Vengewar Read online

  “And it will come,” said Elliel, imposing in her black Brava outfit. Her grim expression was marred by the rune of forgetting tattooed on her face.

  “We will be strong—I certainly am! Ha!” said Ogno, the biggest and most intimidating of his lords. “We will be ready, Kollanan the Hammer.”

  Koll rested his bearded chin in his hand. “Adan knows the wreth threat, too, down in Suderra.” His voice caught again. “He will also have received word of his father’s death. I need to go to him, so we can discuss how our two kingdoms can defend themselves. If the sandwreths and the frostwreths are intent on destroying each other, we will be caught in the middle.”

  Tafira’s dark eyes sparkled. “Maybe you could convince the sandwreths to fight on our behalf, against a mutual enemy.”

  Koll’s eyebrows drew together. “I would ask Adan’s counsel on that first.”

  Elliel sat up straight. “I will accompany you on the ride to Suderra.” She shot a questioning glance at mysterious Thon, who nodded that he would join her.

  “And I as well,” Lasis said. The Brava had served Kollanan much longer than Elliel, and had been captured and left for dead by the frostwreths.

  Kollanan shook his head. “No, Lasis. While I am gone, I need you here to protect my queen.”

  Tafira smiled. “And your kingdom.”

  The other Brava bowed. “Yes, Sire. Perhaps we should ask Captain Rondo and his Commonwealth soldiers to remain as added defenders, while you are gone?”

  “Yes, that is reasonable,” Koll said.

  “We need regular scout riders, Sire.” Lord Teo ran a finger down the left side of his long mustache. “They can give us warning if the wreths move.”

  “What good is a warning, if they can wipe us out with a blast of cold magic?” Lord Bahlen asked.

  “It would give us a chance to evacuate the villages,” said Vitor. “Scatter our people into the wilderness. Some of them might be saved.”

  Alcock said, “My county has open grassland and hills. We’re farmers with spread-out villages, and there is no safe place for them to go. We do not have fortress walls like Fellstaff.”

  Teo said, “Norterra hasn’t been at war for centuries, barely even a squabble among holdings. We are vulnerable.”

  “That is the weakness that peace brings,” Ogno grumbled.

  “I fear the time of peace has ended,” Kollanan said.

  Urok, Bahlen’s normally silent Brava, said, “We can shore up our defenses. We must.”

  “Even if I wanted to, what sort of walls could I build against the wreths?” asked gaunt Cerus. “What material can stand against a frostwreth attack?”

  Thon spoke up in a distant, musing tone. “Were the wreths not at war with one another for centuries? Their own defenses stood against the most destructive attacks, and those walls still endure.” He glanced at Elliel with strange eyes that sparkled like crushed sapphires. He looked almost human, but not quite. “Elliel and the scholar girl showed me one of the old wreth cities.”

  “Ah, the ruins! Shadri is still determined to explore them more,” Elliel said. “Many abandoned wreth cities are still intact and could be turned into fortresses if we repaired them.”

  Kollanan sat in his heavy chair. “Fellstaff has the greatest defenses, the thickest walls. We were always strong for the sake of the Commonwealth.” Another wave of sadness unexpectedly came upon him at the thought of Konag Conndur, his brother, his companion, his friend. The three kingdoms had to stand together, but faced with his own crisis, Koll felt distant from any Isharan threat across the sea. He had loved his wife for far too long to think of all Tafira’s people as inhuman animals, even if it was true that they had butchered Conndur.

  “I have a large wreth city in my county,” Bahlen said, sounding pleased with the idea. “We could make it into a stronghold.”

  Alcock lowered his head, scratched his dark goatee. “We’ve always avoided wreth ruins as bad places, maybe even haunted.”

  “Now they might save us,” said Lord Iber.

  * * *

  That night in his chambers, Koll sat by the fire, holding a small carving of a cow, which he had whittled from a scrap of wood. Not his best work, but it kept his hands busy. Tafira had made honeysuckle tea, and she sat near the fire, reading a chronicle from Fellstaff’s remembrance shrine that told the life story of their daughter Jhaqi, as written by the scholar girl Shadri. Koll loved watching his wife read the story and comfort herself by keeping their memories alive.

  Koll kept their memories alive as well, but at the moment he was preoccupied with thoughts of his brother. During the Isharan war, he and Conndur commanded divisions of the Commonwealth army that roamed the new world. They had gone to punish the Isharans for some imagined slight that Koll couldn’t even remember.

  Conndur the Brave and Kollanan the Hammer, war heroes.

  Koll and Conn.

  The legaciers exaggerated the legends of the two brothers, but Koll remembered how dark those times were, on both sides. His own men had lost control, intending to raze a village, and the Isharan villagers, just as ruthless, decided to sacrifice an orphaned girl, Tafira, to their godling. Koll had rescued her as his prize and his bride-to-be. When that war ended unresolved, Koll had thought he would never worry about Isharans again.

  Now, as he whittled a few more details into the wooden cow, he remembered his raid at the frostwreth ice fortress. Koll had hoped to rescue his captive grandson, but Birch wasn’t there. Instead, the boy was being held a prisoner up at Queen Onn’s palace, and Koll had no idea how to get him back.

  With the tip of his dagger he scratched detail lines, then set the carving aside and picked up a new piece of wood. He had made many toy animals for his two grandsons. Someday he hoped to give this one to Birch.

  3

  THE walls exuded cold, turning the boy’s every breath into fog. The ice blocks distorted the weak sunlight that flowed into Queen Onn’s throne room. Outside, frigid winds whistled around the ornamental spikes of the palace in unsettling mournful music.

  Numb with cold, Birch huddled under his tattered blanket, but he was alert, watching every detail.

  Onn sat on her throne, languid and relaxed in her frozen surroundings. Her long hair was the color of ice and bone chips, and her large eyes had an undertone of steel.

  Behind her hung an ancient wreth spear wrought with magic and metal, powerful enough to slay monsters. In a boastful voice, Onn had told the boy how one of her ancestors had stabbed the great dragon Ossus, breaking the shaft. Now Onn displayed the artifact as a trophy, as her predecessors had.

  Birch crouched on the floor at the side of the throne, quiet and ignored. The queen treated him like a pet, a curiosity, although she didn’t seem to know what to do with him. Her interest had waned, and he instinctively knew to stay as quiet as possible; remaining unnoticed was his greatest protection. Birch was hungry and cold, but he was alive, and he meant to stay that way. Birch needed to be resilient. His grandfather had taught him that word.

  With a frenetic bustle, five drones entered through the arched doorway, bearing small plates with morsels of food. Queen Onn thrived on the attention more than the food itself.

  In ancient times when the land thrummed with untapped magic, wreths had fashioned the human race. But after the world was battered and drained by the wreth wars, the frostwreths were unable to create anything better than these drones as new servants. Small in stature and genderless, the drones had grayish skin and poorly formed features.

  From what Birch had seen, frostwreths considered the drones expendable.

  The obsequious drones offered the queen spiced lichen, tundra ferns, and small silver fish that swam in cracks within the glacier. Bowls of frost-sprinkled blue berries made Birch’s mouth water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fed; likely, Queen Onn couldn’t remember either.

  She accepted a bowl from a drone, plucked out a berry, and popped it in her mouth, savoring it. The drones made small
noises that weren’t quite words. Birch knew the creatures were intelligent, though he wasn’t sure the frostwreths realized it.

  After munching on a still-wriggling silver fish, the queen smacked her lips. Birch looked at her with shadowed eyes, his hunger apparent, and when Onn noticed him, she responded with a disapproving frown. “How pathetic you are.” She tossed him one of the berries, which he gobbled. When his performance amused her, she handed him the whole platter of twitching fish, and Birch wolfed several down.

  “Perhaps that is all you are good for—to eat my leftover food,” Onn said with a snort. In front of her, the drones held up more plates, beseeching her to take them. “When Rokk brought you to me, I thought he was a fool to have captured you in the first place.” She smiled. “But he does like to give me things. Rokk is a magnificent lover, boy.”

  Boy? Birch stopped eating and crouched, forcing himself to remain silent, though he wanted to scream, Birch! My name is Birch! Memories swirled in his head. And my brother was Tomko. You killed him. And you killed my parents.

  “You are fortunate my Rokk saved you and brought you to live among the frostwreths,” Onn said with a smirk. “Appreciate that.”

  Birch pressed his lips together and thought back to that terrifying day at Lake Bakal, the fishing boats on the water, the surrounding hills thick with silver pines, the steep mountains that framed the lake. It was a happy place, peaceful. His father was the town leader, and his mother was the daughter of Norterra’s king and queen.

  On that last afternoon, he and Tomko had been with their friend Piro in front of their house. Birch and his brother played with carved animals that their grandfather had given them.

  His mother came out to call the boys inside, concerned by a line of ominous weather rolling in from the north. They all watched white clouds pour over the mountains like a frigid flood. It did not look like anything Birch had ever seen.

  A party of fierce, pale frostwreth warriors appeared before the frigid wave, riding white-furred steeds that looked like wolves. The oncoming cold had shattered trees and turned the deep lake into solid ice. His mother had shouted for the children to get inside the house. But a wreth warrior had seen Birch first, seized him, and protected him—for no reason other than curiosity.

  Then the cold caught the rest of the village, froze the people solid and left them like fish buried in a snowbank. Tomko died next to their friend Piro, who clutched one of the wooden pigs his grandfather had carved. His mother and father had collapsed in the cold, covered with ice, buried in snow that fell all too gently upon a dead town.…

  “Eat your fish,” Onn snapped at him. “If you do not appreciate the food, I will stop feeding you.”

  Birch ate the last two on the plate, licked his numb fingers. He withdrew, shivering, and pulled the blanket closer. In front of the throne, the many drones shifted position, but stayed close at hand, hoping for the queen’s attention.

  A female wreth warrior strode into the throne chamber with a swift deliberate pace, her boots clicking on the metallic ice floor. She approached without any bow or gesture of respect. “Queen Onn, our fortress at Lake Bakal was attacked.”

  Birch’s ears pricked up. He had been held for a time at the fortress under the lackluster care of Rokk until he had been brought back to Onn at the northern palace.

  The warrior was gruff, unemotional as she delivered her announcement. “The attacking army used some strange magic to thaw the lake. The ice and water swallowed our warriors like the jaws of a trap. Many wreths at the fortress were killed, including your lover.”

  “Rokk!” Onn groaned, more with surprise than grief.

  Choosing the wrong moment, a drone scuttled forward to offer the queen more food. Enraged by the interruption, she extended a hand, and waves of cold shot out like a volley of arrows. The drone froze solid, then shattered into fragments of flesh-colored ice. The other drones dropped their dishes and fled the chamber. Birch wished he could go with them.

  Onn lunged down from her frozen throne, confronting the warrior. “Who struck our fortress? Did the sandwreths attack?” She glanced behind her at the jagged spear.

  “Not sandwreths, my queen. It was a human army, led by King Kollanan.”

  “King Kollanan.” Onn rolled the name around in her mouth and spat it out. “I do not understand this. Humans cannot cause such damage to wreths!”

  “And yet, they did,” the warrior said.

  Huddled beside the throne, Birch heard the name of his grandfather and smiled.

  4

  AS he and his wife approached the council chamber, King Adan already heard shouting.

  Penda leaned on his arm as if she needed his help in her advanced pregnancy, but Adan leaned on her just as much. She gave him strength to face the crises blowing in like sandstorms from the Furnace.

  Despite the uproar coming from the room ahead, Penda forced a sense of calm on him. Her long dark hair flowed back, enhancing her deep brown eyes. “Breathe, my Starfall.”

  “How can you be so calm?” he asked.

  “There’s an Utauk saying: ‘In the pause between a flash of lightning and the sound of thunder, a person can find a stillness to weather the worst storm.’ That is what you need now.” With her free hand she traced a circle around her heart and whispered the mantra of her people, “The beginning is the end is the beginning.”

  Riding on her shoulder, the green reptile bird flapped his wings and burbled as if in agreement. Xar, her pet ska, was fierce and devoted, bound to Penda by a heart link. With his talons, he gripped a padded leather patch on her shoulder to keep his balance. The hawk-sized creature always vied with Adan for Penda’s attention.

  Adan allowed himself a moment to consider his love for her, to let it drive away the turmoil and shadows for a brief instant, like the pause between lightning and thunder. “Thank you.”

  Arm in arm, showing a grace that belied his distress about the world falling apart, the king and queen entered the chamber where the vassal lords, advisors, and military commanders had gathered. They had already begun their debate, expressing dread over the turmoil in the three kingdoms.

  When Adan stepped into the room, one lord rose to his feet. “Sire!” The others rapidly stood, showing their respect and relief.

  Adan said in a wry attempt at humor, “I see you have solved all the problems without waiting for us.”

  Penda’s father, Hale Orr, grinned, flashing his gold tooth. “There you are, dear heart.” He wore the maroon and black silks of his tribe and a distinctive shadowglass pendant in one ear.

  Adan said, “We have much to discuss, much to fear, and much to decide. Events happen swiftly, and news travels at a much slower pace.” He led Penda to the head of the table, where they each took a seat. Behind the queen’s chair was a wooden T-shaped ska stand, where another young ska perched. Ari fluttered her blue plumage in greeting as Penda placed Xar on the stand beside her.

  One lord, who often did not think before he spoke, called out, “Tell us of the dragon hunt in the Furnace. And the sandwreths!”

  Beside him, another advisor glanced at the restless blue ska on the crossbar stand. “Sandwreths…”

  “And with Konag Conndur murdered, what will happen to the Commonwealth?”

  Adan paused as another unexpected wave of grief rolled over him. “My brother is konag now,” he said, hoping that might reassure them, even though he could not believe it himself. Mandan, as konag? He turned his thoughts to Suderra. “Let us talk about the sandwreths first, and dragons.”

  Taking turns, he and Penda described how the sandwreth queen and her hunting party took them into the barren wastelands and summoned a dragon for sport. “The monster caused great havoc before the wreths finally killed it. They called it a small dragon,” Adan said.

  “The slain dragon rotted away within seconds, as if its evil were dissipating into the world.” Penda reached into the foldpocket of her maroon-and-black skirt and removed a tooth as large as a hatchet blade. �
��This is one of the few fragments that remained. Voo herself gave it to me.”

  “But why would wreths hunt a dragon in the first place?” asked his war minister, running his fingers through stringy hair. “Why provoke it?”

  Adan was surprised they didn’t all know the ancient mythology. “The wreths were charged by their god to slay the great dragon Ossus, so the world can be remade into a perfect form. This one was practice.”

  Penda added with a frown, “The sandwreths seem most interested in destroying their rivals. They do not want the frostwreths saved when the world is changed.”

  Adan’s chief armorer leaned forward on the table. “If Ossus is so horrific, shouldn’t they work together to kill their common enemy?”

  “Cra, one would think,” Hale muttered.

  “The human race is doomed, no matter what,” grumbled another vassal lord.

  “Vengeance drives otherwise sensible people to do irrational things.” Adan clenched his fist as a flood of emotions filled his mind, anger and grief blotting out his thoughts. Mandan’s message had said their father was betrayed and murdered by Isharans, his body mutilated …

  Adan remembered how he and Conndur had watched the stars from the observation deck of Convera Castle, wondering what the patterns might mean. His own name, Adan Starfall, came from a night when they had seen a meteor shower against a clear black sky.

  “Queen Voo asks for an alliance with us,” Penda said. “She wants the armies of Suderra to help her fight the frostwreths. She says she wants to protect us.” She pressed her full lips together. Both skas twitched and clicked, sensing her emotional outpouring. “We now know she is lying.”