Irmina nodded, and they walked off to meet up with the others. Over in the trees, a bright light sparked from the direction of the kinai orchard. A crackling sound reached them from the same area.
“We’re burning the kinai,” Garon said, in response to Irmina’s frown. “This way whoever he is cannot use these plants again.”
“Listen,” Ryne said. “What I’m about to do will draw this man’s attention. Pathfinders will come here soon enough anyway with what’s happened. You need to move your people now.” Ryne took in the stubborn set of Edsel’s jaw. “There’s no other way to ensure your safety and force his hand at the same time.”
Edsel’s jaw relaxed and his eyes softened. “If times were different, I would’ve insisted on coming with you. However, I have a people to preserve. We planned for a new place to settle when this first began. We’ll travel farther north along the Vallum. We should be safe enough that way.”
Ryne grabbed Thumper’s reins and turned to Irmina. “Take Thumper-”
“I’m coming with you.”
Ryne opened his mouth to disagree. Her willingness to help him even if it meant her death came back to him. “How about this? I promise to return with you to your master if you go with the Setian.”
Her forehead wrinkled. She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “If you’re not back by dawn, I’ll find you.”
“You won’t need to. Sakari is going with you. He always knows where I am.” Ryne noted Sakari’s quick glance in his direction. He linked with him. “Stay with them. They may need more protection than I do.”
“As you wish.” Sakari bowed and strode over to Thumper.
After brief goodbyes, Ryne waited in the open plain while they rode away. The line of Setian dipped from sight below a distant hill, and he took out the map. He memorized the wraithwood locations and crossed the field into the forest.
Almost an hour later, Ryne destroyed the last wraithwood manifestation and inspected the area around it. Unlike the other two, fresh paw prints angled deeper into the forest. From the tracks, at least two wraithwolves stalked somewhere within the valley. A screeching wail echoed from farther south. Another answered closer to him within the woods. As expected, the shadelings had sensed his use of Mater.
Battle energy coursing through him, Ryne craned his head to the twin moons’ circular contours between the branches. Stars twinkled like diamond pinpoints. He called on his Scripts, linking with the moonbeams that filtered through the dark canopy and interrupted the dominance of shadow in the forest.
Glancing back down, he picked out the shade residing within all shadow. The malevolent essences beckoned to him, but he knew better than to touch them. Not with the wraithwolves using shade for their eyes and ears. Ryne drew light through his Scripts and pictured himself soaked in its glow. The Scripts responded and did as he requested, swathing him in luminescent essences, giving him the appearance of a ghostly presence. Now that he’d made himself invisible to the wraithwolves’ senses, he mapped the moon rays illuminating the ground and branches around him.
He Shimmered.
With each Shimmer, his Scripts called on light and pulled him to a designated moonbeam. He flew up into the trees, from one patch of light to the other, making certain to avoid the shade. Each Shimmer brought him closer to the wraithwolves. Already linked with the elements around him, he soon found the first one.
The black-furred beast, almost Ryne’s size, stood on muscular hind legs like a man, staring at the trees below. The shadeling whined and snarled, flexing long, oversized arms tipped with sharp claws that dangled past its knees. Glowing green eyes changed from orbs to slits, back to orbs. The wraithwolf’s pungent, moldy stench wafted up to Ryne as he listened to the whines and snarls below for the change in pitch that would tell him the creature sensed his presence. No changes occurred.
Obviously bewildered by Ryne’s disappearance, the wraithwolf stared around for a few more minutes. Another wail sounded from the south. The shadeling Blurred away toward the sound. A smile touched the corner of Ryne’s lips. Unseen among the tree branches, he followed in silence.
The wraithwolf Blurred from the forest into the wide, open plain, and bounded across the long grasses to where its counterpart stalked. The second shadeling was a foot shorter than the first, and loped a few feet to one side then back, first on two legs then on all fours. When the beast dropped onto its arms like forelegs, and then rose again, it sniffed the air and whined.
Ryne frowned. Why would the creatures go into an open field where moonlight reached with ease? The lack of shade within the field played to his advantage. Ryne’s lips curled into a lazy smile. This Skadwaz had to be close by, waiting for Ryne to engage. Ryne reached his senses out, but found nothing unusual other than the wraithwolves. Still, an uneasy prickle raised the hair on his arms.
A stiff wind rose at Ryne’s back, and a distant rumble echoed in the air. Ryne Shimmered to a new position, eyeing the northern sky. Onyx thunderheads with blue lightning radiating within them rolled across the heavens. Ryne grunted his concern. When the blanket of clouds crossed the moons, they would cast the land into darkness. Shade would envelop everything. Whoever his hidden adversary, the man was no fool.
Ryne knew he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
He Shimmered twice out onto the plains toward the wraithwolves. The smaller one rose up onto its legs as he landed. In one fluid motion, Ryne unsheathed his sword and triggered its Scripts. He took the shadeling’s head before it stood fully erect. There was no sense of impact as the body crumpled to ash.
The bigger wraithwolf Blurred away to the forest’s edge. Sheathing his weapon, Ryne faced the beast. The shadeling Blurred, this time toward Ryne, its form appearing to stretch into a long silhouette. Ryne’s gaze followed. Only one patch of shade was big enough to hold the creature. It emerged from Ryne’s shadow.
As the shadeling appeared, Ryne drew his sword and sliced through the shadow. The wraithwolf issued a plaintive cry. Still wreathed in shadow, its body shriveled, the ash of its remains dissipating on the storm winds.
Ryne spun in anticipation of his hidden foe. But no attack came. Eyes shifting from side to side, he rotated slowly.
The thunderheads began to cross the moons, lightning radiating from within them in ever increasing beats in time with the growl of thunder. Rain pattered to the ground and darkness swept in. Ryne’s Scripts writhed about him, pulling at his skin as if they could peel from him. The two warring voices came screaming into his head, and his bloodlust rose in a vicious torrent that almost made him stumble, but he made no attempt to calm them, instead reveling in the power they bestowed.
Disturbed Flows of air and the interruption of the raindrops’ steady rhythm was his only warning. He swung his sword up.
Light met shade in an embrace of white and black sparks. Steel rang with a reverberating echo, the impact vibrating through Ryne’s arms.
Illuminated by the glow from Ryne’s sword, a black-armored assailant darted away, hooded cloak billowing, then circled. The man’s height brought him past Ryne’s shoulders, and he appeared powerfully built matching in Ryne in size. Not even his eyes showed. In one hand, the stranger held a wide, five foot-long blade with distinctive glyphs.
How is it that I can’t sense this man’s Mater or see his aura?
Lightning flashed and the man struck again. Low then high. Ryne parried the blows with ease. His attacker leaped back before Ryne could counter.
Ryne’s eyes narrowed. He ignored the raindrops drumming his head and water dripping down his face. The stranger moved faster than anyone he’d ever faced. But why was he using the most basic strikes?
Again, the dark man swept in, this time with four strokes alternating from torso to head to legs. Still, just the basics.
Ryne parried each strike and swept in for an attack. The man Blurred away. Ryne hadn’t felt him draw any shade when he used his ability. Worry chilled Ryne’s bones and crawled down his back. His heart raced
. Whoever this attacker was, he possessed skills beyond any Ryne remembered encountering.
The black armored man circled once more and shifted, this time into a more advanced Stance-Earthtouch. Ryne countered the man’s Stance with Voidwalk, ready to use air’s weightless Styles to counter earth’s solid strength. Ryne smiled inwardly. Now he knew who’d taught the Alzari he fought.
Before Ryne could move, the man disappeared again in the darkness. Ryne sensed essences being drawn in a Forging he recognized. Unable to Shimmer, he sprinted in the direction he felt the Forging.
As quickly as it began, the thunderstorm ended. The clouds bypassed the moons, and moonlight illuminated the field once more. Able to use his power now, Ryne Shimmered to the location of the Forge.
The man was gone, and from the residue left from the Forging, Ryne knew he wouldn’t be back. For a moment, Ryne stood surveying the valley and its forests. Life, he knew, had just become more difficult than he could’ve imagined. With a sigh, he Shimmered to the north and the relative safety of the Vallum of Light.
Ryne stood in a field below the Vallum with his sword in hand, the white stone and steel wall stretching several hundred feet above him. It had taken him another hour to reach Irmina and the others. The Setian camp spread behind him, close to the towering divya wall, but out of sight of any Bastions. There were no tents, just bedrolls containing sleeping people and guards patrolling with daggerpaws.
Dawn hovered on the air, but the sun still lay beyond the mountains and horizon to the east. The silver-blue moons had already deserted the sky, leaving a slate-like blanket of gloom. Loose strands of hair fluttering with the wind, Ryne adhered to his own regimen and practiced the sword under a gray cloudless sky, feet swishing through wet grass. Sakari watched his every move.
Ryne flowed through every Stance and Style memorized from years of unending practice-most of those years hidden in a fog of lost memories. Thoughts of his murderous past, of Carnas, of Bertram’s betrayal, of Taeria’s secret, of his failure to save Kahkon, haunted him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t banish those memories this dreary morning. He brought his sword work to a halt as Edsel, Garon and Irmina strode to meet him.
“Glad to see you’re alive and well, old friend.” Edsel’s golden eye shone as he spoke. He clasped his hand over Ryne’s when he reached him.
Ryne returned the gesture. “Yet, I failed,” Ryne said solemnly. “I managed to destroy the wraithwoods, but the man escaped.”
“How?” Garon asked with an incredulous stare.
“He was stronger than a High Ashishin. I too couldn’t sense when he drew Mater. I could only sense what he Forged after the fact.”
Garon’s eyes widened even more. Irmina’s expression radiated fear.
“You’ll have to take your people away from here. He will come back,” Ryne stated.
Edsel nodded. “I figured as much. I had already planned on it. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to warn Knight Commander Varick. He needs to inform the Tribunal about the Vallum’s breach.”
Irmina scowled. “So much for your promise.”
“I promised I would come, I never said when. Besides, warning Varick is more important than going with you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Ryne stared her down. “That man could be anywhere by now. He Materialized,” Ryne said in a soft voice.
Irmina’s mouth went slack. “But, but only High Ashishin or Exalted can use that ability.”
“Exactly, my point.”
CHAPTER 44
A blast of icy wind swept down from the snow-capped shoulders of the Kelvore Mountains. Shin Galiana shivered. The air was too cold by far for summer, unnaturally so. The gale cut through cloak, cloth, leather, and mail alike as it chased bloated, gray clouds before it, harrying them across the dark sky. Steamy breaths rose in the air as men shifted uneasily or stomped their feet, shoulders hunched, intent gazes focused across the battlefield. Bonfires along the lines of archers did little to stave off the chill, their heat swelling for a moment before the wind swept the warmth away into the night. Knight Captains barked commands at the soldiers to remain vigilant, to ignore the cold. Often, the response was chattering teeth and stomping feet. Although used to the harsh winters northern Granadia brought, their bodies were not prepared for the sudden change of weather.
Shin Galiana’s dartan mewled behind the lines of its fellow cavalry. Ahead of them, row upon row of armor clad novices and trainees interspersed by spear and sword wielding Dagodin formed. She wished she had all Matii for the task at hand, but such wishes were miracles the gods granted. In her time, she’d seen too little of miracles. Barely enough for her to keep her faith.
At least the supplies they’d collected for years would finally be put to good use. Not at the original time as they’d planned, but that made no difference right now. Plans of men were inconsequential things and made to be changed. Resplendent in new green cloth, painted leather, shiny chainmail or glittering steel, a full legion of Dagodin stood ready. In contrast, the retired soldiers, novices, and trainees had to resort to whatever armor they could muster or what could be hastily crafted. One cohort still wore the crimson of Granadia’s Tribunal.
A white battle standard depicting a forest split down the middle by a great quake flew high in the air-the colors and insignia of the Setian. A long time since she’d seen such. A somber smile touched her lips. Despite her regret at days long gone, she still found herself riding with her back a little straighter, and her chest out. The standard was a pronouncement of independence, of a return of an old kingdom, of a reclamation.
Stefan had insisted on the display. Why, she wasn’t certain. He’d assured her it was worth the risk if Eldanhill and their people was to survive the siege and the uprising of the other Granadian kingdoms. Eagles had been dispatched to the other Mysteras to make them aware and begin their exodus before any repercussions or suspicions took place. She’d also sent word to Jerem so he could activate and dispatch the Sleepers within their network to begin their whispers while relaying tidbits of proof that would point to the Tribunal’s many atrocities over these long years. Whether the Setian were ready or not, war had once again come and no way existed to avoid it. When warranted, strike hard with subversion, fire, and steel and let those in your way tremble at your bold stroke.
Again, she wished the time could’ve been more ideal for this revelation. Indeed, many in Eldanhill had been in shock. But after seeing the few who’d surrendered to the encroaching Sendethi forces have their heads removed and hung on tall pikes, they’d understood their plight. Fight or die.
The Tribunal would be none too pleased by Eldanhill’s proclamation or King Emory’s actions, but faced with rebellion from so many other fronts in Granadia they’d have to consider who to take on first. Their reaction may well be one of immediate retribution. Of course, there was the chance the Granadian kingdoms banded together to crush their old enemy the Setian. Another risk the Tribunal couldn’t afford, and yet they couldn’t be seen to openly support the revival of the Setian. Ah, well, one worry at a time.
The problem at hand lay several thousand feet on the other side of the makeshift palisade where thousands upon thousands of Sendethi soldiers gathered. Twice the battle standards as before flew high, buffeted by the strong wind. Flying not far from those were a few Barsonian banners. More than she’d expected. This was to be the first statement in overthrowing the Tribunal’s iron grip, it seemed. Eldanhill was to be the example. Her lips curled in a cruel smile at that last.
She eyed the sky above once more. Of all times, this Sendethi army had chosen the Spellforge hour to attack. They were playing into the strength of the Matii. Whoever led this army hadn’t done their research. The strategy may be sound against a normal army, but not Eldanhill’s. Could Giomar really be this stupid? Her forehead creased with lines. No. The man didn’t appear the type. After all, he’d already outmaneuvered her once.
Emerald eyes shining fr
om within his silver helmet, icy flecks dotting his beard, Stefan brought his dartan closer. “Something isn’t quite right, Galiana.”
“Yes. That’s what I was beginning to think.”
Stefan signaled for Guthrie, Devan, Jillian, Rohan and Edwin to join them. All now appointed as Generals, they rode over and formed a small circle, misty breaths of men and mounts rising in the air, leather and armor creaking. The musky smell of dartans filled the area.
“Why would you choose to fight Matii at the Spellforge hour?” Stefan scanned the Sendethi forces.
Jillian cocked her head in that odd way of hers, the beak upon her leather helmet making her appear as aquiline as one of her pet eagles. “Maybe they have Matii of their own?”
Edwin snorted. “Where would the Sendethi acquire Matii? The Pathfinders have weeded out every single one who’s come into their power.”
“That may be true,” Guthrie stated, his paunch making him appear to lean unsteadily in the saddle. “But the question still begs to be asked. And the answer Jillian gave seems the most plausible one.”
“I say we take no chances,” Devan said, his hulking form matching his gruff voice. He rode the biggest dartan of the bunch, an animal that dwarfed the others. “Act as if they do have Matii. Prepare our Ashishin to counter rather than attack.”
Galiana nodded. “I agree. If they’d smuggled in Namazzi or Alzari we would have known. And well, the Svenzar fight for no one but themselves.” Her cloak flapped in the breeze, and she pulled it tighter around her. “But I see the Golden Tide banners of Barson among the Sendethi forces. The Pathfinders have never penetrated their borders. I do not think now is the time to act without caution.”
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