Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) (44 page)

Jenk was a lamb and his blazing butcher sprang like a wolf with mange.

Embers were fast when they wanted to be—hot blood made hot muscles—but Kole and Misha were barely a third of the way down the slope when it looked certain Jenk’s life would be extinguished along with his blade.

And then a bow sang in a baritone, a silver arrow half the length of a spear trailing on the echoes and shooting like a daystar from the northern spurs. The lightning shaft tore through the air and would have torn right through the Sentinel’s spine had it not altered course at the last second, planting and leaping over the fallen Ember, tails of fire spinning in its wake.

The archer, a Rockbled male who stood half again Baas’s height, emerged from his alcove and made ready to fire again, a great war bow standing tall as his target’s spear planted in the shelf on which he stood. The Sentinel wheeled and shot in his direction as Kole and Misha continued their descent.

The Ember pair leapt and darted around jagged spires, sliding as often as running, a hundred tiny avalanches of chipped slate flowing in their wake like obsidian rivers. Kole was shocked to see Baas’s black hair dipping in and out of arches ahead; it was as though he rode the mountain rather than traversed it.

Three Landkist hit the ground running, a handful of Baas’s warriors emerging from their places and joining in on the chase as the Sentinel closed in on the Rockbled archer.

“So much for waiting on the Sage,” Misha said, huffing as she ran.

Kole put an extra burst in and shot ahead. They rocketed over the dirt road, passing within a stone’s throw of Jenk, Linn and Nathen. Kole did not chance a look at them, though he could feel their eyes on him as he passed.

Ahead, the Rockbled warrior let fly another silver missile. The Sentinel dodged in a spin that make it look like a comet, and the shaft dug a trench a stride deep and three long, bits of earth ricocheting off of the shifting black scales of Kole’s armor.

The leap had the Sentinel hurtling toward the archer’s perch, but the Rockbled watched his approach stoically, making no move except to fall, crumbling with the spur beneath his feet and sinking in a cascade of black stone as the monster’s spear carved the space his head had occupied moments earlier.

It was as if the spur itself had broken apart to avoid the demon’s attack. Perhaps it had, as the Rockbled archer came up in a roll, unscathed as the stones tumbled around his feet.

Kole, Misha, Baas and the warriors of the Fork formed a semicircle around the rockslide on which the crazed Sentinel now stood, the last of the Rivermen emerging from their places, weapons trained on their quarry. The Embers flared their blades to life and nothing moved but for the flames dancing along Everwood blades of hunter and hunted.

Kole saw the red eyes shift imperceptibly toward his left; Misha must have seen it too, for the two of them darted to intercept the Sentinel’s retreat. Their mistake cost the Rockbled archer his life.

Kole caught the ruse too late and the Sentinel slammed his spear into the ground, sending up a wall of flame that blinded his pursuers momentarily. He saw the dark form transfer the energy of its slam into an incredible jump that took it up and over. The archer let loose another singing shaft, but it made a tunnel in the shelf behind the demon. Larren Holspahr’s spear, however, made one of its own in the archer’s throat, and the big man went down in a choking spray, his bow clattering to the ground beside him as the party sprang into violent chaos.

“Contain it!” Misha shouted, tearing through the dissipating wall of fire as if it were a curtain of water. Kole followed after, blades leveled.

The Sentinel darted at Baas first, but the Rockbled was quicker than he looked, deflecting the fiery spear and cracking Larren’s nose apart with a spinning strike with that stone shield.

Somehow, the Sentinel retained its footing, leaving Baas to ward off a jet of flame. A female Rockbled—bracers cracking along her forearms—stomped the earth, which responded by opening where the Dark Ember’s booted foot fell next.

It went down in a tumble and the Embers were on it. What followed did not resemble a duel so much as a pair of wolves at a carcass, both Kole and Misha scoring punctures on their initial attacks as the shrieking Sentinel rolled up into a crouch, spear spinning, mouth agape and showing teeth that had blackened and chipped to angled points.

The beast did not fight like the Second Keeper of Last Lake, but rather like a cornered predator. The Embers drove it on, Baas occasionally filling the gap between them to deflect a wild stab as Kole and Misha absorbed the jets of fire, their own power only augmented by each blistering volley. Baas’s warriors kept their distance, moving in a wide arc behind the three-pronged attack to cut off any chance at escape.

The Sentinel faked a stab at Kole only to lunge for Misha. It might have succeeded if not for a rock the size of a tortoise taking it in the chest and launching it backward to skitter along the edge of the cliff. The Rockbled that sent the stone was on his knees, bracers cracked like spider webs as he panted.

The Sentinel, spear low and flames guttering, rose on shaking legs and shot a look of wild rage to the east, where Linn watched with her charges. She stood, brown hair blowing in the wind, the maelstrom of white and black clouds battling in the far horizon over the fields below. Jenk lay unmoving at her feet, while Nathen cradled his head in his hands and knees, rocking.

“No!” Kole screamed, blades streaking forward in a two-hand stab as the Sentinel sprang across the gap. Kole missed by a hair’s breadth and firm hands grabbed him round the shoulder and yanked him back—Baas preventing a fatal fall into the golden pools below.

The Sentinel streaked into the air in a bright arc, a meteor of death hurtling toward his friends.

Until Misha’s thrown spear took it out of the air in an emphatic crash that flashed like the meeting of twin stars. Larren Holspahr’s hands flew out wide, his own spear snuffed out like a dockside lantern, eyes melting to black even as he fell. His body landed in the golden wash below with a splash and sizzle, slow steam rising to punctuate his end.

Tiny motes of flame trailed out in a fairy path from the point of impact to Misha’s outstretched hand. She stared at the liquid pocket of air with an expression of shock.

Kole approached.

“It wasn’t him,” he whispered, coming to stand beside her. He looked down into the pool below, noting the ripples that still played on its surface like tiny waves of molten gold. The sun was beginning to dip, framing the distant ridges to the north in silhouette.

Misha came back to herself and her expression changed, the usual color rising. She tossed Kole a look of mock disgust.

“My spear,” she said, sweeping her arm out toward the quieting pool, though he noticed she would not look down.

Kole nodded and the Embers stepped back to where the Rivermen had gathered around their fallen comrade. The life had gone out of him quickly and Baas was set back from the others, his expression predictably unreadable.

Kole sighed and let his gaze drift back across the span, where Linn looked back with those piercing eyes, her own expression strained. He started toward her, and the walk became a jog, which quickly morphed into a sprint as he sheathed his blades, feeling the warmth of the Everwood against his back even through his armor.

A salt mist stung his eyes as his tears evaporated, the fire still high in his chest, and he nearly broke her in the impact of their embrace.

“You came,” Linn whispered.

“Yes.”

They broke off and locked eyes for an eternal moment before Kole noted Nathen staring up at them through his own curtain of tears, smiling weakly. Linn was gaunt, but Nathen looked the picture of death, his broad shoulders reduced to bony protrusions that matched their stark surroundings.

“Jenk,” Kole said, squatting down. He had nearly forgotten the state of the other Ember in the flood of emotion.

“He’ll live,” Linn said, resting a hand on Kole’s shoulder as he looked him over.

Blood caked the blonde bangs, but the ugly gash had been sealed by fire of his own calling. Self-cauterizing was very difficult for an Ember to do, given their seeming immunity to fire. But that immunity lasted only so far as the Ember allowed. The fire could be let in. The flame would always choose to burn if it could.

Jenk was in a state beyond sleep. He did not stir even as the distant booms of thunder rolled in from the south, the black clouds cracking apart, thrashing their death throes like gods made suddenly mortal.

“You must be Linn Ve’Ran.”

Misha came over, extending her hand, which Linn took. She winced slightly, as the Ember’s battle heat had yet to dissipate. Kole wondered if Misha had kept a bit of the sting in on purpose.

“Thank you,” Linn said, nodding in the direction of the pool below, which had grown still.

Misha shrugged and studied the sorrier sorts at her feet. Nathen offered a sheepish smile; he seemed fragile enough that a single word could prove a titanic effort. The Ember’s gaze lingered on Jenk.

“That one has some real fire in him,” she said before switching back to Linn. She studied her appraisingly, looking her up and down and taking in the lean muscle and prominent ridges that stood out along her collar.

This is what we came for?
The look seemed to ask.

This is what I came for. Or should have.

But the wind, which had been stirring all afternoon, picked up, and Kole looked back toward the hill and the broken gate at its crest. He stared into the darkness of the open keep.

“He’s not at home,” Linn said, following his gaze.

“Not dead, then?” Baas asked, coming up with a silence that belied his bulk. It was as if the earth itself went out of its way to mask his present. His warriors still stood apart, some chanting over their fallen comrade, others watching them calmly.

“No,” Linn said with a shiver. “But we purged his Dark Hearts.” She looked back down at the pool.

“Dark Hearts?” Kole asked, and Misha and Baas moved closer.

“His mechanism for controlling the Dark Kind—making them, perhaps. Iyana said they were taken from the Night Lords that came against the White Crest a generation ago.”

“The skies,” Baas said in his low rumble, nodding knowingly.

“The Sentinel,” Misha said, uncomfortable assigning the term to the fallen Ember. “It continued to fight even after you destroyed them.”

“They are not the same as the Corrupted that came against Hearth,” Kole said. “They are something more pure. Captains from the World Apart.”

“It did change,” Linn said, her eyes glazing over. “After we bled them out. It grew wild. Erratic as the skies.”

Kole examined her, the guilt for not having been there gnawing at him.

“Let’s just hope it’s happened to all of them,” Misha said, looking down over the Valley, where the white jewel of Hearth glittered in the distance, smoke rising from the fields without.

A boom had all eyes looking up, and the orange glow at their backs cast a strange light on the skies, tingeing the white clouds gold and their fleeing adversaries bloody black, like coals left too long in the grate. Webbed patterns of lavender light arced between the breaches, which heralded a shockwave that scattered the vapors.

The waters in the pools below churned, flecks of spray changing to foam in the space of seconds as the winds took on a bite, ripping at the slopes. They whistled along the ridges and spurs and sighed through the open maw of the keep in a sound like a portent.

Linn shivered and Nathen drew his knees in. Kole felt a sudden coldness of heart that contrasted his blood.

“What is it?” Baas asked, squinting up at the shifting skies.

“Linn,” Kole turned to her, and she peered into the distance, eyes widening.

“What—

“The White Crest,” she said, nearly breathless. “He’s coming back.”

“Looks like he’s bringing the sky with him,” Misha said, hands twitching without her spear. Nathen handed her Jenk’s blade, hand shaking.

“He is the storm,” Linn said.

If anything, it may have been an understatement.

But though the heavens themselves seemed to move against them, Kole could not help but feel a tingling anticipation swelling up with the dread. It was a thing borne on the same tide. His was rising while those around him fell, particularly Linn. For her and for her alone, he would try to end it quickly, though his heart yearned for something longer.

What he at first took for the absence of clouds soon resolved itself into something apart from the air around it. It was a creature made of wind itself, and it was charged with crackling energy, reflecting the light of the setting sun with an undulating shimmer. As it drew near, Kole could see bright blue jewels glowing in the place of eyes. It was a drake, or an eagle.

It was the White Crest, and its tail left popping percussions in its wake.

“A weapon!” Linn screamed over the rising roar. “Hand me something!”

One of the Rivermen handed her the huge war bow that had fallen with its wielder, which looked comically large in her hands. Linn cast about for the silver missiles, and then the storm was on them, the great maw opening like a gulf.

Kole drew his blades and lit while Baas crouched down before Nathen and Jenk, raising his shield.

For a space of seconds that felt achingly long, Kole was sure they would all perish in a hail of cutting wind and stinging electricity. He cursed himself, certain that the only thing more foolish than believing a god might be on their side was believing it could be challenged. It was all he could do to keep his blades lit, glowing like twin lanterns in the maelstrom of dirt, grass and whipping water from the pools below.

The Rivermen stood strong, feet rooted in place. Some yelled into the wind, harsh sounds whose intent Kole could easily guess. Nathen clung to Baas’s back like a toddler, and the Rockbled held the prone Ember down with his free hand. Jenk still did not so much as flinch.

And then it stopped.

Kole opened his eyes, and everything was still.