Behind the vanguard ranks, Zostar raises his hand, and one of the smaller figures steps forward. I don’t recognize them, but it’s clear she’s one of the young ones from beneath the Mountain, around Del’s age. My fingers twitch, ready to reach for the twin swords that were once almost an extension of my body. But my hands are tied in all manner of the word. I no longer have anything to stop whatever is about to happen to the poor wretch.
For a few heartbeats, nothing happens.
Then I see it.
Shadow, emanating from the hands and arms of the girl. It’s amorphous, like the blackest smoke. Coils seep into the air towards the frontline of soldiers. Searching. Seeking.
A chill snakes up by spine, lifting the hairs on my neck. This is no self-defense response. It’s like the girl has control of the shadow. The chill I’d felt now seems like the back of my neck is being gripped by the hand of a dead man.
Then it’s clear where they’re destined.
My jaw clenches tight against the desire to cry out a warning. I can’t draw attention to being tied here, if I want to find a moment to escape. And is a warning even deserved?
As if sensing the shadow’s approach, Iddo’s horse skitters to the side.
He shortens the reins, continuing to orate to his troops, unaware of what is roiling towards his back. Then the shadow has closed the gap, shrouding the figure of the Second Prince. Some of the soldiers must see it now, the way they jostle back into the line of their comrades behind them, trying to retreat.
Iddo’s broad back stiffens. His mount rakes the ground with its hooves, straining at its traces. This time, he doesn’t rein it in. Then the horse’s scream echoes out across the battlefield. It rears. The Commander of the Imperial Rangers, now self-appointed Regent of the Empire, topples from his chariot.
I expect him to roll, to slowly haul himself to his feet. One, three, five heartbeats pass and the crumpled form on the ground doesn’t move. I’d think I was hallucinating again. But deep down, viscerally, I know what I see is true.
Iddo Kaidon is dead.
And it seems to give nobody pause but me. Zostar reaches the ranks. The Blazers riding with him nod, one raising a signal.
Forward march.
The battle begins.
And even after all I’ve been through, all I’ve seen, I can’t quite believe it has come to this.
My thoughts are interrupted by someone stepping up behind me. I’d drop into a stance ready to fight or flee, for all the use it would be given my bindings.
“That deal ended as well as a rusty nail through the tenders.”
The voice is familiar. “Sal?”
“Here,” she says, holding out a knife, motioning me to present my hands so she can cut through my bonds.
“But it was you.” I accuse as she slices the ropes. “You were happy to sell me out.”
“I was.”
“What’s changed?”
She glances towards the edge of the battlefield, where Iddo’s lifeless form has been dragged unceremoniously in the dust so that it isn’t trampled under the feet of his own soldiers. What an ending for an Imperial Prince. I still can’t come to terms with that actually being his body.
Sal shrugs. “My buyer is dead. All deals are off.”
“Here I was thinking you’d had a crisis of conscience.”
“Not likely. Got something for you, though. A peace offering.” She holds out a prayer braid. Judging by the five scents that waft towards me, it’s been freshly infused. I let her tie it around my upper arm.
“I thought you didn’t believe.”
“I don’t. But you do. And I’d bet more than the price of a prayer braid that whatever you’re planning, you’re going to need to back yourself fully.”
I’m not sure if I should be thanking her or cursing her for selling me out in the first place. She doesn’t wait for my response before slipping back through the wagons. It appears, when it comes down to it, that Sal doesn’t have the stomach for war.
I want no part in it, either. I intend to do what I came to do, and get out of here.
Keeping the wagons between me and the frontline, I creep closer to where Zostar has lined up his charges.
“Del,” I hiss.
He doesn’t turn.
“Del!”
My only reward is a guard glancing warily in my direction. I’m still in cover, and my call among all the other murmuring isn’t enough to have him stray from his post. Still, I’m not about to try that again.
I’m still trying to think of a strategy when Zostar returns. He speaks with the guards, but I can’t grasp the words. Then he turns back to the front, his men herding Del and the others after him.
I follow.
CHAPTER 38
RAKEL
Nisai sits atop his horse, flanked by Kip and several Aphorain soldiers. He holds a spyglass pressed up to one eye, intently watching the other side of the parched plain.
“Do you think his brother would have listened?” I ask Barden.
He spreads his hands. “I’m not sure what he’ll do. Though Nisai holds out hope.”
“Can you see anything?” I try not to sound as frustrated as I am. I’ve got no chance of making out details at this distance. Everything that far away is still blurred.
“It looks like something’s happening, but…”
“No,” Nisai chokes.
Finally, I catch movement. A horse. Bolting across the plain towards us. Its distinct markings come into focus. There’s no doubting it’s the same one that had drawn Iddo’s chariot.
I move out to meet it before Barden can stop me, steering Lil with my thighs, arms held wide. Directly in its path, I call out to the frightened animal. For a moment, I think it won’t stop. That it will charge straight into us. But at the last chance it slows to a canter. Then a trot. A toss of its head.
I start Lil into a walk, so that when both horses meet we’re not in a direct confrontation. Making soothing noises, I move in from the side and take hold of its bridle, gathering the reins in my fist and leading it back into the ranks.
I hand it off to one of the soldiers. “Take it out of harm’s way.”
If only we could do the same.
I thread Lil back to Barden. He looks at me sadly. It tells me all I need to know.
And across the battlefield, Zostar’s forces have begun their march.
I give the signal.
Off to each side behind us, archers raise bows nocked with flaming arrows. They let fly, finding their targets. For a moment, nothing happens. And then there’s a low whoosh as the first sulphur pools out towards the centre of the battleground – now laced with a yeb balm and cooking oil mix – ignite. A column of green-stained flame leaps from each pool to the sky, before settling back down to the surface, setting the pools to simmering.
Steam-smoke begins to rise as the leading line of Zostar’s soldiers approach the first pools. Shouts of irritation ring out – no doubt the smoke stings eyes and lungs. But it’s not the soldiers that we most need it to protect against.
When I’d found Sephine’s recipe for the shadow ceremony back in the Aphorain temple, I hadn’t realized what I’d truly discovered. Unlike the braziers during the ceremony where I tried to free Ash permanently from Doskai’s influence, those pools don’t have any Scent Keeper elixir in them to channel shadow. But here on the battlefield, I’m desperately hoping the sulphurous smoke will have a similar effect in the temple – dampening Doskai’s reach – preventing the full devastation of his Children being released.
The weapon all this time was those who could wield scentlore.
Scent Keeper.
Shadow Keeper.
They are one and the same.
And all we have is me. And Yaita. Because the very Order who was supposed to stop this from happening would rather play their own power games in their safe little Sanctuary. Too out of touch to know or care about the here and now. About the people down there forced to risk their lives jus
t to win safety.
For the first time in my life, I wish for nothing more than Sephine by my side.
Instead, I look to Yaita. She gives me what I expect is meant to be a reassuring smile, but it’s too tight to work.
Below, out on the field, the armies engage. The clash of metal on metal rings out, hundreds of echoes bouncing back from the gnarled towers of red rock. With the spyglass to my eye, I try to see if the tide of battle is turning either way. But I can’t make out outlines through the smoke, let alone pick out standards or allegiances. It’s a small price to pay if the burning sulphur is what is truly holding off Zostar’s shadow warriors. While it does, maybe we have a chance.
Each moment seems twice as slow and heavy as the one before.
I wince every time a scream pierces the air above the shouts of battle rage. And later, I struggle not to retch as the stench of blood and urine, of fear-sweat and spilled bowels, begins to swirl into the acrid sulphurous smoke. The perfume of pain and death.
Something Ash once said to me comes to mind: Nobody wins a war. Some people survive it, that’s all.
I train the spyglass on the pools. The flames have all but died. They’ll smoke for a while still.
But when they stop, when the air clears…
CHAPTER 39
LUZ
I may be Aphorain born and bred, but in all my days I have never experienced such heat as the heart of Ekasya Mountain. By the Primordial’s grace, navigating the streets above was easy, given the capital was near-empty of ordinary citizens. Darzul’s operation to help the refugees escape was executed admirably.
Now, sweat trickles down the back of my neck to soak my shirt. I stink to the sky. Yet how pretty one looks or smells matters little when one has a load of explosives strapped to their back.
I’ve thankfully long passed the last of the sewers, where the effluent of the imperial complex is piped into a single tunnel to flow out to the river. They may act like their feculence smells of roses but I have empirically observed that is a patent falsehood.
The descent through floor upon miserable floor of the dungeons wasn’t much better. Witnessing the places where my kind were imprisoned and tortured was unpleasant enough. But when Zostar’s men left this place with its skeleton guard – so few it was possible to pick them off one by one – they also left behind any of the prisoners who were not of worth. Their bodies are now in various stages of decay. Even if I had scruples about the deaths that will come from what I’m about to do, they would be paling against the urge to even the ledger.
But there’s no time for petty revenge quests now. There’s a greater balance needed, one bigger than I, or Zostar, or the Empire itself. An ancient asymmetry of human foibles in divine minds. It’s that which keeps me moving one foot after the other, ever deeper into the Mountain.
The first vent is built beneath the palace as the conduit for the hot water the imperial family and their ilk enjoyed from the thermal springs. A myriad of tunnels tangle around each other at this level, so that it won’t take much power to bring several down. Alas, only utmost precision will keep it all from caving in on my head.
With that splendid thought firmly in mind, I keep moving, ever deeper.
At the second duct, scorching air buffets me; the centre of the earth is a forge and the bellows are being worked by the Primordial themself. In mere moments, it makes my skin feel as if it has been sun-scorched from a day in the desert. I turn away from the heat and scrunch my eyes shut, dousing them with water from my canister.
Any further than this, and the pack I’m carrying is at risk. I set the haul of volatile material down ever so gently. It’s only going to get worse from here, and the last thing I want is the heat to cause a reaction. Nobody enjoys a premature conclusion, least of all me.
Working with individual packs of explosive powder, I cover a generous area of ground, affixing them at measured points along the tunnel walls with sticky resin, checking and double-checking the fuses. Each is coated in highly flammable yeb balm to ensure that once it’s lit, it doesn’t sputter out partway to its destination. It also means that if there’s one misstep, one tiny particle of flame pirouetting up the tunnel on the searing wind, it’ll all be over before its purpose could be served. Steady hands and deft fingers – by Asmudtag’s grace, please do not fail me now.
Eventually, finally, everything is in place.
I retreat as far as possible. With a prayer to the Primordial on my lips, I light the fuse, and sprint in the opposite direction.
The fuses detonate each of their targets with percussive roars that join forces, rushing up the tunnel to hit me in the back. Powdered rock and debris follows in a choking cloud. I cover my face with my sleeve until it subsides.
Satisfied there’s no more rock to fall for the immediate future, I wipe the grime from my forehead and retrace my steps to check my handiwork.
Only part of the tunnel has collapsed. Some of the packets remain along one wall, intact.
It’s not enough. It has to be completely sealed to generate the pressure required. Otherwise it could take days, moons, even turns until the blockages I’ve already created further down the line will take effect. I don’t need a messenger scroll from the battlefield to know that’s going to be too late for us all.
I hunker down over my pack to check my supplies. There’s probably enough powder to do the trick if I use up the last of it here. But there’s nowhere near the length of fuse to run back up the tunnel far enough to give me any hope of clearing this place before it comes down on my head.
I rock back on my heels. My mind doesn’t attempt to find another avenue. It’s clear there isn’t one. This is it. I swore to serve Asmudtag, to work towards keeping the world in balance until my last breath.
I never fancied living long enough to descend into doddery frailty. And I’d venture there are far more tedious ways to depart this earthly realm. One could have a worse ending than instant cremation by Primordial inferno, my ashes joining the maelstrom destined to slay the gods themselves. Even a Scent Keeper doesn’t live as long as a legend. And a legend I shall be.
So, if this be the end, I’m ready. At least I’ll be going out with a bang.
I reset the explosives and prepare to light the last fuse.
CHAPTER 40
ASH
Once the battle begins, there’s enough distraction for me to steal closer to the frontline where Zostar and his young prisoners have advanced.
“We can do this voluntarily or we can do it the other way,” the old man barks, holding up a leather mask I remember from the testing – various scents would be funnelled through until we were breathing nothing else but his concoction of vile smoke.
Among the older ones, Mish pipes up. “This is not something we are resisting through fear or rebellion.” She looks around, gestures to the green-yellow haze, coughing for emphasis. “I think it’s the smoke.”
Since I first smelled it, the sulphur-stink reminded me of the night at the temple when I made the mistake of letting Rakel try to remove my curse. There was something in the smoke that made things … not more controlled, but less powerful. A kind of dampening. Is this what’s happening to the others?
My theories are interrupted by the world exploding.
Or at least that’s what it sounds like. A roaring wall of noise that impacts my ears like it had solid substance.
A few heartbeats later, there’s a tremor underfoot. I crouch lower behind the wagon I’d been keeping between me and Zostar. I’d think it a groundshake like the ones Aphorai is plagued with. But this is different. The ground vibrates in waves, as if it were ripples on a pond that someone had dropped a stone into miles away. If I were to wager, I’d say they were coming from the southwest, not from Aphorai.
Some of the rearguard soldiers, waiting for their turn to engage, have dropped to the ground, as if under attack. Others look around with wild eyes, seeking the source. More than one of the mercenaries flees, only for Zostar to order th
em cut down by Rangers.
Finally, everything stills again.
What in Kaismap’s far-seeing name was that?
The green-yellow smoke still obscures most of the battleground, but the sounds of combat continue. The explosion clearly didn’t come from the field of engagement. What could have caused it?
There’s no time to investigate.
Because Zostar orders the nearest Blazers to roll another wagon forward.
“The other way, then,” the white-haired physician grates.
One of his men throws a lit candle into the cart’s bed. I have no idea what is in there, but it soon begins burning, sending up columns of black smoke.
And, as the dark, acrid cloud eddies upward, a hundred amorphous shadows rise to join it.
The children’s faces are blank, eyes unblinking, mouths slack. The old man raises his arms. Again, like the conductor of the palace orchestra urges the players to stay with each other, the shadows seem to keep time.
I don’t know how he’s done it. But it’s like he’s in control of their curses. When I left them behind underneath Ekasya Mountain, I feared they would become like me.
This is much worse.
They are but a madman’s instruments of destruction.
Then the guards roll the burning wagon further on to the battlefield. The children follow. For the first time, I dearly hope Nisai found his ancient weapon. Because otherwise, I have no idea what might bring them to heel.
Except, perhaps, me.
CHAPTER 41
RAKEL
I lived my entire life until recently in Aphorai – I know a groundshake when it happens. But the massive, distant explosion, followed by the waves of tremors, was no ordinary groundshake.
Yaita looks to the sky. “Salvation in Asmudtagian destruction,” she murmurs.
Wasn’t that what Luz had said back in Aphorai?
But there’s no time to ponder.
The last of the pools have gone out. The sulphur smoke swirls with each gust of wind. The battlefield is still choked with it, but it’s only a matter of time before it dissipates or spreads too thin to be effective.
Crown of Smoke Page 32