Page 93 of Heart of the Shadow King

The Urzulhar are broken.

Ghat warned me of this.“If dese stirrings go on, the Circle be first to fall,”my old engineer chief had said.“When it goes, it all gonna go.”

At the time I’d still believed this fate could be forestalled. I’d still believed not only in the power of the Miphates but in my own ability to bring them here. Perhaps it was arrogance. Or perhaps it was simply unthinkable that this ancient landmark, the very center of my city, the center of my world, could ever be moved.

But it’s gone now. Six of the seven stones cracked, fallen, shattered to fragments. Only one remains, a final testimony to the glory of an age now brought to ruin.

But I’m not done for yet. And I have one final task to accomplish. One last mighty deed fit for the last trolde king.

I climb the rise, calling Faraine’s name as I go. I can’t say why I know she’s here. The similarity to the last time I climbed this way and found her body dead and broken is all too real. But surely no god, no matter how capricious, would make me live the same horror twice over. Clinging to this hope, I reach the top of the rise and stand in the midst of wreckage. My eyes swiftly scan for any sign of Faraine, fixing on that spot where she once lay so still and cold.

But she’s not here. Gods damn it, she’s not here.

“Faraine!” I bellow, turning in place. Another shudder rocks the ground. The final standing stone groans and threatens to topple. From this vantage, I can see down into the city and watch with awe-filled dread as the Vetorka Monument, a famous landmark built during the rule of my grandfather, topples in a cloud of dust.

At least no screams rise from the city. The people are all stone. Faraine spared them this final terror.

That thought roils like fire in my gut. I cup my hands, roaring her name again and again. I don’t expect her to answer. She has every reason to fear and flee me. Only . . . I cannot imagine a version of Faraine that would run away. I’ve watched her brave terrible calamity all without a murmur. When she was dragged onto the execution scaffold. When she faced a horde of rabidwogghaall alone. When she chose to love the dangerous trolde king who’d threatened her life on more than one occasion. She has such courage in her heart, hard won over many years of unrelenting pain. She is no coward. She will not run.

But where is she?

A low hum warms my ear. At first, I scarcely notice it. But it grows, rising in both pitch and intensity. The crystal. The last standing stone. I turn to it slowly, eyes widening. Its dark center glows red. That glow increases slowly, a pulsing light. The other broken crystals begin to pulse as well, all their fractured pieces flickering with life. The ground under my feet vibrates, not with a stirring, but with that same, vibrating hum, a thousand tiny voices growing and multiplying.

Another quake nearly knocks me from my feet. I stagger, catching hold of a boulder for support. Only when the quake passes do I realize that I’m embracing the enstoned form of Roh, my stepmother. So, this is where she met her end. Did she find the peace she so adamantly sought? I can see little of her face through the layers ofva-jor, but something tells me her final rest is not what she thought it was.

I release the rock and step back. The hum of the crystals is stronger than before, prickling my skin, sinking down into my bones. Only now it’s accompanied by another voice. Not stone, not even trolde. A human voice. Moaning in pain.

“Morar juk!”I snarl and scramble out from the remains of the Urzulhar to the far side of the rise. A great gash splits this part of the hill, and steam rises from below, shimmering in the pulsing red light of a thousandurzulcrystals. Great crystals and small, all alight and alive, cover this whole side of the rise. Ancient troldish magic radiates from their cores and fills the air, spreading fast.

Another moan snaps my attention to the small figure crouched on the brink of that chasm. For a breath, my mind fills with Faraine. I’m convinced it’s her I see. Faraine reclining against an outcropping of rock, Faraine panting in short, agonized breaths as blood spills down her face, her neck, her arms, her legs, soaking that threadbare garment and pasting it to her thin frame.

Then my vision clears. And I see who truly lies before me.

“Mother!” I bark.

The next moment, I’m loping to her side, staggering as the world shakes yet again. I collapse on my knees beside her. She is a gruesome sight. Her robes are open. A long, terrible gash cuts her from clavicle to naval. More red lines score her withered breasts and ribcage. “Mother, who has done this to you?” I demand, fear, rage, and woe warring for dominance in my heart. It is only then I see the ceremonial black diamond knife clutched in her hand. Covered in her blood. I have my answer.

Her eyes flare open when I try to wrest the knife from her grasp. They are not the eyes of the woman I remember, the tender mother who would bring me to sit with her at her favorite place in the garden, who taught me to swim in theHirith Borbatha,who sang me human songs and danced human dances. That woman had gentle blue eyes, not these burning gold orbs.

“You don’t want to touch that,” she says. Immediately a profound revulsion comes over me and I drop the blade. She smiles weakly, a terrible sight on that bloodied visage. “So,” she breathes. “You came to rescue her, did you?”

My heart catches. “Where is she, Mother? Where is Faraine?”

She nods to the edge of the chasm. A pit seems to open inside me. I scramble to that brink, gripping stone as I peer over. I glimpse stone steps before another blast of hot air rises, heating my flesh. I retreat, teeth barred. “You sent her down there?” I roar.

“She doesn’t feel pain,” Maylin sighs even as more blood drips from her wounds. “She’s beyond pain now.”

Snarling wordlessly, I rise, prepared to fling myself down those steps in pursuit. But my mother’s voice cries out a desperate, “You don’t want to go down there!”

Absolute sickening dread overwhelms my heart. I stare at that ledge as though it’s the last barrier between me and the deepest hell. No matter how I fight, I cannot make my feet take another step. “Faraine!” I whisper, as though her name might be the key to break this spell. But the dread remains, binding me as fast as any chain.

I turn to Maylin, hatred now surpassing whatever pity I felt. I know what she’s doing. This is the witchcraft Sul warned me of, the witchcraft which, he claims, planted this love for Faraine in my heart to begin with. The violation of my will sickens me. I would kill this woman where she lies were she not already dying. “Why are you doing this?” I demand, my voice strangled tight. “Why, Maylin, why?”

Her lips twist in a ghastly smile, teeth flashing through the veil of blood pouring from her forehead and cheeks. “It was always meant to be her,” she says. “The Woman of Crystals. The Fist of the Deeper Dark. The gods-gifted dragon-slayer.”

“No one can slay Arraog. None save the gods themselves.”

“Even the gods must have their tools.”

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