Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) (41 page)

The creature growled and Linn gripped the stone tight enough to bleach her knuckles white. She could feel the heat pouring from Larren’s body even from this distance.

“I am—

“Nothing,” Linn said, settling back in her corner and partially closing her lids, though she kept vigilant, taking in every detail, the obsidian throbbing as she tensed.

The darkness was dispelled as tongues of flame crept from Larren’s torn leather.

“Your power is a loan,” Linn said, shielding her eyes as if annoyed. “Your debt will be called in soon enough, and you will return to nothing.”

“After,” it was seething, boiling. “After I tear you apart. We are darkness. We are many, and we are powerful.”

“No,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at the imposter with all the hate she could muster. “You are nothing. You are from nowhere. And once the Sage is through with you, you will return to nothing. You will be displaced yolk.”

“The White Crest is ours,” it hissed. “There are no strings but those that bind him.”

“Then he is as much a slave as you,” Linn said evenly.

She was certain the Sentinel would leap upon her and rend her limb from limb then. It leaned forward, teeth flashing and flames sprouting on Larren’s skin, something she had never seen an Ember do. The demon was destroying its mortal coil. She felt the drumming intensify, the vibrations running up her spine and setting the bones to click like plates.

As quickly as its anger had boiled over, it cooled, the Sentinel settling back, flames withdrawing like snakes in a burrow. It flashed a smile at her, red eyes wide and manic.

“If he takes this one, I will find another,” it said, grinning sickly at her, head tilting.

Linn felt sick at the thought of the Sentinel taking her, but she turned the acid to a liquid fire that welled in her stomach before infusing her breast. A stretched calm fell over her. Her fingers relaxed around the stone before closing back on the myriad grooves she had quested from her dexterous study in the dark.

“I think I’d rather die,” she said, her muscles flaring painfully to life as she brought the lever of her arm forward to throw. The Sentinel’s eyes widened, red bulbs sparking as it caught the movement.

A scream that sounded like one of the silver lions from the Untamed Hills cut through the dark, freezing Linn mid-throw. The demon whipped Larren’s head around as the echoes crashed and cascaded around them, bouncing off the low ceiling and sinking into the floor.

Now was her chance. Linn tensed to throw again, but before she could, the Sentinel darted into the murk, leaving her as it haunted the darkness for whatever beast had wandered in.

From the left, soft footfalls could be heard, and Linn was sure the beast had brought company. She cursed, settling in a tense crouch.

When it entered her view, she hesitated for a moment, and she was glad she did. The sight before her was no lion, nor was it another demon from the World Apart. Blood caked light hair, turning it pink, and one eye was crusted over with fresh scabs. His shirt hung in tatters, and his feet were cut and bleeding into the stagnant pools.

“Nathen,” Linn whispered, dropping the stone with a clatter that echoed as if from the bottom of a well. In the distance, the Sentinel shrieked, enraged at its lost quarry or aware of the ruse.

Nathen, wounded and woozy as he was, exploded into action, smashing down the rusted bars and snatching Linn by the wrist. He dragged her out into the low hall and they took off at as close to a run as they were able. After a few strides, it was Linn doing the dragging, each corridor growing brighter with the promise of the sun.

The cries of the Sentinel drove them on like hares before a hound.

“How?” Linn asked, nearly breathless, but Nathen was in no state to answer. He kept his head low and trudged on.

They came to a cross section with a sheer wall in front, and the panic set in.

“I’ve had enough of tunnels,” Linn cursed, whipping her head around. “Do you remember how you came in?”

“There,” he said, pointing weakly down the right hall.

Now that she looked closer, Linn thought it looked brighter down that way. She made as if to move when something prickled at the back of her neck, the steady cadence filling the air around them like a broth. The dark engine called to her, beckoning with intent, its bass hypnotic.

“Linn,” Nathen said, pulling at her.

“We must go down,” she said, earning a look of disbelief.

Linn grabbed a hold of him by both shoulders.

“Whatever is feeding these beasts,” she said, “it’s in the keep. It’s below. It could be the key.”

Nathen did not look convinced, but another shriek pierced the gloom, this one sounding much closer than the last.

“Nathen, we have to try.”

A short nod and they were off, the darkness growing thick around them. It was the sort of dark that was more than the absence of light; this darkness was something made.

Linn hoped it could be unmade.

There was a spiral stair, broken and crumbling from neglect. They followed it down, and the deeper they got, the slower they moved, as if something repelled them.

“The smell,” Nathen wheezed, holding a hand over his nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

A scent like rotting meat hit Linn. The air was thick and humid, full of decay. The stones along the walls glistened with sweat and they navigated by touch, feeling their way down the slick.

The beating of drums grew deafening as they rounded another bend, the floor smoothing out as they reached the bottom. The darkness gave way to a red tinge, which set the floor to glitter like the ruby eyes of vipers. Great pillars loomed overhead, set into rows under a vaulted ceiling lost in the fog.

Linn felt dizzy. She rubbed at her temples as she moved forward. Nathen slouched, his broad shoulders leaning crooked.

A scream and Linn was sure the Sentinel had found them, until she saw Nathen collapse in a writhing heap. She ran to him, but the sound hit her next, buckling her in stride. She buried her ears in her hands and chanced a look. There, past a bare alter on the back wall, great slabs of meat lurched and bled in the shadows.

They were black with red blotches, which glowed molten in light of their own making. They were harbingers of death. Linn could feel their hunger and their hate.

She tried to turn it back on them.

Linn clutched the stone she had carried like a lifeline, gained her shaking feet and let fly. It pierced the center mass and an alien roar reverberated in her skull. A great geyser of red-black blood spewed forth, coating the nearest pillar in its stinking mess.

As the first bubbled and died, Linn felt the others turning their attention toward her. She spun and clutched the shaft of an iron sconce set into the stone and ripped it free from rusted hinges. That, too, flew straight, piercing the second heart. She could see they were hearts, now, and the second roar brought her to her knees, though another scream of agony from the halls above flooded her legs with need.

She cast about for another weapon, but the third had her in its sight and drilled a hollow of pain between her eyes that drove all thought from her. She fell a long way, and the moist stones greeted her arrival warmly. She saw lights dancing at the edges and fought the black that came for her.

“No!”

The drilling receded like a wave, leaving behind a well of aching that made it difficult to think, let alone move. But move she did, craning her neck to see.

Nathen had pulled her makeshift spear from the one and plunged it into the other. He drove it down with all the strength he could bring to bear, his feet sliding back in the spray, face coated and spitting. He yelled over the roar that must have been splitting his skull, and the heart groaned its last and stilled.

The deed done, Nathen turned and walked to Linn with ungainly strides. He looked like carrion.

“I wanted to believe,” he said, looking down at his bloody hands, caked with rot. “I wanted to.”

“I know,” Linn whispered, standing slowly. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “But we’ve done something here, at least. Whatever power those things contained, it’s gone.”

Nathen nodded.

And then they heard the animal scream return, all trace of Larren Holspahr’s voice torn away in a madness born of a pain that had given way to rage.

They ran faster than they had any right to, the glow of angry flames lighting their backs as they tore up the stairs and back into the twisting corridors. Sweat poured from them, evaporating before it could roll down their skin.

Finally, the light of day brought a welcome burn to Linn’s eyes as they spilled into a great hall. The stone tiles underfoot were polished to a mirror sheen in the places that weren’t cracked or overgrown. A white balcony ringed the chamber, and Linn could see avian faces leering at them from the shadowed alcoves above. The carvings were so lifelike as to appear real in the glow of their pursuit, great eagles and hawks with the bodies of men, all armed and armored.

Linn chanced a look behind and the sight nearly drove what breath she had left from her chest. The Ember giving chase was something born of fire and darkness, its hair a burning mass, spear a length of flame with no haft or tip. Behind it, seated on a turquoise throne, was the statue of a god whose carved feathers and razor beak put the rest to shame.

“Linn!”

Together, they cleared the gap and charged out into the open air, clouds wheeling overhead in a frantic and unnatural dance. To the south, the white clouds tore into the black in a battle of elements over the Valley basin.

Linn turned and fell to her knees as Nathen let out a hacking cough, spitting bloody phlegm onto the rocks.

The Sentinel stood before them, flames wild, ravenous and intent on them. Its red eyes darted erratically as it tensed to spring, and then it paused, eyes locking on something behind them.

Linn felt the kiss of heat on the nape of her neck and shuddered.

Her cry of anguish turned into a disbelieving laugh as Jenk Ganmeer stepped forward, shirtless and red as the rest of them, his sword held alight, flames dancing with poise and fervor.

The Ember of Last Lake took his stance and kept his eyes ahead as he prepared to face the ghost of Larren Holspahr a final time.

He could not hope to win, of course, but Linn felt happy to see him. She looked out over the roiling battle in the sky over the Valley below and knew they had done something here.

As for her, it looked as though she would not die alone after all.

She closed her eyes as spear met sword in a clash that heralded the beginning of the end.

“D
akken’s boys know their way around a pike,” Garos said as he and Talmir took a brief reprieve next to the Ember’s glowing brazier.

Talmir did not disagree. For a group that had always been more about the show than the fight, Dakken’s White Guard had made a difference, bolstering his flagging troops along the South Bend. While Dakken Pyr was somewhat notorious for being a concubine of Third Keeper Misha Ve’Gah, he was notoriously ferocious on the training grounds, and that ferocity was redoubled against the Corrupted. His twin hatchets spun in a constant blur, black limbs flying absent spray. Seeing him in action, one could be excused for thinking him Landkist.

Jakub had looked profoundly pleased with himself as he witnessed Dakken tear into the first climbers, and that look had turned to disbelief when Talmir sent him away. It was as if he was sending him to bed without milk. But what sort of place was this for an orphan boy?

Probably the sort of place that makes them.

“It’s a wonder they were willing to get their armor dirty,” Talmir said, coming back to himself.

“First time I can recall those boys on the front lines since Pyr’s father fought against the stone-throwers,” Garos said. “Even then, we had to put the lean on them.”

“They are the sons of merchants, after all,” Talmir said and Garos laughed and clapped him on the back hard enough to make him cough. The First Keeper walked the length of the gate, slapping the backs of the innocent the whole way.

Talmir studied the black sea before his walls. If it had a tide, it was high, though the Corrupted seemed to be slowing, their attacks guttering like a flame left too long at the wick. The bodies were piled on both sides of the wall, now, their black masks falling away in the rain. There were plenty of his Emberfolk among them, along with the squared jaws of the Rivermen, but most were foreign—pale or swarthy—all innocents in their own way.

The Captain hoped they were granting mercy. He had to cling to something and the anger had gone out of him. Instead of railing against the Sages and their war, his thoughts turned to questions of why rather than how. One thing had become clear: the army before them was one of endings.

What had changed?

It was no secret that the Eastern Dark had long coveted the power of the Embers, but the White Crest had been gone a generation and more. Why had it taken so long for him to come?

Talmir sighed. He supposed it didn’t really matter.

The Captain unsheathed his father’s blade and started south, following in Garos’s booming wake, when shrieks that sounded as if from the pits of hell broke the sky. He wheeled toward the west and witnessed the approach of the Captains from the World Apart.