The Spear of Stars

  THE SPEAR OF STARS

  

  ALSO BY EDWARD W. ROBERTSON

  THE CYCLE OF ARAWN

  The Cycle of Arawn: The Complete Trilogy

  THE CYCLE OF GALAND

  The Red Sea

  The Silver Thief

  The Wound of the World

  The Light of Life

  THE BREAKERS SERIES

  Breakers

  Melt Down

  Knifepoint

  Reapers

  Cut Off

  Captives

  Relapse

  Blackout

  Cover illustration by Miguel Coimbra.

  Text and additional design by Stephanie Mooney.

  Map by Jared Blando.

  

  Mallon, Gask, and other lands.

  1

  The ship rose like a black phantom from the gray of the fog. A cold wind blew off from the sea, as if the ethereal vessel had brought a host of dark spirits with it. Dante pulled his arms tighter to his body. They were still dressed in their jabats, which had been well-suited to the warm and stagnant swamps of Tanar Atain, and a blessing in the baking heat of the Hell-Painted Hills, but now that they were on the coast with a dense fog blowing past them, the short tunic left his legs dreadfully exposed—to say nothing of other paired and much more sensitive organs.

  A dim shape detached from the ship, low-slung and hauling landward. Longboat. A sudden sense of foreboding swept over Dante, giving him a second round of goosebumps. It felt as though now that they were so close to leaving, the White Lich would emerge from the sagebrush, laugh his copper-kettle laugh, and then smite them dead with towering columns of pure ether.

  The same mood seemed to take them all: as Dante reached for the nether, he felt Gladdic do the same. Naran stood taller. Blays lifted his arms behind his head, grasping the back of his right hand and bending it inward. It looked like a relaxed, almost bored pose, but he was stretching his wrists in case he needed to wield his swords.

  The longboat ground into the coarse sand. Three sailors hopped out. Naran clasped their hands and climbed aboard. Dante and the others followed. High-stepping through the surf, the sailors pushed the boat clear of the sand, then slung themselves in over the gunwales. Soon they were rowing steadily, pitching up and down through the chop, cutting through the breakers with bursts of bracing spray.

  The shore grew hazy behind them. The fog was too thick to see any hint of the miles-distant Hell-Painted Hills. The anchored ship, once a ghostly suggestion, cohered into the sleek body of the Sword of the South.

  The longboat came along beside it. The sailors took up the ropes dangling down the Sword's side and tied them to the longboat's cleats. Up on the deck, men turned cranks, lifting the small boat up to the rails.

  Dante stepped down onto the deck. Despite its exposure to the wind, he immediately felt warmer.

  Naran took a deep breath through his nostrils, chest swelling. "By the gods, it feels good to be back on the sea."

  Dante tapped the deck with his sandaled foot. "I could be clinging to a burning plank and I'd still be happy to be away from Tanar Atain."

  "Enjoy your relief while you can," Gladdic said. "We may try to leave the swamps behind. Yet they will soon come for us instead."

  "You sure know how to celebrate a happy moment, don't you?" Blays shook his head. "If the White Lich does come for us, we should just let you depress him to death."

  Naran strode down the mist-slicked deck, bawling orders to his men. Sailors piled into the rigging and began turning the great winch of the anchor. The Sword of the South came free, tugging forward on the wind and heaving about to the northeast.

  Dante and the others went belowdecks for more appropriate clothing. He and Blays were given light doublets and trousers, while the sailors were able to provide Gladdic with an off-white robe.

  Blays looked the old man up and down. "Where'd they find that, Grandma Naran's foot locker? You look like a scullery maid getting ready for bed."

  "I am glad you think so." Gladdic ran his left hand down the wrinkles on the robe's front. "The more humble I appear, the less likely a god will take notice of me and smite me down."

  They reconvened at the helm, where Naran stood with his hands folded behind his waist. The captain frowned, squinting into the gloom. "These are strange currents for this time of year. We'll need to sail close to the coast."

  It was Dante's turn to frown. "How much longer will that take us to get to Bressel?"

  "By my calculations, significantly less time than if we are wracked on a shoal and forced to swim there."

  "Aha. By all means, proceed."

  Blays tossed himself on a chest nailed to the deck and sprawled out his legs. "How certain are we that the lich is going to come for Bressel?"

  "I would stake everything on it," Gladdic said. "For that is where the Drakebane has gone."

  "Some personal enmity between the two, is there?"

  "The Drakebane and his ancestors have worked to oppose the lich for centuries. The lich will find nothing more satisfying than enslaving the Drakebane and all of his blood as Blighted."

  "Ah, of course. If I was an ancient sorcerer who'd had centuries to develop my wicked schemes of total conquest, the first thing I'd do would be to settle my personal scores."

  "Gladdic's right," Dante said. A dark hand seemed to squeeze his throat tight to stop the words from getting out. "When the White Lich took me under his power, we spoke of his vision of the future. He saw the Drakebane and the few remaining Knights of Odo Sein as the only power that could pose a significant threat to his Blighting of the world. He believed that once he'd conquered the rest of Tanar Atain, he would be able to wield overwhelming strength against the Drakebane and Bressel."

  That silenced everyone for a second. Blays was first to bounce back. "Well, do you think he's right?"

  "He has more than enough power to smash the Drakebane. But he wasn't accounting for the force we're bringing from Narashtovik. Gladdic, how likely is it that we can convince your fellow ethermancers to stand with us against the lich?"

  Gladdic smiled, amused. "About as likely as the idea that I will be delivered to paradise when I die."

  "If we don't stand together, the lich will slaughter us all separately. Besides, the Drakebane launched his coup in Bressel because the lich was taking over his homeland. If we kill the lich, the Drakebane can return his people to Tanar Atain. I'd think the Mallish might be in favor of that."

  "Surely the priesthood will fall to its knees in awe of the Drakebane's kind-hearted benevolence. You are asking them to side with the same people who assassinated King Charles, Taim's Voice Upon the Earth. You have spent too long in the degeneracy of Narashtovik to remember that in Mallon, the king is the pillar bridging heaven to earth. By usurping him, the Drakebane has severed our connection to the divine. The clergy will never side with such a criminal."

  "We'll see about that," Dante said. "Because their alternative is for me to hunt them down and purge them from the city before the lich arrives."

  "You speak as though you believe I agree with the priesthood, and take pleasure in explaining to you how you will be thwarted. I am merely describing reality. It is your choice whether to accept it, or to rage at the one telling you what you don't wish to hear."

  "I don't see why I can't do both." Dante moved to the starboard railing and gazed at the dim impression of the shore. "I'll find out whether Raxa and Sorrowen have penetrated the resistance. Once we arrive in Bressel, our job will be to recruit as many local sources of power as we can—and to neutralize everyone and everything who could threaten a unified defense."

  He asked for and was shown to a cabin. Once he was out of the wind and spray, and away
from the eyes and ears of curious sailors, he opened the loon connection between himself and Sorrowen.

  "Lord Galand." The boy's voice was eager. "How can I be of aid?"

  "By telling me that you and Raxa have finally made inroads with the Mallish loyalists."

  "Yes, milord. Not two days ago."

  "Wait, you did? How'd you pull that off?"

  "Well, it wasn't easy. Anyone with a working set of eyes and ears can see that Raxa is a disgusting northerner. As for me, well, seeing as I don't dare show them I can use the nether, on account of they'd hang me, and that even showing them I can use the ether is a risk these days, well—"

  "Sorrowen," Dante said. "If you have a point, would you mind getting to it?"

  "Yes. It's just—well, I'll tell you later if you want. For now, Raxa got us hired on as mercenaries. By a group called the Golden Hammer. They're loyalists. We think."

  "You think? How'd you manage to get them to take you aboard?"

  "I think it was when Raxa snuck into their headquarters, put a knife to their leader's throat, and told him that unless he hired better guards, somebody was going to wind up killing him."

  "That sounds pretty reckless."

  "I tried to tell her the same thing!"

  "But it worked, didn't it? Which means we're wrong and she was right. What I need now is for you and Raxa to learn everything you can about this group. How big it is. Who's leading it. Whether it's working with any other loyalist factions. What their plans are for fighting back against the Drakebane. Everything you can give us."

  "To them, we're just common armsmen. Do you think they'll tell us very much?"

  "No," Dante said, wondering if it was possible to engineer a loon so that he would be able to reach through the connection and deliver Sorrowen a firm slap. "So I expect you to eavesdrop on what the leaders and officers are saying to each other. And to keep note of who they're meeting with. If you're feeling really ambitious, you and Raxa might even use the shadowy talents you've kept hidden from your employers to spy on them."

  "Oh," Sorrowen said. "Right. We can do that." He paused. "When you get here, are you going to kill them?"

  "That depends entirely on what they plan to do. Let's just say you shouldn't get too attached to any of them."

  He closed down the loon and went back above decks. They had boarded the ship early in the morning and as the sun climbed higher it burned away the fog beneath it. A mile to starboard, the shoreline of Alebolgia rose from the sea, rocky black cliffs topped here and there with old towers or weather-worn fishing villages.

  The cliffs were sheer and all but unnavigable, but the locals had solved this problem by encrusting them with ladders, scaffolds, and ropes of all kinds, allowing the brave to climb down to their fishing boats and crab traps and so forth. Suddenly and inexplicably, Dante wished that they weren't in the middle of fending off a threat to all creation so that he could go ashore and spend a few weeks with the Alebolgian fishermen to live as they did.

  A few larger ships were now visible as well, white sails gleaming in the sun. It felt odd that life here was carrying on as normal while everything in Tanar Atain had been changed forever.

  After a while, Naran moved beside him, nodding to the sky. "Is that one of yours?"

  Dante visored his hand over his eyes. A large bird was circling high above them. "No. Why do you ask?"

  "Because it's been following us for the last few miles."

  "Then let's pray it's not one of the lich's."

  He got out his knife, ready to draw blood from the back of his arm if anything untoward was about to drop on them from out of the sky. The bird gained altitude, soaring over a pair of sloops to the south, then banked back toward the Sword of the South. It circled twice more and began to descend.

  Naran laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, and after the last few months, it was more than welcome. "That's no Tanarian spy. It's an Alebolgian sky courier."

  Dante squinted against the sunlight. "A courier? It's bringing us a message?"

  "Maybe it's heard of our great deeds and has come to pledge its service," Blays said.

  The bird lowered, hardly having to flap its long, slender wings as it kept pace with the swift ship. Its feathers were bright blue and its beak and feet were snowy white. All the sailors looked up to watch it descend through the masts and rigging. It extended its wings like a pair of billowing blue sails, landing on the railing between the aftercastle and the midship below. A small crimson tube was tied to its left leg.

  Naran approached it. The courier watched him, but didn't so much as twitch as he untied the tube, removed its cap, and tapped a rolled piece of parchment into his hand.

  He examined the writing, then extended it to Dante. "It's for you."

  Dante scanned the short note. "It's from Vita Osedo. She wants to meet us in Cavana. It's regarding the White Lich."

  "If the weather held, I was going to cut across the sea to Bressel," Naran said. "But the trip to Cavana will only cost us a few extra hours."

  "The White Lich will need weeks to finalize control of his country and come for Bressel. We can spare the detour."

  Naran nodded and called out the new destination to his sailors. Ever hateful of wasting writing instruments, Dante used the back of the parchment roll to inform Lady Vita that they accepted her invitation and would be in Cavana by nightfall. He secured the tube to the sky courier's leg. As soon as it was in place, the bird pushed off from the railing and soared to the north.

  The ship continued to parallel the rugged coast. As evening neared, the white houses of Cavana shined from a hillside, golden red in the sunset. Though it was much smaller than Bressel or Narashtovik, Cavana was the largest city they'd seen along the coast, and currently held sway over the entire Strip of Alebolgia, granting it and its merchant-captains outsized influence. The hill had been carved into concentric rings to maximize the use of its defensible space. They ran all the way down to the port, where two arms of rock hugged the bay, guarding its busy piers against the tossing of the ocean.

  As they neared, a merchant galley navigated its way past the jetties, obliging Naran to wait until it was through before he ordered the Sword of the South into port. By the time Naran brought them to a dock and began to haggle over the entry fee with the harbormaster, it was fully dark. The air smelled of seaweed, mingled here and there with the scent of roasting chicken and tomatoes wafting down from the city.

  They stood on the dock, waiting for negotiations to wrap up. Blays watched the sailors and stevedores at work. "Are you as excited to be treated to Lady Vita's hospitality as I am? Last time she met us, it was in the middle of the night on a cold rock, with her guards threatening to kill us."

  Dante gazed up at the pale stone houses looking down on the port, lanterns flickering from their verandas. "As I recall, the subterfuge was due to the fact that we were looking to conspire with her to undermine the ruling house of Alebolgia."

  Given that, he was expected to be slipped a note from a passing stranger that would provide the secret location of their latest rendezvous. Instead, a man dressed in knee-high stockings and an orange coat with silver buttons strode down the dock toward them.

  He stopped before them, lifting a manicured brow. "High Priest Dante Galand?"

  "That depends on whether I'm about to be stabbed," Dante said.

  The man bowed. "I am Estin, of House Osedo. There is a carriage waiting for your convenience."

  Dante went to invite Naran, who had finally wrapped up his haggles with the harbormaster, but Naran opted to remain with his ship, which he seemed extremely protective of after having been away from it so long. Dante, Blays, and Gladdic followed Estin to a white carriage trimmed with orange. The three foreigners climbed inside while Estin took the reins, leading them up from the piers and into Cavana's winding, narrow streets. Now and then a gap opened in the otherwise contiguous houses and shops, offering them a dizzying look at the plunge down to the now-distant bay. Clouds were galloping in f
rom the sea and the air smelled of ozone.

  As they neared the top of the broad hill, the houses pulled away from each other, separated by yawning lawns and gardens. The lairs of the aristocrats. Estin led them down a side street to an iron fence, where four men-at-arms allowed them through. The horses clopped onward, delivering them to a proud manor of white stone. As soon as Blays opened the carriage door, rain began to fall from the sky.

  Estin led them inside the manor and through a series of hallways and stairwells. At last, they stood in a round room near the top of a tower.

  "Lady Vita will see you shortly." Estin backed from the room with a subtle bow.

  Blays rested his arms on the sill of an open window. "We'll have to get that one sacked for sure."

  "For what?" Dante said. "Dressing better than you ever do?"

  "What kind of a servant doesn't offer you something to eat?"

  Within a minute, the door opened. Vita Osedo swept inside. Her long dark hair was piled atop her head and held in place by an armory of silver pins. The shadows cast by the lanterns made her cheekbones look as high as the tower. She was quite young, though not as young as Dante had been when he'd been named High Priest of the Council of Narashtovik, and was so startlingly pretty that if Dante had been her age he probably wouldn't have been able to speak to her at all.

  "Lords Galand and Buckler." Her eyes jumped to Gladdic. "You are?"

  "Once, I was an ordon of Bressel," the old man said. "I doubt if that remains true. If so, I am simply Gladdic."

  "An ordon of Bressel in the company of the High Priest of Narashtovik? The end of the world must be just as close as I have heard."

  "Things are not yet so upside down as you may believe. Before the two of us met, I was still in possession of my right hand."

  Vita's eyes dipped briefly to the stump of his arm, which ended halfway below the elbow. Lightning flashed from the windows, sparing her from the need to find a graceful response to this.