The cart rocked in the water, and Laryn smashed another voidling off of the side. The current pulled them away.

  A drowning horse screamed.

  “We have to un-hitch!” Laryn shouted.

  Keldin didn’t respond, limply draped partially over the wagon seat and the bed.

  Laryn cursed and leaned forward, reaching into the water for the kingpin release mechanism. He pushed his face into the water, holding his breath, and found the catch. With a brisk pull on the pin, the device came free, decoupling the horses and letting them swim away. Maybe they would distract some of the voidlings for long enough… no, that was a horrible thought.

  Keldin screamed. Laryn rolled into the bed, swinging the cudgel, smashing it into the head of a bug as it tried gnawing on Keldin’s leg. He drove it back, but more voidlings swarmed forward.

  Laryn wielded the cudgel as best he could, knocking voidlings away. The stronger current here made it harder for the bug-like monsters to get back to the wagon when they fell into the water.

  With a cry, Laryn brought his cudgel down hard on the head of a voidling, smashing it into the heavy oak chest beside Keldin. The creature twitched once, then it died, legs curling up beneath it.

  “Take that,” Laryn shouted triumphantly, but Keldin’s face was pale, his eyes unfocused.

  Laryn turned, searching for the next enemy, but no more voidlings assaulted them.

  “We’ll have to swim!” Laryn shouted. He’d have to strip out of his own damp cloak or risk getting tangled in it. He suddenly shivered, wet and shaking in the north wind.

  He grabbed Keldin’s arm but he didn’t respond, his blade resting limply across his lap. “Keldin!” Laryn shook his younger brother, but received no reply. The young man was drenched in dark red blood, soaking into the wood of the cart beneath him.

  Laryn’s heart thundered in his ears as the panic gripped him. Keldin’s chest still moved. Shallow, gentle breaths. Unconscious, not dead.

  He pulled Keldin up and laid him flat on the top of the oak chest. Digging through their supplies, Laryn found his medical kit, worried he might be too late. He called back to his emergency medical training.

  He quickly wrapped a strip of cloth around Keldin’s upper thigh and tied it off. Shoving a stick between cloth and thigh, Laryn twisted it, tightening the strap. The wound—two long gashes from a voidling’s claws—had stopped bleeding even before he applied the clamp. Everything was covered in Keldin’s blood.

  What now? He cast about for some solution to their predicament. They had to get off the raft; off the water. He had to make a fire, to save them from hypothermia.

  Keldin looked bad. Like a corpse already.

  “Come on,” Laryn said, looking around desperately for a way off the makeshift raft. They drifted in the middle of the river, pulled along faster and faster by the strong current. Voidlings chasing them along the shore fell behind.

  The river cut deeper into the earth, stony banks rising steeply from the water. Even if he could get them to shore, Laryn doubted he’d be able to climb out.

  The rumble of the river in the distance grew louder. Waterfall? Rapids? Both bad options. Could he swim ashore while towing an unconscious Keldin? It would be a challenge even without dead weight.

  He prayed to Ishtoran that Keldin wasn’t dead. As if the god would listen to him.

  They would have to ride it out, whatever it was. Laryn plucked his sword from Keldin’s hands and returned it to the sheath at his waist. He shifted some of their provision sacks around, wedging Keldin down into place. The wagon lurched and spun slightly in the current, making Laryn seasick. He lay himself across the top of everything.

  The large chest Laryn had brought took up much of the space in the wagon bed. Keldin had asked several times what Laryn had in there, but Laryn had refused to answer. He didn’t want Master Alzar to find out.

  Now Alzar was dead.

  And maybe Keldin too.

  This wasn’t how their hunting trip was supposed to go.

  The water roughened, and Laryn braced himself. He peered over the wooden lip, searching for what lay downstream, and caught a wave in the face.

  He’d only told Keldin that he wanted to get out of Eltar for a few months. Anything to get away from the capital while everyone prepared for Yarin’s princely coronation and wedding to Elena. He promised Keldin they’d be back just in time for the ceremony, with a wagonload of loot and goblin trophies.

  The roar of the water thundered around him. The banks of the river rose up high overhead, narrowing like a funnel. Foam and froth boiled as spray filled the air. A hundred meters ahead, the earth fell away, and the river disappeared.

  He scrambled to the back of the wagon-turned-raft, as though he could get away from the inevitable plunge. His breath came short and quick, and his body shook with the adrenaline of exertion.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  He stared into the void, and his mind calmed. He saw now that he deserved this. Ishtoran had established the birth order for a reason; if Laryn had been meant to rule, he would have been born first. He shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to try to change that.

  Elena would probably feel terrible when she found out Laryn died in the wildlands. It would be his revenge.

  Wet, cold, and numb, Laryn prepared as best he could, holding tightly to the sideboards. The thunderous noise pounded in his ears, rumbling through his hands and beating at his head. Mists swirled and thickened until the air was mostly water.

  The wagon lurched. Laryn’s stomach leaped into his throat. Sacks and barrels floated in the air around him as they fell. Laryn gasped out a prayer to Ishtoran.

  His world exploded. The oak chest sprang up and cracked into his chin. Water rushed into Laryn’s lungs. The timber cracked and splintered.

  A torrent of water buried Laryn. He flailed about, searching for the surface. He was caught. His sword belt hooked onto something, holding him down.

  He fumbled with the buckle, pulling the leather strap free. His body surged forward in the grip of the current. Something struck him hard in the head. Blackness consumed him, and the river pulled his unconscious form away downstream.

  ---

  Laryn coughed, water gushing from his mouth. Wet sand cradled his body. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, squinting against bright light. He coughed again. His whole body ached and his head spun. Something dark spattered onto the ground, dripping from his lips. Blood.

  A burning pain in his side grew, and he glanced at his ribs. His shirt—nothing but bloody rags—revealed a wooden splinter embedded in his flesh. The length of his forearm, it protruded from his stomach, just below the ribs. He wretched, yellow bile fountaining into his lap. He looked around for help.

  “Keldin!” he gasped, but no response came.

  The splintered remains of the wagon lay in the water nearby, mostly in one place. Cargo and detritus lay strewn across the beach. The heavy oak chest sat nearby, several fingers deep in the water.

  Pull it out or leave it in? Laryn touched the splinter, earning a sharp pain in his back. He gasped. He needed a bandage, a way to stem the bleeding pulling out the spike would cause. Maybe there was still something in the wreckage.

  He tried to stand, but his vision darkened and the world spun around him. Falling back to his hands and knees, he dragged himself to the wreckage. He’d been shipwrecked in a wagon. The idea struck him as hilariously funny. Who else had ever been shipwrecked in a wagon?!

  The wave of humor evaporated. Keldin.

  His brother’s body lay on the sand nearby, limbs splayed out unnaturally. His skin was waxy and pale. Looking at Keldin, lying there, water lapping at his legs, Laryn knew. Keldin was dead.

  Tears welled up in Laryn’s eyes. He closed them tightly, kneeling on the beach.

  He screamed at the sky.

  Pain.

  He touched his side, where warm blood leaked from around the wooden splinter.

  “Help yourself first,” Laryn muttered, words coming to him from a lesson long ago. “Can’t help him if I’m bleeding out.” Help him how? His brother was dead.

  Dragging himself to his feet, Laryn walked toward the wagon. The wound burned with every agonizing step.

  The heavy oak chest had held together, though the waterfall had managed to crack it open. Washed up on the beach, it sat on the sand in several inches of water, lid askew. Inside, a long, silver shape glittered.

  Laryn reached the splintered wagon and searched for something to treat his injury. He found a waterlogged burlap sack, which had once held rations for their journey. He wrung it out, then steeled himself.

  Carefully gripping the shaft of wood with both hands, he pulled it straight out in one clean motion. The pain blinded him. His side burned. He grit his teeth, then screamed aloud. Blood spewed from the hole in his side. Like a cold, calm voice, his training kicked in, overriding his frenzied emotions. Every good soldier had to know a bit about field medicine.

  Cauterization? Everything was wet.

  Bind it, then. He tore strips of cloth off of the sack, and packed it into the wound. Light flashed in his vision, pain blossoming at the slightest touch. He took deep breaths, fighting to remain conscious, before finally tying a strip of burlap around his waist to secure the bandage.

  He leaned back against a still-intact sideboard, wiping sweat from his brow. Despair settled on his shoulders, a desperate certainty that this was all his fault.

  His head stopped spinning after a moment. His eyes rested on the shining object inside of the oak chest.

  It was a six sided obelisk, about two meters long. Broad at the base, it stretched out and tapered to a point. Intricate carvings covered it, twining representations of the six elements. Ancient text flowed in and out of the art.

  A kingdom core.

  The one Laryn had brought all the way to the unclaimed lands. Planning to use it to start his own kingdom.

  He laughed—more a cough than a laugh—and his whole body ached. “So this is how it begins.” The words were bitter.

  Then his chest tightened as a spark of hope flared within him. He stumbled over to the chest and inspected the artifact. This wasn’t just any old kingdom core. Tracing the fine workmanship with his fingers, he found runes representing ‘power over time.’

  This was an ancient, powerful artifact. Laryn had hoped for Keldin would know more about it; how it worked, and what it could do. After all, Keldin spent long hours studying kingdom cores as a priest.

  Laryn knew this core was powerful. He’d stolen the most powerful one he could find, hidden deep in warehouse of his father’s coresmith. He’d glanced over the runes, and knew that he needed this one.

  Examining the base of the obelisk, he found what he was looking for. The name of the legendary coresmith, Galwyn, etched in the silvery metal of the kingdom core.

  He’d asked Keldin for stories about Galwyn and his legendary Conqueror’s Cores as they journeyed. While the traditions were all light on specifics, they all agreed that these cores were incredibly powerful. Laryn dared to hope.

  If there was even a chance of being able to save his brother, he had to try it. He reached into the chest and wrapped his arms around the heavy metal obelisk, resting there for a moment while his head stopped spinning.

  In preparation for this trip, Laryn had done some research about kingdom cores; proper essence balances, burn rate mitigations, or influence calculations. He’d never know as much as Keldin, though which is why he’d wanted his brother to come along.

  And now, he realized that he didn’t even know how to activate the core. Wracking his mind, he searched for a procedure. If he had ever come across the proceedure, he didn’t remember it now.

  His best guess was to stand it up on bare ground and see what happened.

  Legs shaking, he heaved, hauling the spire from its velvet bed. His vision tunneled as his blood pressure dropped. He waited for it to return.

  When he could see clearly again, he pushed up on the sharp tip of the pillar. It tipped up, and he wrapped his arms around it, then pulled to slide its heavy base out of the box.

  Laryn heaved with all his strength, levering the heavy monument out of the box. He slipped on the wet sand, falling down into the water. The tip of the core slashed down his arm and cut through his shirt, ripping a bloody gash in his bicep.

  He bit back a curse, then pushed the kingdom core up and off himself, tipping it to stand upright in the shallow water.

  Blinding white light flashed from the core. The sound of the river faded away.