My task is urgent, Nico.”
“I understand, Jak. I am saddened, but I understand.” For a moment, the king looked as though he might stand up from the chair. Instead he leaned back, closing his eyes.
For the first time, in this fragment of quiet in the midst of so much turmoil, Jak saw the man before him for who he was. Barely more than a youth, a second son, a forgotten prince whose life had turned from a carefree insignificance to the gravest of import as swiftly as a hawk’s attack.
Jak himself had learned firsthand how difficult it was to lead just a few. His own self-confidence had wilted beneath the slightest of pressures. By contrast, Nicolas now ruled a kingdom, commanded an army, and waged three wars at the same time. How he did not collapse into tears every night was a mystery.
He would be a fine emperor, Jak decided. If circumstances reached that position, and if he wanted it. Something about the man suggested he did not.
A minute passed, then two. Believing the king to be asleep, Jak quietly made his way toward the entrance.
“See me again in the morn, Jak,” Nico said, without opening his eyes. “There might still be a way to help each other.”
When he saw the king’s gift, Jak’s heart sank.
The white horse was held by Lima, the brown by Pim. Both soldiers were smiling in amusement, for they knew how uncomfortable Jak became around the huge animals.
He saw no sign of the king himself. No surprise, considering the number of crises the man was juggling at the moment. Nevertheless, Jak would have liked to express his appreciation one last time.
The mounts would be a tremendous help, there was no question about that. As the white was the larger, Jak supposed he and Calla could share. Not that he felt any better knowing he would be responsible for her safety as well as his own.
He turned to her. “Shall I help you up?”
Jak had become inured to seeing doubt and worry appear in her eyes, but what he saw now was something entirely different. For some reason, she did not meet his gaze. She was looking past him.
“You found one,” Lima called out. “Good.”
Jak turned around in time to see Private Leny leading a mottled black and grey pony. It was small compared to the other two horses, but plenty large enough to carry the ride
r for whom it was intended.
Leny handed Calla the reins. “She’s a beaut. But sturdy. She’ll get you wherever you’re going.”
The raw pleasure on Calla’s face alone made Jak want to hug every one of the soldiers. He resisted the temptation, however.
“Well now, Jak,” came a cheerful voice, and they all turned to see Nicolas approach, appearing refreshed since the previous eve. Something looked different about him, and it took a moment for Jak to realize the king had eschewed his armor in favor of a light tunic, not much different from those the civilians wore.
“Or should I say Henrikson? What should we call you, hmm?”
“Just Jak, I think.” He regretted having ever attempted the deception, though he could not complain about where it had led.
“I think not,” the king said. “You still have a role to play in this conflict, and we cannot have your wisdom discredited from ignorant condescension. I think we’ll need to give you a proper Akenberg title, a sign of respect.” He smiled. “That means you can call me ‘My King’ again, if you prefer.”
“A title?” Jak had forgotten all about this suggestion, and found his mind running behind again. “What title?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? I admit I’m not sure. You’re unlanded, so I cannot very well name you a Lord. I thought about making Scholar an official position in my court, but that doesn’t seem to carry the weight we need to convey. So what, then?”
“Earththane,” Private Leny said. She was furtively feeding a carrot to the pony, and now she met their gazes with a hint of embarrassment for having spoken aloud. Jak knew how she felt, though she did not wilt the way he had.
“That’s what the troops call him already,” she explained with a shrug. “And the refugees. They say he can reshape the world.”
Jak’s jaw dropped, but Nicolas laughed. “A thane, is it? I think that’ll work,” he said. “No one will ignore you, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s exactly what he is,” Kluber stated. “The first earththane, who can move mountains. I’ve seen it.”
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