Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3 (21 page)

The battle raged on, the wind carrying the mingled smell of death and pulverized stone along the wall. Another deafening rumble shook the air, and an avalanche of limestone crashed to the snow. The Hodyn scattered out to safety as a pale cloud of dust soared high and drifted past, obscuring his view.

Caleb snapped to his feet and ran at a crouch toward the half-formed breach. A few arrows whistled overhead, but the dust concealed him, and many of his comrades took advantage of this screen to keep the Hodyn occupied. It lasted just long enough to reach his goal. As he took cover again, he caught a glimpse of another thin line of fire sweeping through the sky farther to the north.

The cloud dissipated to the south, and the Raéni dropped to a crouch nearby. The Hodyn leader had a clear view once more, and resumed his methodical destruction of the wall. Caleb, less than a hundred feet away now, knew he had little time before the final cataclysm allowed the enemy to invade the valley and attack up the long ramps behind.

He leaped up and brought the sights of his gun to bear through the nearest gap in the stone. An arrow buzzed past his ear as he pressed the trigger. With his hands and arms trembling from a rush of adrenaline, the beam danced wildly, vapor rising from where it sliced through the snow.

At last he found his target. The man’s arm, in the act of lifting to fire again, tumbled into the air and thumped to the ground. The laser landed in the snow a few feet beyond.

The Raéni archers surged to their feet, cheering triumphantly. Several Hodyn soldiers ran back, desperate to retrieve the weapon, only to be cut down by an arrow or the deadly beam of Caleb’s laser. Confidence with the effectiveness of his attack improved his aim, and a wide circle of bodies soon formed about the fallen weapon, hindering the others. But his success was short-lived.

A blow struck his arm above the elbow. He fell backwards, bellowing as he slammed to the stone.

Shuddering, he turned his head to the right. The sky had taken on the deep blue ink of early dawn, and the silhouette of a feathered shaft rose against the fading stars. He felt warm blood running over his arm, soaking the sleeve of his coat. The laser lay useless a short distance past his hand. He knew he should rise and use his other hand to resume the attack, but all he could do was lie there and endure the pain.

A tumult of stone crashed in his left ear. The echo of it deepened and died away. Suddenly a pair of strong hands clasped his arm, and he let out another bellow as someone broke off the feathered end of the arrow, leaving only a few inches above the skin. He shut his eyes tight, sweating in agony as the stranger tightly wrapped a cloth about his arm for a tourniquet, securing the arrow in place.

Another crash sounded, and the stone split wide right under his back.

Caleb opened his eyes. The dark outline of a woman hovered over him, a single long braid of hair draped on her shoulder. It took all his will to force a few words out of his mouth.

“Help me up!” he gasped.

The woman wrapped her arms around him and helped him struggle to his feet. She thrust the laser into his other hand, and Caleb lurched toward the battlement, leaning on her shoulders for support. A wave of nausea washed through him, but he fought it, and braced the muzzle against the stone.

“Give me cover!”

A shorter Hodyn, careless in his use of the weapon, had replaced the first. He seemed more intent on amusing himself than anything else, swinging his aim in every direction, popping off huge flakes of stone from the wall. But a host of Raéni archers had gathered by now, sending a cloud of arrows down on the assailant’s guards. Caleb managed through a haze of his pain to drop the man in one shot.

A thump and a gurgling rattle at his ear turned his head. The soldier who had bandaged his arm clutched an arrow at her throat, her stare flung wide in the gathering dawn. She coughed blood a few times, then crumpled to the stone at his feet.

Caleb shouted in fury as he rejoined the battle, fighting for the strength to honor her sacrifice, to keep his aim true. But exhaustion and the loss of blood was beginning to take its toll. He would soon have no choice but to relegate his duty to another. Heaps of bodies darkened the snow around the fallen weapon, yet each Hodyn dropped closer than the one before.

A sudden despair overwhelmed him. His true enemy lay in wait, greater than any mortal foe. And even as the thought formed, a poisonous light struck his eyes, an evil star fallen from the heavens.

The remaining Hodyn abandoned the weapon and fled. A silence fell over the valley, broken only by the wind whistling through rents in the wall. The arms of Raéni soldiers hung limp at their sides, either from dread or rendered powerless by sorcery.

Caleb bowed his head, the laser held fast in his trembling hand. He could not bear to look. To carry out the same deed that had hounded his conscience from across the stars would destroy his soul, and betray Telai’s faith in him. Yet how could he not? How could he abandon his son to an everlasting hell, and condemn Telai and everyone else in Ada to death?

You cannot wait! You have to shoot!

It was as though Soren and Hené and every other Raén since Etrenga had spoken as one in his own voice.

The web of illumination surrounding the child faded. It drew inward, his small body devouring light, leaving only the pale ghost of dawn to relieve the darkness. The Raéni stared at their feet in growing dread. The Old Wall began to quiver, like the hide of some giant beast disturbed from slumber.

There was no time to mull over the decision. Caleb’s despair gave way to a feral madness, and he leaped up against the parapet to steady his aim.

Karla! My God, Karla, forgive me!

He fired. A child’s hand lifted, an almost casual gesture. The beam arced harmlessly into the sky and disappeared.

The tremors grew. Stonework already weakened or dislodged by laser fire tumbled to the ground in an echoing crash.

Hate filled all of Caleb’s soul. The pain in his arm vanished. Throwing aside the laser, he climbed atop the battlement to stand teetering on the brink of a fall. With fists held high and his stare fixed upon the demon who had violated his son, he put all his love into a mighty shout.

“
WARREN!
”

It was as if his heart and not his voice had screamed that name.

The boy glanced upwards. A slight hesitation mellowed his face. Then a surge of wrath obliterated it.

Silently, the joint of every limestone block along Krengliné, from mountain to mountain, blazed like the desert sun.

Stone upon stone hurtled backward at the onslaught of irresistible power. The multitude of cries and shouts of the Raéni were lost in an ear-splitting cataclysm that traveled the length and breadth of Hendra’s Valley. In the midst of the debris and flying stone Caleb screamed, scrambled for a hold—then blacked out and knew nothing more.

♦

“Retreat!” Soren cried at the Raéni before him, waving his hand north along the dam. “Send a message to those south to rendezvous at Gortgal!”

Many were reluctant to obey this new command. But the sight of Krengliné destroyed in a blaze of white fire shattered all thoughts of victory. It grieved the Master Raén to abandon Sonién, for which so many men and women had sacrificed their lives; but against the power of the Bringer they dared not stand. A deep horn bellowed nearby, a grim sound to any Raén, and soon after another echoed from the southern end of the dam.

Soren had not forgotten his promise to the Overseer. Ordering Edai and a small group of soldiers to follow, he led the way north along Sonién to where Gegré-Udan wound its way up to the gate. All others crossed the ice directly, some carrying the wounded, the rest vanishing into the shadowed city streets toward the High Loop. Soon the steep, winding road above Ekendoré was thick with laboring soldiers.

The towers of Wsaytchen rose dark against the paling sky. At the entrance to the garden, Soren sent a few Raéni to scout the perimeter, then turned to view the situation at the Old Wall. Though the first streaks of dawn bloomed on the horizon, any activity or details were lost in the distance and the lingering darkness. Yet in time he saw faint lights twinkling, creeping like evil ants along the familiar paths of Hendra’s Valley.

Soren turned away and approached the palace doors, his heart sinking. He knew there was no way to help his fellow Raéni. But to abandon them to the wrath of Heradnora was the hardest thing he had ever done. Hené, Fouvé, and Caleb Stenger—all dead.

The tall doors swung open. For once Derré showed no hint of protest at his intrusion, livid with fear. “Quickly,” she said breathlessly. “The Overseer is waiting.”

Accompanied by Edai and the other Raéni, Soren followed as Derré sped along the main passage of Wsaytchen as fast as her aging limbs would allow. Darkness veiled the myriad of paintings and runes in the high vault above, and the sculptures in the long Hall of Memories beyond loomed over their heads like dark phantoms. Yet a small light at the far end of the hall broke the gloom, and by the time they reached it Soren knew it was Garda, hurrying with Onné at her side to meet them at the doors.

They stopped and faced one another beneath the marble image of La’hegré, the Adan symbol of sacrifice. The giant bird and its long, spear-like arrow flickered in the light of a tiny oil lamp in Garda’s hand, while she cradled a haphazard bundle of scrolls and folded documents in her opposite arm. The silence of the great hall fell over them like a tomb.

Soren bowed quickly and spoke, his voice sharp with fear and impatience. “I’ve returned as promised. Do what you must, then accompany us with all speed to the caverns.”

She glanced past him at the Raéni waiting in anxious confusion. “And you were wise enough to bring what I neglected to think of: witnesses.”

“
Swords
, my lady—to deliver you safely to Gortgal.”

Determination entered Garda’s features. “Onné, Edai, Derré—bear witness. I hereby declare Soren, Master Raén of Ada, as my replacement as Overseer, effective immediately.”

They all gasped, then cried out in protest. Soren merely sighed with relief. “Are there others left to be evacuated?” he asked.

She shook her head in reply. Without preamble Soren grabbed her by the arm and propelled her into a run toward the exit. The Raéni followed close at their heels, exchanging looks with one another, while poor Derré struggled to keep up. Once past the entrance she insisted on bestowing one last honor upon Wsaytchen by closing its doors. Yet to Soren the slamming of those doors beneath the dark, abandoned towers was like a death-knell.

Up the steep cobblestones they fled, climbing ever higher into the upper regions of the valley, the white plumes of their breaths trailing in the wind. By the time they reached the massive, half-closed doors of Gortgal, the cliffs were washed in the light of dawn. Many of those who had preceded Garda from Wsaytchen stood at the threshold, watching the fall of their city with faces blank with shock. What was left of the Raéni had taken up defensive positions about the entrance in a wide arc, while archers climbed devious paths to the top of the cliff to defend the approach.

Ressolc, as well as Féitseg and the other Underseers, stood clustered together just inside the doors. Soren threaded his way through the crowd and stood before them, Garda at his side.

“We will delay the Hodyn as long as we can,” he said. “But I cannot leave you without any defense of your own. Everyone must move inside. We must shut the doors.”

Garda seized his arm. “What are you doing? You are the Overseer now. Your place is in here, with your people!”

Voices rose in confusion, demanding an explanation. “Hold, hold!” she cried, attempting to restore calm. “Now that our survival is at stake I’ve appointed Soren as my successor, effective immediately. Edai and the others here can bear witness.”

Werten, who had sat at Caleb’s Judgment, turned blood-red with indignation. “My lady, I must protest this. Now is not the time!”

“Indeed it is not,” interjected Soren before she could respond. “Garda has in truth named me Overseer. What she neglected to take into account is that I still hold the position of Supreme Raén as well—the first since Etrenga!” he ended with a shout, raising his sword high.

Garda’s arms shook as if ready to strike him. “This is a betrayal, Soren!”

“Not so,” he answered, sheathing his Fetra. He faced the Underseers. “If I fall outside these doors this morning, I hereby name Garda of Wsaytchen as my successor.”

A hush fell. She clenched her hands. “
Damn you!
”

He stepped close as the echo of her cry faded. “I will not assume the mantle of Overseer just to save my life for you, Garda.”

Soren made to turn away, then stopped. That same hint of fear returned, and suddenly, before Edai and Onné and the entire gathering of Underseers, he held Garda’s face in his blood-stained hands and placed his lips against hers.

It was over in a flash. So shocked was she by this act that by the time she recovered, a score of Raéni were pushing against the stone doors, ordering any remaining civilians inside. Yet Garda and all the other folk spoke not a word as the massive doors ground shut, extinguishing the first rays of the sun.

16

Awakening

 The moment we enter this world

is at least as terrifying as the moment we leave it.

- Derrién, 5
th
Overseer of Ada

TIME PASSED
. Distant, muffled sounds invaded Caleb Stenger’s mind, as to a man only half awake. He thought of Warren, remembering how the boy preferred to play holomovies without using the sensory implants. But it puzzled him. He didn’t recall seeing a holoprojector anywhere on the ship.

The sounds grew stronger, sharper. Some kind of war movie. Why was it taking him so long to wake up? His legs felt numb. Perhaps he still lay in artificial hibernation, and the equipment had revived Warren first. Yet it didn’t seem to fit—his son watching a holomovie in casual disregard while his father slept away the years.