Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

Valyn tensed, but Kaden put a hand on his shoulder. It was hard to know just how fiercely to assert his new title and authority. Clearly, he would never convince Annur of his legitimacy if a handful of soldiers led by his own brother treated him with contempt. On the other hand, he was, aside from Triste, the least capable member of their small group. The fact galled him, but it was there all the same. Before people saw him as an emperor, he would have to act as an emperor. He had little enough idea how to manage that, but it didn’t seem as though pitching a fit in a hallway would be a step in the right direction.

“You have a deal,” he said, nodding to Gwenna. “I’ll stay out of your way, but maybe when we’re settled you could explain something about your munitions; normally I’d stick to emperoring, but there doesn’t seem to be all that much here that needs my attention.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, as though she suspected a joke, but when Kaden held her gaze she finally snorted something that might have been a laugh.

“I can show you something,” she said. “Enough you don’t blow us all up. You couldn’t be much worse at it than your brother,” she added, jerking her head at Valyn.

Kaden smiled.

“Thanks for the confidence, Gwenna,” Valyn said. “Anything else to report from down below? Anything moving?”

“Aside from Annick’s rat sibling?” Laith replied. “Not a thing.”

Valyn’s shoulders relaxed fractionally.

“All right. Everyone to the front of the building except Laith. You check all the empty rooms on this floor.”

“For more rats?” the flier asked.

“Yes,” Valyn replied, voice hardening. “For more rats.”

* * *

The room fronting the top story was larger than the rest, spanning the full width of the building and opening through several tall windows out onto the night. Wide hearths stood at either end, though they were choked by debris that had fallen from the chimneys above, plaster and chunks of stone spilling out onto the floor. Wind and weather had torn away a corner of the roof-Kaden could make out the great sweep of the cliff a few paces above-and night air gusted through the gap, chill and sharp.

For a moment he stared around in perplexity, searching for the kenta . He had formed an image in his head of something massive, grand, like the Godsgate of the Dawn Palace-marble, maybe, or polished bloodstone, or onyx-but nothing massive or magnificent waited in the middle of the room. He squinted in the meager lamplight. Nothing at all stood in the middle of the room.

“Talal,” Valyn said, gesturing curtly, “center window. I want eyes on the ledge before full dark. Gwenna, see what you can do about rigging a chunk of this floor to drop out.”

“I could kick a hole in the ’Kent-kissing floor,” the woman replied, digging at the crumbling mortar with her boot, “and you want me to rig it? I seem to remember someone back at the Eyrie teaching us something about not sleeping on top of our own explosives.”

Valyn turned to face his demolitions master. His jaw was tight, but his voice level when he responded. “And I remember something about having two ways out of any defensive position. You rigged the stairs, which keeps the bad guys out, which is good. It also keeps us in, which is less good.”

“If they can’t get in, why do we need to get out?”

“Gwenna,” Valyn said, pointing at the floor, “just do it. If you blow us all up, I’ll make sure I don’t die until you have a chance to punch me.”

“Yes, Oh Light of the Empire,” she said, bowing to Valyn as she yanked the charges out of her pack. “At once, My Noble Leader.” The words were sharp, but Kaden noticed some of the acid had gone out of her challenge. The whole thing sounded like sparring now, rather than actual fighting.

Valyn shook his head. “You can’t pull that shit anymore, Gwenna,” he said, jerking a thumb at Kaden. “He’s the Light of the Empire. We’re just here to make sure no one puts him out. Speaking of which,” he went on, turning to Tan and spreading his hands, “where’s the gate?”

Tan gestured toward the wall. Kaden squinted, then took a few steps closer. The kenta was there, he realized, almost as tall as the ceiling, but built, if built was the right word, flush with the masonry behind it. The arch was surprisingly slender, no more than a hand’s width in diameter, and made of something Kaden had never seen, a smooth gray substance that might have been part steel, part stone. The graceful span looked spun rather than carved, and the light came off of it strangely, as though it were illuminated, not by Valyn’s lantern, but some other, invisible source.

“What is the point,” Valyn asked, “of building a gate right into a wall?”

“The other side is not the wall,” Tan replied. “It is not here.”

“That clarifies a lot,” Valyn said, stooping to pick up a chunk of stone. He bounced it on his hand a few times, then tossed it underhand toward the kenta . It flipped lazily end over end and then, just as it passed beneath the arch … ceased.

Kaden could think of no other word to describe the passage. There was no splash, no echo, no sudden winking out. He knew what to expect, but some part of his mind, something deeper and older than rational thought, quailed at the sight of something, a hard, real part of the world, becoming nothing.

If Valyn was discomfited, he didn’t show it. “Looks like it works.”

Tan ignored him. He had acquired a lantern of his own from one of the Kettral, and was holding it aloft, running a finger along the outside of the arch slowly, as though searching for cracks.

“Where did it go?” Valyn asked.

“Nowhere,” the older monk replied.

“How useful.”

“The Blank God claimed it,” Kaden said, shaking his head. “The stone is nothing now, nowhere.” And pretty soon, he reminded himself silently, a chill spreading through him, I’m going to be following that stone.

“What would happen if I jumped in?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Then you fail to appreciate nothingness,” Tan replied, straightening from his examination of the ground in front of the gate. “It is clean on this side.”

“Clean?” Kaden asked.

The monk turned to him. “Like all gates, the kenta can be blocked or barbed. Since those of us who step through are forced to step through blind, there is a danger.”

“Ambush,” Valyn said, nodding. “Makes sense. You want to set a trap, you do it at a choke point.”

“But who would be setting traps?” Kaden asked. “Only a few people even know they exist.”

“Few is not none,” Tan replied, turning to the gate. “I will check the other side.”

“Is that safe?” Valyn asked, shaking his head.

“No. But it is necessary. If I do not return before the Bear Star rises, the kenta is compromised. Abandon this course, and quickly.”

Kaden nodded. He wanted to ask more, about the gates, the traps, about the strange city in which they found themselves, a city that appeared on no maps, but Tan’s eyes had already emptied, and before Kaden could speak, the older monk was stepping through the kenta .

For a few heartbeats after he disappeared no one spoke. Wind whipped through the holes in the ceiling, chasing dust and dirt across the uneven floor. Kaden stared at the gate, forcing his heart to beat slowly, steadily.

Pyrre raised an eyebrow finally. “That was interesting.” The Skullsworn had been making a slow circuit of the room, peering up the chimneys, examining the masonry, running her fingers along the window casings. She paused to consider the gate. “I can’t imagine my god approves.”