Page 77 of Heart of the Shadow King

Time means nothing.

There is only heat, only rage.

Only vengeance—

My eyes flare open.

I stare up at a distant cavern ceiling framed by a ring of darkenedurzulstones. For a moment, I don’t know who I am. For a moment, fire burns in my belly, ready to burst. Then I blink again. Delicate shards of crystal break and fall away from my lashes, my cheeks, my jaw, my throat. It’s unlike any other time I’ve returned from deepjor,when the stone simply reabsorbed into my flesh. This is more like shedding an outer skin. I feel new and small and vulnerable.

Slowly, I turn my head only to be met with a grim sight: Queen Roh, her eyes wide, her arm extended, her mouth open in a silent scream. Caught in stone. Caught inva-jor.

I inhale sharply and scramble up to my knees. Crawling to her, I reach for her outstretched hand, my trembling fingers gripping her stone ones. Immediately the depth of herva-jorstrikes me like a blow. I gasp, only just maintaining my grip. Closing my eyes, I fix my awareness on the resonance still vibrating inside her, following it deeper, deeper, desperate to know if it goes all the way to her core. But no—there in her center, something still moves. Something desperate, frightened. Something trapped in far too many layers of stone.

The ceremony did not work. Not completely. It was close, so close. If I’d just had a bit more time, then maybe . . .

Releasing Roh’s hand, I crumple to the ground. There I lie for I don’t know how long. Breathing, breathing. Trying to find the will to look up again, to face the world and what I have wrought in it. The temptation to sink back intojoris strong, almost too strong to resist. It takes all the courage I possess simply to turn my head, to take in the sight of the Urzulhar Circle.

The great stones still pulse with power, but their light is gone. The darkness in their centers has spread too far, transforming them into something new and terrible. Between them stand the Children of Arraog—the drummers, who maintained a steady beat throughout the ceremony, their drums singing in time with the resonance of the crystals. They are like Roh, caught inva-jor.From where I lie, I cannot tell if their enstonement is complete, if they have found the ultimate rest they sought. And what of the others? All those on the hill and scattered throughout the garden? What about the will-bound people in the palace, the unsuspecting folk of the city? What happened to them when those blasts of gods-gifted power rolled through their streets, their walls, their homes, every buried crystal crying out in response to the song of the Urzulhar? I’d felt their shock, their despair, their resistance.

Have I succeeded in bringing salvation to Mythanar? And in the process, have I damned my own soul?

“Hael,” I whisper. Only then do I dare look up at to the two largest stones where the figure of my bodyguard still hangs, partially bound and bleeding. From this distance I cannot feel her. Is she dead? Did she pay the ultimate sacrifice all for a half-wrought miracle? And there, lying below Hael, beside the fallen body of a priestess . . . “Theodre!” I croak.

The next moment, I’m crawling across the circle, trying not to think too closely about the thin coating of dust which overlays everything. That last image of the ceremony, that final burst of power, I can neither comprehend nor believe. How could I do something so reactive, so violent? It simply could not have happened.

I’m gasping, trembling by the time I reach my brother. “Theodre?” I manage again, reaching for him over the priestess’s remains. She too is captured in partialva-jor,trapped in a moment of eternal pain. But my brother isn’t stone, thank the gods! Neither is he cold to the touch. There’s living warmth in his flesh, and when I press my ear to his chest, I detect a faint but determined heartbeat. Breathing out a prayer, I pull back only to discover him blinking blearily up at me. His pupils are dilated, his gaze unfocused. “F-Faraine?” he hazards, his voice slurring.

“Oh, Theodre!” My fingers tighten on the front of his embroidered jerkin. “Why did you do it? Why did you interfere?” I don’t know if I want to curse him or bless him. I don’t know if I’m relieved the ceremony was interrupted or devastated. I don’t know anything anymore.

The corner of his mouth pulls slightly. “I told you I . . . I wasn’t a coward. I told you I . . . I didn’t mean to leave you . . .”

His words trail off, and his head lolls to one side. Dead? No, he’s still alive, his spirit held to his body by a tentative thread. Targ’s fist must have caught him a glancing blow, otherwise his brains would be spattered on the crystals. As it is, I don’t know how long he can hold on.

A groan rakes harshly across my senses. I yank my head up, twist to look over my shoulder at Hael. Her free arm hangs slack, the broken end of the braided cord dragging on the ground. Her other arm remains twisted and bound, torquing her body at an unnatural angle. Many cuts lace her naked flesh, and her blue blood flows sluggishly. If she doesn’t get help soon, she will bleed out.

I struggle to rise, gasping at the knives of pain stabbing through my head and limbs. Without myjorto protect me, all the emotion I’ve spent the last several weeks holding at bay seeks to return in a deadly rush. I must reclaim myjor. But not before . . . before . . .

Leaning against a crystal, I cast about. Theodre’s blade lies close by. Or rather, not Theodre’s. I don’t know who he stole this weapon from, but it’s much too large for him. It’s a wonder he managed to wield it at all. Though I try, I cannot lift it, not in my weakened state. Shuddering, I drop my hold on the hilt, push hair out of my eyes, and look at my two companions, both barely clinging to life. I cannot help them, cannot budge them. I must go for help and hope I find someone—anyone—not trapped inva-jorto assist me.

It’s only then that I pause long enough to wonder:Where is Maylin?

On top of all the other fears, pains, questions, and needs, a sudden wave of abandonment threatens to overwhelm me. Why would she vanish? Why would she leave me trapped injor,the ceremony incomplete, the sacrifice still alive and suffering? I shake my head and instantly regret it as a thousand angry bees burst to life inside my skull and make a simultaneous bid for escape. When the buzzing passes, and the dark sparks on the edge of my vision recede, I turn to make my way down the promontory. Questions can wait. I must find help for Hael and Theodre.

There are so many enstoned people. All the cultists, most captured in attitudes of supplication, but a few with their heads up, startled expressions eternally frozen on their faces. Members of Vor’s court are here as well. Terrified. Trapped. Stone. I can’t look at them. I can’t bear to see what I have done. I stagger and stumble back down the steep incline, cutting my unprotected feet on the rough terrain. By the time I reach the bottom, I’m sweating so hard, my white gown is plastered to my body, but I shiver as though frozen to the bone. Nothing looks familiar in the depths ofdimness.All the old landmarks are broken or altered, and the living gems have ceased to shine. I’m disoriented, but the sound of the falls draws me. I turn that way, hoping I might find a path back to the palace.

Movement in the garden.

I stop, heart lurching to my throat. How had I not noticed before? Shadows slip from stone to stone, keeping just out of sight. Images of cave devils spring unbidden to mind. But no, these figures are tall, towering troldefolk. The palace guard? Have they shaken off Maylin’s stupor and come to investigate? Will they see me as friend or foe? I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end.

“Here!” I cry and step into a clear space, waving my arms over my head. If they are trolde, they should have no trouble seeing me in the dark. “Here, over here! They’re hurt, they need help!” I don’t bother to explain; these trolde might not speak my language anyway. But my voice, ringing against all those darkened crystals, attracts their attention. The shadows converge upon me. I take a few more stumbling steps, panting hard, whimpering, “Help!”

Lorstlight ignites. It’s so sudden, so sharp, I throw up my hands to cover my eyes. A tall trolde approaches, the shining stone clutched in his hand. At first, my gaze is too dazzled to recognize him. Then a bolt of pure loathing shoots straight into my forehead.

I stagger to a halt, drop to my knees, overcome by the power of that emotion. The figure draws nearer, footsteps crunching on the broken crystals littering his path. More trolde crowd in behind him, their feelings veiled from my perception, but their menace palpable. There are many of them. Two dozen, maybe more. All helmed and armed for war.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice pathetic through the haze of pain. “My friends . . . they need help . . .”

The tall trolde angles hislorstto shine upon my face.

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