Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

“A what?”

“It’s not just a spell,” Suri said. “This is the weaving pattern that created Balgargarath.”

Suri had known what it was the moment she’d heard the drawn-out sounds Brin was making. The symbols scratched on the stone were like stages in a string game, and she could see the process: the steps and the patterns. The whole method had been worked out in preparation for the attempt. In doing so, it left a path behind, a map that pointed to the chords of creation. The mystic was still learning, still a novice, but she knew enough to understand that whoever had created this had been at least a little crazy, and quite possibly a full bowl of nuts.

The pattern, the way it wound deeper and deeper, indicated that the creator was playing with the giant chords, the monolithic base elements rooted in the abyss. When Suri had killed Rapnagar, when she was touching the strings, she had noticed the drop-off, the same way someone might notice a draft or a whisper. The presence was just as irresistible and just as disturbing.

What’s down there? The question had haunted her ever since.

Now that you know…now that you’ve seen what it’s like, you’ve had a taste and are hungry for more. Now that you’ve touched the chords, you can’t help wanting to fly.

Arion had been right about that. Having seen, having touched, she was infected by the possibilities. Suri felt as if she’d spent her whole life on a little hill, content and happy. Then one day she glimpsed the truth, that the hill was actually the nose of a great beast. Not easy to sleep after that. Knowing about the chords, realizing she could alter the world, made ignoring the possibilities intolerable. She was wearing a shirt with a loose thread and was dying to pull it—if for no other reason than to make the desire go away, to make it stop distracting her.

If it had just been the thin, high strings, she might have put the whole thing out of her mind. Fire was made by plucking the light strings, and she’d done that for years. The abyss was what drew her. The chasm out of which grew the great chords, the supports, the foundations of the world. That was a forest of trees whose roots held the universe together.

What would it be like to pluck one of them? What would they sound like? And what would happen if I did?

The person who created Balgargarath had touched those chords. He had stroked them and wrought a monster.

Suri looked toward the sealed crack. Using the Art to passively tap into the nature of the world, she could sense the creature just on the other side of the stacked stones. A gigantic, brilliant mass of light. Pure power. In contrast, Arion’s sliver-thin shield coating the stacked stones—the enchantment that prevented Balgargarath from reaching them—appeared as dim as moonlight glinting off the sheen of a frozen lake. The veneer was all that was needed, but Suri suspected it was all Arion could manage.

“How did he do it?” Suri asked. The words weren’t directed at anyone; they just spilled out.

“How did who do what?” Moya asked.

Suri looked up surprised. “What?”

“You asked—”

“Oh, I was just wondering…the Old One…if he was trapped in here, how did he create Balgargarath, where did he get the power?”

Arion’s head turned away from the doorway. “Such a thing would require an enormous source.”

“If you found it,” Persephone said, “could you get us out of here?”

Arion nodded. “With a source that strong, Suri could pick up this entire mountain and just toss it aside.”

“What about you?” Persephone asked. “I know you’ve been trying to teach her, but, like the dwarfs, I think things have gone far beyond lessons. Our lives are at stake.”

“She can’t,” Suri answered. “The injury to her head…in the dahl when Malcolm hit her with the rock…it damaged her. Every time she uses the Art, it hurts. Even holding the door is killing her. Doing anything that big would be suicide.”

Persephone’s eyes widened. “That’s why you’ve been leaving everything to Suri. That’s why you didn’t stop the demon.”

“It is why I rely on Suri; but even if not hurt, I couldn’t stop it. No one can.”

“But wait,” Persephone said. “You’re keeping that thing from coming in. What source are you using?”

Arion gave a guilty look. “You.”

“Me?”

“All of you. Feeling tired? I stealing power. Mostly them.” Arion nodded toward the dwarfs, who were still snoring. She smiled. “Keeps them quiet.”

“Won’t that eventually…”

Arion nodded.

“How long?”

Arion tried to form a reassuring smile. “Not to worry.” She wiped at her nose. “I’ll die before you do.” She swallowed and winced as she did, then looked at Suri. “I think I need to teach you to do this.”

“There’s always a better way,” Roan muttered.

Suri looked at Roan, who stood staring back at her as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t, or maybe she didn’t know what came next.

The way Suri saw it, they were standing on a path that had three forks. The problem was that each trail led to the same awful place. Arion could fail to hold the demon and they would be killed. They could die of thirst or starvation. Or Suri could take over for Arion and eventually use up everyone’s strength. Then she would be without a source and Balgargarath would enter and kill her.

Roan was right. There had to be a better way.

Suri turned to Brin. “Show me how to sing what is on the table tablet.”

“Suri,” Arion said. “There’s no power.”

“The one who made Balgargarath found power in here, I just have to discover where it’s hiding.” She faced Brin again. “Teach me.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


Makareta




Everyone thinks their adversary has an easier time than they do. They believe that all their opponent’s schemes work out exactly as expected, while their own plans constantly suffer setbacks. It is a funny notion, especially since you can’t have an adversary without being one.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





As Mawyndul? and Makareta walked into the Airenthenon together, he knew this would be the greatest moment of his life. Despite being the crown prince, his life up until that point was a disappointing one. He’d never done anything noteworthy, and aside from his one ill-fated trip to Rhulyn, he’d never gone anywhere. No laws prevented him from leaving the palace, but he felt the disapproval when he did.