Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) (18 page)

As it turned out, he was not the only one feeling guilty: Kole had originally intended for Shifa to be his only companion, but the Kane siblings had insisted on accompanying him. Whether they felt more guilty for not having gone north with Linn’s group or for failing to tell the First Keeper until it was too late to affect change, it was impossible to say.

Being honest, Kole could not say he particularly enjoyed Fihn’s company, but the deeper they got into the woods, the more assured he felt that their presence could only be a good thing. Taken separately, Taei and Fihn were two of the more formidable swords in the Valley. Together, he doubted if anyone was up to the task. Though only Taei was Landkist, his sister had made it her singular drive to prove to the World that it had chosen wrongly. From what Kole had witnessed, she had a point.

As he waited, Kole turned over his final conversation with Ninyeva. The Faey Mother had been uncharacteristically intense, even nervous.

“Even if you do not find the White Crest—and I pray you do not come across the Eastern Dark—your journey can still bare fruit,” she had said. “The red-topped keep lies in a cloister in the spurs. Whatever drives this darkness is in its bowels.”

“Was that not the White Crest’s abode?” Kole had asked, skeptical.

“Once, maybe. Either way, there could be power there, Kole. Power for the taking.”

“You would wield the tools of Sages.”

“I would wield anything to save our people,” Ninyeva said harshly. “Unless it has the touch of the Eastern Dark. If so, purge it. But Kole,” she had looked earnest, younger even. “The White Crest was a being of wind and light. If any of his power remains, it would be a boon, not a curse.”

Linn Ve’Ran’s face popped into his mind. He knew how she felt about the White Crest. He knew she was convinced he still lived. There was the guilt again. Did he know it? He felt it in his bones. He saw it when he closed his eyes at night. But did he know it? Or had he simply assigned his anger, his rage, to a being that had protected them simply because it had failed to protect his mother? Perhaps that rage had blinded him to the true threat, to the threat his people had fled the northern deserts to avoid.

Kole did not hear their approach, but Shifa bristled beside him, issuing a low growl that quickly morphed into an excited bark. Fihn greeted the hound at the base of the boulder and Kole jumped down beside them.

Taei emerged from a patch to the east a short time later. He seemed hesitant, but Kole had a difficult time reading the other Ember. Fihn, however, mirrored his concern.

“What trouble?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Taei said, shaking his head slowly. “The woods are silent.”

“How far did you go?” Kole asked, and Fihn nodded at her brother to continue.

“Farther than I had planned. Even the trees seem fearful.”

“Ninyeva said there was a great host before the walls of Hearth,” Kole said. “That’s where they all are.”

“Maybe,” Taei said. “Maybe it’s this cloud cover that’s got the woods quiet.”

He looked up and the others did as well .The canopy was dense, but sunlight should have filtered through the gaps in the leaves. Instead, there was only a lighter gray streaming in like moonlight through ash.

“Do you think they tried for Hearth?” Fihn asked.

The twins stared at one another, concern evident.

“If Linn Ve’Ran thinks like I know she does, she went around,” Kole said. “West would bring them to the pines and up toward the peaks from the woods. She would not have risked the mission by stopping at Hearth.”

“Who says she was in charge?” Fihn challenged. “Larren Holspahr—

“Is a powerful Ember,” Kole said, “and an incredible warrior. But this is not his mission. They went around.”

Kole adjusted his blades and re-tied his boots before heading onto the northern trail, unwilling to let the twins further the argument. After a time, he heard their soft footfalls drifting through the trees to his left. They would follow. And he would hope that he was right.

W
hen Talmir awoke, he was in a suffocating darkness. For a panicky spell, he thought he was dead and raised again as a small part of the black ocean that assailed the walls of Hearth. He imagined the white walls as little more than an eggshell whose innards shook and quivered with each attack.

He cursed himself a fool when he sat up and swept back the black curtains, memories half-formed but flooding back in a rush. His body ached, but he was largely unhurt. His mind felt stretched, and judging by the marks on the melted candles on the ledge of his chamber, he had rested long enough.

It had not been Talmir’s idea to take a respite with his city in such dire straights, but rather that of his three Keepers and their lieutenants. They had repelled the titans that had come against them from the west: three had been slain and one—the serpent—had not been seen since it had snaked its way into the tall grasses beneath the White Cliffs. Relatively speaking, they had been safe when he took his leave.

As he had meandered down from the battlements, head swimming through the fog brought on by witnessing Creyath’s short, tempestuous battle with the Night Lord, he had come upon Karin Reyna, First Runner of Last Lake. The man had made it in before the first charge and was now cut off from his own, with his own. Talmir had met him before, and though others held him in high regard—Garos Balsheer chief among them—he had done little to distinguish himself in the Captain’s eyes.

If ever that was want to change, Talmir thought these might be the circumstances.

Talmir rose as quickly as he dared, stooping to buckle on the sword and belt that he had dropped unceremoniously to the floor. His joints reminded him in no uncertain terms that he would never possess the supernatural endurance of the Embers. Then again, he was in much better condition than Creyath. The Second Keeper had acquitted himself well, putting all of his power into a single strike to the crown of the great beast’s skull, but that had not saved him from its dying throes. He would be in the Red Bowl now, and Talmir hoped he would mend as quickly as Landkist usually did.

The booms, claps and clangs of battle echoed in the cold stairwell as Talmir took the steps two at a time into the guts of the barracks below. The sounds had become so constant over the last few days that one could mistake it for the steady drone of rain on clay and tile.

The breeze dried his face and stuck the sleep sweat to his skin when he threw open the door to the mess hall. The shutters were blown open and the wind howled outside. Bone-weary men and women craned their heads and leaned up from their cots to glance his way. Some saluted. Most fell back into what sleep they could.

A young, mousey-haired lad stared at him from his place beside the fire. He was stirring a black cauldron of stew. Behind him, an old woman worked in a ledger, taking turns between scratching lines on parchment and candlewick. These men were on a timer that the Captain was not, and he felt the familiar pang of guilt over it as he straightened and strode toward the street beyond.

The air was an odd mix of fresh and peppery, the smells of pitch and flame stinging his nostrils. He breathed it in and exhaled a sigh of relief as he noted the walls still standing and still-manned, Garos’s great brazier glowing atop the gate. The twang of bowstrings mixed with the guttering of torches. Since the Corrupted made no sounds but for the scrabbling of nails on stone, it looked from this angle as though his soldiers battled the storm itself, their flames having dried up all its water.

“Captain Caru!”

The shout came from closer than Talmir had expected. He put his head on a swivel but did not see the speaker until he felt a tug on his sleeve. A child no more than ten looked up at him, dark features and even darker eyes peering through a face caked with smoke and resin.

“You’re a bit young to be a Runner,” Talmir said, and the child adopted a look so professionally perturbed he felt foolish for having said anything. He tousled the boy’s hair, which only served to amplify his annoyance.

“A joke, lad,” he lied and the boy’s brows drew up. “I take it you were chosen for your sharp eyes and ears. What news to report?”

“Captain Caru!” he restarted his address. “First Keeper Balsheer has held the wall with no untow—“ his features screwed up in confusion, swarthy cheeks going a deep red before the light went on. “With no untoward!”

Talmir nodded encouragingly, waiting for him to continue, but the boy appeared finished.

“No untoward …”

“Happenings!” the boy shouted, remembering himself and pleased that he had. The rest of his address went more smoothly.

Garos, together with Third Keeper Ve’Gah and her partner Dakken Pyr, had repelled three more salvos from the host. The Corrupted had only gained the walls once and had been thrown down in short order. Although there were several wounded, there were no casualties to report.

The calculations ran and resolved in Talmir’s mind. He nodded stiffly and squatted to meet the boy at eye level.

“You’ve done well,” he said, smiling. The boy did not return it, only stared at him through those dutiful browns. “Now, I want you to take a message to First Keeper Balsheer. Tell him I’ve gone to the Bowl to check on Creyath and that I will return to relieve him as soon as I’m able. He’ll get a kick out of the second part.”

The boy nodded curtly and started toward the gate, but Talmir caught him by the crook of the arm.

“After you’ve seen to that, I want you to make your way to the mess and have them fill you up with something hot. I’ll not have one of my best operating on an empty stomach.”

The boy looked grave, deadly serious. He ran toward the sound of battle, and Talmir tried not to think on it.

It struck Talmir as he walked quickly up the sloping cobbled streets of Hearth how disparate the faces he passed under the awnings and milling behind the stained windows truly were. He saw the very old and the very young, but very few occupying the space between. Those were at the wall, or under their feet.

How far had his people come? Had it been worse in the deserts?

They had been fighting the Dark Kind for a generation. Why, then, did this feel so different?

If nothing else, Talmir knew the answer to the last question. Strange as it might seem, the Dark Kind were a force of nature, though they emanated from another world. Fighting them was akin to battling landslides, quakes and even storms on the water. It was a fact of life.

But this was different. What assailed them now hearkened back to the worst stories from the northern deserts, when the Eastern Dark had opened the doors to the World Apart a bit wider in an attempt to claim the Embers as his own.

As far back as he could remember, this was the first time Talmir actually thought they could lose. He only hoped his people would live to tell this tale.

The streets further in were choked with traffic. When the cobbles leveled out, Talmir turned to look back toward the white shell protecting his city and the small fires protecting it. He was struck by how small and fragile it looked from here, just as he was struck by the vastness of the roiling mass beyond its arc, like a black sea.

He shook his head, turned and picked up his pace, the city transforming from the gray and burnt orange of stone and tile to a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors as he entered the Red Bowl. This was the city’s central market and the driving force of all trade in the Valley, from the Lake to the Fork and the forests beyond. Great sheets of blue and white silk dripped their colors, clashing with the bright reds and oranges of the canvases that sheltered the merchants and their wares.

Today, the market was as busy as ever during the Bright Days, but for all the wrong reasons. In place of the usual vendors and carts, Talmir noticed makeshift sick tents. In the place of lavish carpets were great sheets of cloth and bedrolls, laid out and waiting for occupancy.

Talmir pushed his way through the buzzing throng and drove to the center, where the tables and crates had been arranged to make alcoves and halls through which healers walked with their wounded. Candles flickered on benches and in sconces in the beams overhead, casting the scene in a ruddy glow. The canvas flapped at its zenith, the sound like death’s wings, and Talmir felt suddenly very cold in the warm surroundings.

He felt this way until he entered the alcove that had been reserved for his closest friend, and though Creyath Mit’Ahn slept, the heat hit him like a wall. The Ember’s bare chest festered with black and purple blotches where the Night Lord’s barbs had struck home, but his breathing was steady. The flames in the nearby candles grew and shrank in time with his breast.

A young-looking man stooped over the Ember, his palms roving. He looked up when Talmir’s shadow fell over him and the Captain noted the bright green that marked one of the Faeykin, striking in the gloom. His lot were rare among the Emberfolk, though common among the Faey as the Rockbled were among the Rivermen. In recent years, their births had far out-stripped that of the Embers, something not lost on their peers, for better or worse.

“His condition?” Talmir asked.