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Chapter Twenty-One

Crossing the orderwall was a breeze. They crashed through the narrow gap between the justicar’s encampment and the steading proper, then stepped directly into an apple orchard. Rae felt resistance as he crossed the border, almost like he was walking into an invisible headwind that stopped the second his boot came down in the orchard’s lush turf. Row after row of trees stretched across gently sloping hills, their boughs heavy with fruit ripe for harvest. They didn’t make the crossing alone. A whole host of refugees, recently rescued from the Hammerwall disaster and now fleeing from a second demonic breach, poured across the wall with them. They were joined by a scattering of soldiers who had thrown down their weapons and abandoned their posts in the face of the demon. Rae hardly blamed them. Watching the justicar in charge of their operation get beaten to a pulp could make the bravest soldier question their loyalty. Rae’s legs wobbled as he hammered down the orchard’s gentle slopes, and the hammering of his heart threatened to deafen him. He kept the bundled burden of the sword under his coat.

“Alright, that’s enough abject panic, everyone. Try to look natural. Try to blend in,” Estev said, as he smoothed his lapels and slowed to a gentlemanly stroll.

“It’s a wave of survivors, fleeing a demon,” La said sharply. “We are blending in!”

“Well, yes, but we don’t want to blend in with that lot. We want to look like we belong here.” Estev looked around the orchard, frowning in distaste at a gaggle of refugees who were gathering fallen apples into their threadbare pockets. “These poor sods are going to get rounded up by the constabulary and shuttled into camps before nightfall. Where, I trust, your barbed friend will once again show up.”

“What happened back there?” Rae asked. “What did you do to that mage?”

“That was an unbinding shot,” Estev answered. “It is meant to loosen the bonds between a mage and their enslaved spirit. In most cases it leads to the mage’s death, as the freed spirit will take bloody revenge on its captor and then flee the material plane.”

“So he’s dead? The man who killed our parents is dead?” La asked.

“I don’t think so. The demon persisted,” Estev said. “I don’t fully understand how or why, but unbinding the demon did not banish it, as it should have. Given time, the fiendbinder will regain control.”

“And when he does?” Rae asked.

“I suspect he will pursue us. Or you, more precisely.” Estev rubbed the chubby peak of his chin. “It’s a thorny predicament.”

“Assuming he can get through Anvilheim’s orderwall,” La said.

“I take it this is the same fiendbinder who brought down Hammerwall Bastion?” Estev asked, his tone as casual as if he’d been discussing the weather. He arched a brow at Rae, then nodded at the boy’s silent agreement. “Then do you honestly believe this meager barrier will hold him back, when Hammerwall’s hardened bulwark crumbled at his touch?”

“I . . . I knew him,” Rae finally managed to say. The high mage’s face, twisted in pain and terror in the moments before the demon tore him apart, hung in Rae’s head like a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. He looked at Lalette. “I recognize his face.”

“Did you now? Well, that’s certainly interesting,” Estev said. “Who was he?”

“I can’t remember. Just . . . just that I’ve seen him before. Somewhere.”

“In Hammerwall?” Mahk asked.

“No. From before. From Hadroy’s estate.”

“That would make some sense,” La said. “That was where Father got the sword in the first place. If anyone is going to come looking for it, you would think they would have had something to do with the Heresy.”

“This is all a bit much,” Estev said. “How a bunch of children got mixed up with House Hadroy, and demons, and a mad justicar . . .”

“Caught between the justicars and a demon,” La muttered. “What is the world coming to?”

“Well, it’s falling apart, of course. Now, I think it’s time for some introductions,” Estev said. “We’ve all met informally, but our conditions have changed since then. I always prefer to work with people I know by name, so that I may yell at them by name when they screw up.” He bent his head to La. “We will start with the young lady. Your sister, I assume, Rae?”

“Lalette,” she said. “And who the hell are you?”

“Mister Estev Cohn, madam,” he said, extending his hand. La stared at it coldly, so he withdrew and turned to Mahk. “And you, young man?”

Mahk just snorted and brushed past him, snatching an apple from the nearest tree and biting into it loudly. Estev looked over their ragged clothes and sighed.

“That’s Mahk. He’s not much for formality,” Rae said.

“Very well. Now, if we’re going to pass as locals, we’re going to have to do something about those clothes. Perhaps . . .” He surveyed the horizon, narrow eyes squinting. “There we are. Chimney smoke. Come, children.”

“Chilthen?” Mahk asked, his words mangled around the apple. “Ah nah a fahkin—”

“I think he’s saying we won’t answer to ‘children,’” Rae said. “Not after what we’ve been through.”

“Very well,” Estev said, clapping his hands together. “Come, vagabonds!”

He strode confidently toward the chimney smoke, not looking back. La stared daggers at Rae. He shrugged.

“He did save our lives back there,” Rae said. “And he might be able to help. He’s a better choice than the justicars.”

“I don’t like where this is going, Rae. We have no idea who this guy is, or what he wants from us.”

“He’s the guy who just shot a high mage, and broke us out of a justicar’s prison. He’s a spiritbinder who isn’t on the Iron College’s leash,” Rae said. “That’s better than the alternative. La, the justicars aren’t going to help us get to the bottom of Mom and Dad’s murder, not when we’re hiding a secret like this blade.” He shot a look at the lifebinder’s retreating back and lowered his voice. “Mister Estev Cohn might be the only person willing and able to help.”

“There really isn’t an alternative, is there?” La asked.

“We could wander this orchard,” Mahk said. “Eat apples for a while.”

“And end up under a justicar’s boot again? I’ve had enough of that,” Rae said.

La sighed, then shoved her hands into her pockets. “Fine. But I don’t trust him.”

“We don’t have to trust him,” Rae said. “We just have to stay away from that demon long enough to figure out who sent him to kill our parents.” He screwed his fists into his pockets and marched after Estev. “And once we know who it is, then we can figure out how to pay the bastard back.”


The farmhouse was a simple structure: four stone walls topped by a second floor of exposed half timbers, filled with bright white wattle and daub, and topped with a massive brick chimney decorated in houndstooth masonry. If this was a farmer’s house, it was nicer than any building in Hammerwall not owned by the nobility. The broad avenue that led to the attached stable was laid in alternating pavers, and a simple garden huddled in the front lawn, bursting with autumn mums and a row of stringpole winterbeans, their pale pods dangling from the vines. Bees buzzed in lazy circles over the garden. Rae breathed in the heady mix of woodsmoke and honeysuckle, and let out a contented sigh. It was almost possible to forget they were fleeing from a murderous high mage. Almost.

The house was recently abandoned. Very recently. Doubtless the occupants were scared off by the commotion from the justicar’s encampment. A thick cloud of roiling black smoke hung over the treetops, coming from the camp just beyond the orderwall. The sounds of klaxons and screaming refugees filled the air. Rae wondered what it was like living this close to Anvilheim’s orderwall. Certainly it was nothing like life in Hammerwall, with the ever-present threat of collapse on the horizon. Anvilheim’s barrier seemed genteel in comparison. Too genteel to hold out that demon, that’s for sure.

The door to the farmhouse hung open, and a half-eaten breakfast lay spread across the kitchen table. Mahk sat down and set in, shoveling sausage hash and marbled potatoes into his mouth with both hands. The main floor consisted of three rooms of roughly equal size: the kitchen, which was larger than the entire Kelthannis house; a drawing room with four overstuffed chairs and a cozy woodstove, along with a small collection of dog-eared books that focused on the peculiarities of country life; and a bedchamber, with an intricately carved four-post bed, three wardrobes, and a copper bathtub set into a window nook in one corner. Narrow stairs in the main room led upstairs. Estev took a tour of the second level, then directed them to the largest of the three wardrobes in the bedchamber. It smelled of cedar and must, and held the missing family’s winter clothes. “Dress warmly,” he said. “The weather’s changing.”

“What about these?” Rae asked. He was still in the earthbound shackles Caeris had slapped him in. “We don’t have a key for these.”

“No, but I do have a trick,” Estev said. He sat down at the kitchen table, elbowed aside a plate of cold eggs, then produced an inlaid box from his coat. It was the same box that held his fancy pistol. He lifted the lid and withdrew a small black stone. “Do you know what this is?”

Rae looked at it closely. The stone was perfectly round and opalescent, though all of the colors were earthtones that swirled across the surface in sparkling hues and golden arcs. Even the darker shades seemed to glow with inner light.

“That’s a pretty rock,” La said. “Am I right? Do I win a prize?”

“It’s a Lashing,” Rae said.

“Correct,” Estev answered. “On both counts. Particularly lavish princes of the old nobility will cut these into gems. A terrible waste of power. This is a fragment of the primal plane of Earth. Not a true splinter, of course, but still containing the essence of that realm. With one of these, a talented spiritbinder can manipulate the element of Earth, even without a golem twined into his soul.”

“Lashings are incredibly rare,” Rae said. “They require a strong bond with a spirit of the realm, to be able to dive deep enough to harvest the essence. It takes a high mage to collect them. Only the Iron College is supposed to have access to them.”

“Making it illegal for you to own one, correct?” La asked. “I think we know why the justicars arrested you.”

“An artist cannot be denied his tools,” Estev said. “Let me see your shackles, Raelle.”

Rae laid his hands on the table. Estev passed the Lashing across the lock with a flourish, whispering invocations and drawing sigils in the air with his other hand. The Lashing glowed bright between his fingers, and the lock tumbled open. Rae snatched his hands away, rubbing the life back into his wrists.

“Feeling better?” Estev asked with a smile. There was a slight tension in Estev’s face, though. Rae could feel the man slowly drawing his own elemental into being. “Can you reach your storm elemental again?”

Rae laid the spiritblade on the table and started to unwrap it. Estev put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Without the blade, if you don’t mind. I’m curious about something.”

The storm mote shied away at first, but with a little gentle urging, Rae was able to draw the spirit into the world. It was such a minor zephyr that it didn’t really form a body, or change the way Rae appeared, not in the way Estev’s fae did, or Caeris’s angel. Or the high mage’s demon. Despite that, Rae thrilled to feel the spark of lightning and wind roll across his fingertips. He laughed, and the tension left Estev’s eyes.

“Hardly surprising,” Rae said confidently. “I was able to summon the spirit while in those manacles, wasn’t I? I unlocked your chains.”

“An interesting question,” Estev said. “And one we’re not going to address at the moment. For now, I feel it’s better you leave the sword aside.” He moved his hand from Rae’s shoulder to the wrapped bundle of the glass spiritblade. “This is not your spiritblade, Raelle. It’s dangerous to conjure with it. Who knows what spirits you’ll draw into your soul.”

Rae immediately thought of the demon revealed by Indrit’s scrying. He dropped the storm mote and stood up.

“It’s my sword,” he said. “You can’t take it!”

“I’m not taking it from you. In fact, you can still carry it, as long as you promise not to use it as a focus when summoning your zephyr,” Estev said. “There will come a time when you will need to forge your own spiritblade, to control the zephyr, as well as your own soul. That will be more difficult if you come to depend on a dead man’s ’blade. Even if it was your father’s.”

Rae shuddered silently. He knew it wasn’t his father’s spiritblade, but there was no need to explain that to Estev, any more than there was need to describe the demon hiding at the heart of the blade.

“Fair enough. I need to work on forging my own spiritblade, anyway.”

“And that is something we can work on, once we’re not in immediate peril of death. But for now, we must hurry on. A demon loose in the Ordered World is more trouble than it’s worth.” He stowed the Lashing and swept the box back into his coat. “The justicars will start sweeping this area soon enough. Quickly, go find some clothes and change.”

La took a collection of clothes into the master bedroom and slammed the door. She emerged a few minutes later dressed in a riding kilt and leggings, with an overlapping double-breasted tunic. It looked a little like a justicar’s uniform, without the clasps and patches of military service. An oversized leather belt carried a collection of tools and a thick-bladed dagger around her waist. The only bit of clothing she saved from her original outfit was a scarf, wrapped loosely around her neck. Mother gave her that last Hallowsphere, Rae remembered.

“That was fast,” Rae said.

“And effective. You perfectly look the part of a country daughter,” Estev said.

“Which I am,” La said, sitting at the table and neatly folding a napkin into her lap. She tucked into a rasher of cold bacon, smearing the grease across a loaf of bread.

“Are you?” Estev asked. “Because your brother has drawn the attention of a high mage. A fiendbinder, no less. And I’m awful curious why a master fiendbinder would be chasing the brother of a simple farm girl. Hm?”

Rae fidgeted nervously, while Mahk paused in his eating long enough to express serious concern in the form of a creased brow and a shrug. La cleared her throat.

“That high mage killed our parents,” she said, “while searching for that sword. We think.”

“What makes you think he was looking for that sword?” Estev asked lightly. “He killed all sorts of people. Most of the citizens of Hammerwall, for example. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

“No, you don’t understand,” La said. Her voice was surprisingly steady. “That man came to our farm. He killed . . . he murdered our father while he was working in the fields, then slit Mother’s throat and burned down our house.”

Estev paused and stared at Lalette, then swiveled to slowly take in Rae and Mahk. Rae nodded confirmation.

“He did all of that . . . before he destroyed the Bastion?” he asked.

“Yes,” La answered. Rae found he couldn’t talk for the lump in his throat. Estev nodded slowly, as though considering the price of carrots.

“And what did a country farmer who was teaching his son to bind spirits do to attract the attention of a master fiendbinder?” he asked. “Does this have something to do with his time with Hadroy? An innocent man, in the wrong place, you said.”

Rae and La exchanged glances. When they didn’t speak, Estev prompted them.

“Let me tell you what I know of Baron Hadroy, and his little cabal.” He settled into a chair at the head of the table, folding his hands across his ample belly and staring up at the ceiling. “Hadroy was deceived by one of Hell’s servants—a particularly powerful fiendbinder by the name of Rassek Brant. Rassek promised the baron power in exchange for funding for his little project. He meant to open a portal to Hell, and destabilize the Ordered World. Hadroy thought he could ride it out in his little domain, protected by Rassek’s cabal of spiritbinders. And when the justicars rolled in, led there by Rassek’s right-hand man”—he spread his hands—“something happened. The portal opened, perhaps? Most of the justicars escaped, including Yveth Maelys, the justicar who had been working undercover in Rassek’s cabal. And they got a few of the servants out. But Hadroy died, as did Rassek Brant. In the end, the very bindings that were supposed to protect the manor house ended up containing the breach. Which is how we got the Heretic’s Eye, where we used to have Hadroy House.”

“My memories of that day are fuzzy,” Rae said. “There was a storm, and then Dad came home, carrying that sword. He said we had to go. Immediately.”

“I remember running,” La said. “Nothing else. I was too young.”

“Wait, you ran? You weren’t one of the families saved by the justicars?”

Rae hesitated a moment too long. Estev folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate, then leaned closer to Rae.

“So your father, a stormbinder, steals this sword from a justicar. He runs, again, from the justicars. He hides in Hammerwall until, for whatever reason, a fiendbinder kills him and then destroys the Bastion,” he said. “This is what you want me to believe.”

“Because it’s true,” Rae said.

“Of course it is. Nothing simple ever happens to me,” Estev said with a sigh. “Well, never mind. Go change. The world is falling apart, and so forth.” He waved dismissively toward the bedrooms and turned his attention to the cold breakfast in front of him. “See if you can find something to keep that spiritblade hidden. We can’t have you running around the countryside with that thing hanging in the breeze. Ha! The breeze!”

Reluctantly, Rae and Mahk tore themselves away from breakfast and gathered new clothes. Mahk set himself up with a simple set of trousers and a tunic, all of which were slightly too small, which only served to emphasize his bulk and strength. Rae took a pair of expensive-looking rider’s pants and a long coat with brass buttons and a smart lapel. It even had a hood that could mask his identity well enough. He was becoming increasingly paranoid about being recognized, though he was far enough from both home and Fulcrum that hardly anyone could know him. They both found knives for their belts, and Mahk hung a tanner’s cudgel at his hip. There was no scabbard appropriate for the glass sword, so Rae emptied a cylindrical leather case that held the survey maps and deeds to the farm, then rigged up a strap to carry it over his shoulder. It was heavy, but better than walking around with a magical sword stuck into his belt.

“That will have to do,” Estev said when they returned to the table. He already had four satchels lined up by the door, hopefully packed with food and other necessities. La busily ignored them all as she finished eating.

“So where are we going?” Rae asked. “You mentioned walking. We’ve already walked most of the way from Hammerwall. I’m not keen on a long trek.”

“Young man, I am sympathetic to your concerns. Estev Cohn does not walk long distances if it can at all be avoided,” Estev said. “Unfortunately, this first leg must be conquered by the boot and heel. Yes, our journey is afoot! Ha! Do you get it? Afoot?”

“Yes, yes,” La cut in. “Very clever. Are you going to be clever the whole way? Because we can find our own path, if that’s the case.”

“Such joyless children. Not children!” he corrected himself before Mahk could protest. “Sturdy young people. But still joyless,” Estev said. “Fine, yes, I will abstain.” He folded his napkin and stood. “But we’d best be going.”

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Mahk asked. “Away from the demon, I get that much. But I’d like to have a destination in mind.”

“It has something to do with that fiendbinder,” Rae said. Estev raised his brows. “We need to find out who he is, and who sent him. I recognized him, from Hadroy House. That’s where we need to go.”

“That seems ambitious. Do you think you can face a high mage?”

“Someone sent that fiendbinder after us. Someone involved with the Heresy, or who was simply at the estate while it was going down.” Rae squared his shoulders. “Maybe we can find some clue in the ruins of Hadroy’s manor.”

“That would mean risking the Heretic’s Eye,” Estev said. “Do you think you’re up for that?”

“I just walked through pure Chaos to get this far. I can go the rest of the way.”

“Good luck, then,” Mahk said with a shake of his head. “Criminals and thugs I can handle. Demons are a little out of my league.”

“Even though they killed Morgan?” Rae asked. “Didn’t you give some big speech about seeing justice done?”

“Button’s dead.” Mahk shrugged. “Maybe that’ll have to do.”

“It wasn’t Button who’s responsible, and you know that. Fiendbinders don’t just show up on your doorstep.” Rae put a hand on Mahk’s shoulder. “You helped me out of Hammerwall. I wouldn’t be here without you. Let me help you get the justice Morgan deserves.”

“Well, you certainly talk like a stormbinder,” Estev said with a laugh.

“I’m just trying to make a plan. Beyond running away and hoping for the best.”

“No, the young gentleman is right. It’s good to make plans. Gives one the feeling of accomplishment. But Hadroy House is far away, and this fiendbinder is close,” Estev said. “And whatever you think, I’m not up for crossing spiritblades with that man. Not yet. I believe Aervelling is the first stage in our journey. A busy port, and probably the closest settlement that will serve our purpose. It’s a good place to get lost, and if that fiendbinder is still pursuing you, then getting lost is high on my list of things to do. Most of the rabble fleeing the camp will rush to Heimwall, or the guard station at Oppering. Aervelling is a bit out of the way, but it’s not where the justicars will expect anyone to go. We should be able to get a carriage there. It’s only a short boat ride from there to my home, where we can reprovision and make a better plan for the Eye.”

“Are you sure we’re not safer just going to the justicars?” La asked.

“That was a high mage, dear child, not some feral hobbyist, or self-educated enthusiast. He defeated a prepared lawbinder in single combat. That man, whoever he is, was trained and educated at the Iron College. Which means he has connections to the justicars, as tenuous as they may be.”

“There are no fiendbinders in the justicars,” Rae insisted. Estev gazed at him, smiling placidly.

“Of course not, dear child. Of course not.” He patted Rae on the head, like a favorite pet that had done a particularly clever trick. “But I would rather be safe than sorry.”


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