Page 97 of Of Empires and Dust

“How did you…” Kira tried to gather her thoughts. The last time she’d seen her sister, Erani was taking an emissary party south to the dwarves of the Rolling Mountains. It had been after their mother’s death. They had both argued to the point that Kira had told her never to come back, never to show her face in Durakdur again. She had regretted those words from the moment she’d spoken them, but she’d been too stubborn to take them back – too weak.

“Don’t speak.” Erani grabbed the sideboard, balancing herself as the wagon rocked. “Drink.” She pressed a waterskin to Kira’s lips.

“Slower,” Erani said as Kira almost choked herself on the water.

“I received word via the navigators the day after you were taken.” Erani dropped back and rested her head against the opposite sideboard. “I came as soon as I could, but Hoffnar has most of the Freehold locked down.” She gestured towards two of the other dwarves. “Some of his own defected. That’s how we got you out.”

“It’s also the only reason any of my people are alive,” Lumeera said. “We were warned just before the attack happened, and many got out in time… Most of us didn’t. Your Queensguard stormed the Heart but were outnumbered five to one. Afterwards, Hoffnar branded you a traitor. Said you butchered Elenya and Lakar and tried to kill him as well, used your dead guards as proof of your attempted coup.”

“Durakdur is under his control, as are Azmar and Volkur,” Erani said. “It is only Ozryn that remains apart, but even theywill not help us openly. I believe they will open their tunnels soon and accept Hoffnar as their king. He spins a web as well as any spider. And with you in chains and the others dead, he offers them a new dawn for the dwarves, spinning tales of heroism and glory. But there are many who see him for what he is and are waiting for your word. Hoffnar knows this. Other splinter groups have already attempted to break you free, but clearly they failed. Our sources told us that he had originally planned on keeping you alive, but after the latest attempt only yesterday, he changed his mind. He was to execute you today in the central plaza of the Heart of Durakdur. We had no choice but to make our move.”

“Oleg?” Kira coughed.

“He is alive,” Lumeera answered.

“Where are we going?”

“One of the old mining outposts in the far north,” Erani said. “Turim Arlan and the Wind Runners Guild pulled out of the cities and evacuated many. They stand by you, Kira. Probably the only piece of good news we have.”

“What of Hoffnar?” Kira pushed herself back against the sideboard, her heartbeat finally slowing. “What do we know?”

“Our spies tell us he’s holding some of the navigators against their will and forcing them to run Wind Runners down the old tunnels. They’ve been digging non-stop, pushing the tunnels deeper, driving them further. Some say he’s searching for Vindakur or the old Portal Hearts, but I think there’s more to it than that.”

Kira nodded, her head lolling as the vibrations of the wagon drummed through her. She tried her best to keep her eyes open, pushing sleep away. But she was exhausted, more so than she had ever been.

“Sleep, sister. Soon we’ll plan how to break Hoffnar’s neck.”

Chapter 23

Fear

10thDay of the Blood Moon

Salme, western villages of Illyanara – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Dahlen ranhis hand along the length of splintered wood that, only hours before, had been part of Salme’s palisade wall. Now it jutted from the mud, shattered and broken, dried blood staining its surface.

Another night, another assault, another stay of execution earned through sheer desperation and unwillingness to die.

The wind snapped, and he pulled his coat tighter. His fingers trailed the wood, brushing over the splintered end as he watched two men pulling a broken body from beneath a dead horse.

The body – if he could truly call it that given its current state – belonged to a man who had seen no more summers than Dahlen had. Dahlen had seen him trudging through the gates that morning, tired and hungry, one of the refugees froma farming settlement on the other side of Ölm Forest. That afternoon, they’d filled his belly and given him a place to bathe in warm water. That evening, they’d found him a cot and blankets. That night, they had put a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. And now they dragged his lifeless corpse across the mud, legs so broken that one pointed west and the other east.

More people flooded into Salme every day, but by each following morning, the population had grown by only a handful. The Angan his father had promised had arrived a few nights prior, and he’d sent a call for aid but heard nothing back. At any other time, he would be drowning in the not knowing if his father and Erik were all right. But all he could do was push that thought to the back of his mind and pray to Heraya that she hadn’t taken them into her arms. He needed them to be all right. In part because the thought of a world without them was one that threatened to consume him, but also because he himself would be dining in Achyron’s halls within a fortnight if aid didn’t come.

The sound of squelching footfall drew Dahlen’s attention away from the two men tossing the young man’s body into the back of an already brimming cart. Thick black smoke rose up over the walls, the smell of burning flesh filling the air as the Urak bodies were set aflame.

“Lord Captain.” Thannon inclined his head, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, his silver plate dripping with freshly shed blood.

Dahlen frowned but returned the greeting. Ever since the council had put him in charge of Salme’s defences, the Belduarans had given him that title. It hadn't been long before the people of the villages had taken to the moniker also. Even some of the Lorian soldiers used it. He didn’t dislike the title. In truth, hearing it gave him a certain warmth. But it was hard totake pride in something so frivolous when men and women were dying by the score each night.

“The Alamant has started work on the northern section of the wall.”

“Good.” Dahlen let out a long sigh. “When he’s finished, have him do what he can here. I’ll arrange a warm meal and some mead for him.”

“Understood, Lord Captain.”

The Alamant – Oaken Polik – had arrived a few days back, half-starved and barely clothed. His power in the Spark was limited and he tired easily, but without him Salme’s walls would have been nothing but splinters and mud. Gods know the Lorian mages wouldn’t lift a finger for something so far beneath them. Dahlen had only met a few Alamants in his life, and most could barely light a candle, so Oaken was a very welcome sight.

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