Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) (37 page)

Larren rolled away, came up in an animal crouch and shot directly toward Linn with inhuman speed, horrifyingly fast even for a charged Ember. It took all she had to send Nathen’s hunting knife spinning while she dove to the side. She heard the metal ring as it struck armor, and then she hit the rocky terrain at an odd angle, ribs shaking as she tumbled. She stopped her roll dizzy and disoriented, one arm dangling into the open air above the Steps.

The clash of weapons had her struggling to turn and she saw Larren’s spear alight and locked in a bitter and spitting embrace with Jenk’s own blade. The young Ember had managed to trap the other near the boulder on which it had stood, but he was already losing ground.

Jenk gave way, relaxing his push and ducking under the spear to cut low, but his strike was blown off course by some unseen current and Larren spun away, hopping and slicing. The Everwood spearhead thrust straight, but the flames curling off its end carved at odd angles on crescent gusts. The flames could not hurt Jenk, but they interrupted his vision and slowed his stellar swordsmanship.

Linn knew that Jenk was fighting a losing battle. The thing wearing Larren’s shell could not recall the Second Keeper’s technique fully, but it fought with an alien quickness, its mastery of the very air in which they fought making it impossible to predict and harder to harm.

She struggled to her feet, her hand reflexively closing around an errant stone as she did. She rolled it around in her fingers and shook her head, attempting to clear her vision. The Embers ducked and rolled in their deadly dance. Larren backpedaled onto the edge of the far cliff, where the ground fell away steepest.

It was a feint. Linn knew the instant she saw it, but Jenk was too caught up in the exchange to notice. He charged, sword stiff and steady at his hip, aiming for Larren’s gut. He ducked a lazy swipe and thrust forward, but Larren was not there; instead, he hopped back, dangling for the barest of moments in the open air before rocketing up and over the young Ember in a somersault.

The Sage landed lighter than a feather and streaked forward with that inhuman speed. Jenk could not turn in time.

Linn’s throw prevented him from being skewered where he stood. It took the Sage in the cheek, opening a deep gash and knocking him off course, but it was not enough. He slammed into Jenk shoulder-first and Linn watched him fly off the precipice, sword going wide and mouth open in a scream that was lost to the howling air.

The blue eyes wheeled on her and another freakish leap brought the White Crest face-to-face.

“I know who sent you,” it said, spitting and wild. “The same old bird that woke me. I think I’ll pay her back the visit.”

“You should fear her,” Linn said, but much of the fight had gone out of her. Her knees felt weak. “You should fear us.”

“Healthy fear is sometimes a boon,” it said, grasping her around the throat and lifting her without effort. “She’ll tell me who else she has out here.”

“Know …” Linn choked out.

“What’s that?” the grip loosened.

“You already know who it is.”

The blue eyes flashed and then Larren held up a hand to Linn’s nose and mouth. The air was pulled from her like a ghost. As her vision faded, she saw Nathen’s sorry form leaning awkwardly against his stone. When the darkness took her, she saw a green firefly making its trails on the backs of her eyes.

K
ole and Misha were on their third round of a circular argument concerning how best to approach the refugee camp when the Third Keeper of Hearth made a grab for her spear.

“We should just light our blades and call out to them,” she said.

Kole put a hand on the haft, drawing a murderous look.

“After what they’ve been through tonight?” he asked, exasperated.

“We’ve all been through it,” Misha hissed. “Besides, what are they going to do?”

“I’m sure the Dark Kind they left in their wake would’ve asked the same.”

“We left a few of our own,” she reminded.

“We don’t even know if it’s really them.”

“What does that mean?”

“There must’ve been Sentinels about—at least one. Those Corrupted looked freshly-turned.”

The mist had cleared somewhat and the field was cast in a ghostly glow from the light of the embattled moon overhead. The Embers were huddled under the eves of a natural trench just a few strides from the nearest tent. They had seen little activity but for the occasional passerby—a woman carrying skins of water or wine toward the center of camp. No guards were posted, which had Kole jumpy.

A light, musical sound like the trill of a songbird lilted over the rise.

Before he could stay her, Misha was up, spear in hand and charging over the lip onto the grassy knoll. Kole scrambled after her, running face-first into her armored back, as she had stopped almost immediately. Kole backed off wincing and drew his blades, craning to see around her.

The source of the sound appeared to be a girl no older than seven. She had light features and dirty blonde hair, and she looked directly into Misha Ve’Gah’s eyes as if the serrated tip of a six-foot length of sharpened Everwood was not angled directly between her own.

“Are you coming?” she asked, frowning slightly when neither of the Embers made a move to speak. Misha’s eyes darted wildly, searching for signs of ambush. The girl asked them again, speaking more slowly this time, either to help them comprehend her thick accent or because she suspected them of being slow.

Kole placed two fingers on the haft of Misha’s spear—the second time he had touched the weapon in as many minutes—and lowered it. The little girl turned another frown on Misha before she switched her gaze to Kole. She smiled warmly, her pale skin turning bright pink.

“What’s your name?” Kole asked. He sheathed his blades and squatted down to meet her at eye level. “And where are your parents?”

“Undermiddle, with everyone else,” she said in that child voice.

Misha planted the butt of her spear in the earth with a dull thud.

“And who sent you to get us?” Kole asked. “Did you see us under the rise?”

“No,” she said. “Old Farsight saw you hiding.”

“That a Seer?” Misha asked, patience wearing.

The girl stuck her tongue out at Misha before turning back to Kole.

“He always knows where anyone’s hiding,” she said.

Kole nodded. Though he did not know much about their Valley neighbors, the fact that they had something approximating a Seer surprised him, since they held no love for the Landkist among the Faey. Misha continued to scan the camp and the surrounding mist, the thought of being discovered so easily not sitting well with her.

“Lead the way,” Kole said, rising to his feet.

“Karpi,” the girl said, extending her hand. “That’s my name.”

“Kole,” he said. He took the small white fingers in his own darker ones and squeezed lightly, causing Karpi to pull back with a startled shriek that soon turned into a bubbly fit of giggling.

“Hot,” she said, bouncing up and down and shaking her hand out dramatically. “Your name fits! Follow me.” And she was off at a skip.

Misha smirked at Kole, who shrugged and followed.

Their winding path took them through a camp that was much smaller than Kole had anticipated. There were plenty of tents, but the ones on the outer edges seemed deserted, no signs of bedding or cookfires within. The larger tents in the middle of the plateau appeared only recently vacated, flaps thrown open and pots and pans still dripping grease.

The only Rivermen they saw during their walk were either the very young or very old. All of them largely ignored the passing Embers and their fluttering guide, who talked excitedly in her harsh tongue while she bounced.

“No wounded,” Misha remarked, scanning the makeshift settlement intently.

Kole nodded.

“Hard to get wounded over the Deep Lands,” she said, and Kole did not argue.

“How can they be in such high spirits?” Misha asked, staring at the bouncing gaggle of children that had joined Karpi in front of them. Several of them tossed sour looks her way, tongues lolling out of tiny mouths.

“The Rivermen are supposed to be resilient,” Kole said. “If Baas Taldis is cut from the same cloth, it doesn’t surprise me.”

“He act like this?” Misha asked, nudging her spear toward the joyful caravan.

“Not exactly,” Kole admitted.

As it turned out, Undermiddle was an apt name for the structure Karpi led them to, if you could call it a structure—more a slab of slate that leaned at an awkward angle. A three-step stair was dug into the earth beneath it, along with a doorway absent frame. Though it looked as though the slab could collapse at any instant, crushing those beneath it, Karpi entered with a twirl while the other children milled about and made faces at the Ember pair.

They entered a chamber that was just as sparse as Kole had imagined. A fire burned in the center pit and the dirt-packed walls had benches dug out along the entire length. There were many open seats. The ceiling was low enough to force Misha to keep her spear level, something not all in the room seemed to appreciate.

As for the occupants, these were the fighting men and women the Embers had expected. There were perhaps two score, most holding axe or hammer—some a combination of the two. Kole noted that most of the weapons were carved from a solid piece of stone; it was a wonder they could lift them at all. Great shields of pitted steel leaned in the empty slots along the walls, reflecting the firelight like angry suns.

Misha nudged Kole in the direction of a far corner, where a particularly squat, barrel-chested man watched from the shadows.

“That one’s staring at you.”

“They all are.”

“That one’s really staring.”

The brute was bandaged in so many places it was a wonder they hadn’t wrapped him for burial. He stood slowly, unsteady, and shuffled forward.

“Kole?” he said, a sound like grating timbers.

“Baas?”

The initial flood of relief Kole experienced upon seeing someone from the Lake was supplanted almost immediately by the realization that Linn and the others were not with him. Given the state the Riverman was in, Kole felt his heart sink like a stone.

“I see you two know each other.”

Kole and Misha turned to see an old man standing on the opposite side of the fire. He was adorned in simple skins in place of the leather and iron sported by most of the company, and he bore an unmistakable resemblance to Baas. Kole had not noticed him upon entering.

“You are?”

Misha, Kole was learning, was not one for first impressions. All in the Valley were used to conflict, but Ve’Gah seemed to breath it. He tossed her a look, which she pointedly ignored.

If the elder had taken any offense, he played it off well. Kole glanced at Baas, whose expression was similarly unreadable.

“I am Braden Taldis,” the old man said, “and I am the grandfather of your fellow Lakeman there.” He indicated Baas, who continued to stare at Kole.

“Old Farsight!” Karpi called from somewhere in the back.

Braden made a low rumbling that could have been a laugh, though it emanated as if from the walls themselves. He reminded Kole of Tu’Ren, and even of Garos Balsheer, whom he had recently met on the walls of Hearth. Apparently each of the peoples of the Valley had one great bear among them, a figure of strength and solidarity in the midst of ever-present chaos. He struggled to picture what such a man might look like among the Faey.

“Your borders are unprotected,” Misha said, drawing a few more rumbles from the crowd, these ones decidedly less mirthful.

“They appear so,” Braden said with an easy smile.

“You are a Seer,” Kole said.

“What is sight but the colors of the mind, eh?” Braden said, stepping a little closer as he examined the Embers. A few of the more battle-worn warriors stepped forward protectively. Misha’s spear swayed in their direction like a cat’s twitching tail.

“You followed our trail,” Braden said.

“Yes,” Kole said shortly. He very much wanted to speak with Baas, his stress redoubling by the second.

“Ease,” Braden said, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. The room breathed, Kole included. Misha fought the sensation, shifting from foot to foot, but she lowered the tip of her spear until it was even with the dirt.

“We must have our answers,” Braden said, calm but firm. “You followed us here, but that is not why you’ve come.”

“No,” Kole admitted, ignoring Misha.

“You came to do what my grandson failed to.”

He stated it as fact, and Kole saw Baas’s broad shoulders slump. Braden stepped forward and placed a hand on a bandaged shoulder.

“Truth only has the power to hurt if we fail to recognize its power to lead,” he said. There were nods and murmurs of agreement, but Baas still had the look of a whipped dog.

“I can’t speak to Baas,” Kole said, “but I’d say you’ve guessed the truth of it.”

“To kill the White Crest,” Braden said, and there were a few gasps.

Kole nodded hesitantly and then turned a look of earnest pleading Baas’s way.

“Tell me what happened,” he implored. “Tell me they’re alive.”

Baas shifted under the stare.