Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods)

by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo

  Rank upon rank of black armored Amuni’s Children wielding long, sooty-looking spears herded disheveled survivors into the town square. Once there, the soldiers ripped babies from the arms of wailing mothers. They separated crying children from adults.

  Ryne clenched his fists against the urge to charge down into the square.

  Men and women surged toward the soldiers who carried the young off to one side. Spearmen intercepted them, dark lances stabbing legs and arms of those who protested as Amuni’s followers restored order within a few minutes.

  A few hundred Amuni cultists formed ranks between the adults and children. In unison, they ground their spear butts at their feet. The flames roaring from the oak tree illuminated the spears, which stretched several feet above the soldiers’ heads. Ryne narrowed his eyes at the smoke rising from the wavering black blades.

  Several soldiers stepped forward, placed long horns to their mouths, and blew. One, long, shrill note keened.

  Among the shadows in the square, darkwraiths appeared by the hundreds as if from nowhere, long cloaks flying in wispy swirls with the strong wind, black blades hanging from scabbards at their hips. Smoky darkness wrapped their entire countenance like waves of black heat.

  Screeching howls echoed from within the dark forest surrounding Bastair. From the tree line loped several wolf-like forms, green eyes glowing. Ryne counted forty wraithwolves in all, running like men on two muscular legs. Black hair covered their bodies, and they sprang with long, leaping bounds that could outpace a horse’s gallop. With each leap, they dropped to all fours, and their arms helped propel them into the air. After they landed, they sprinted on two legs again. In minutes, they reached the town square and the captives.

  The beasts stalked among the adults, sniffing at each. People cowered away or tried to run but Amuni’s Children quelled such attempts. When the wraithwolves found what they sought, they dragged that person kicking and screaming to the center of the square, a few feet from the massive, burning oak tree. After they completed the separations, the wraithwolves raised their noses to the air and began a rhythmic, keening wail.

  A distortion appeared in the air in front the burning oak as if Ryne saw it through a cloudy glass. The blurred area swirled and turned black before eventually splitting into a thin, horizontal slit.

  As the slit widened, one long, obsidian leg stepped out, and then several arms and legs followed in quick succession.

  Ryne sucked in a breath, his bloodlust immediately roaring to the forefront of his mind as his power surged within him. The voices began their bickering, but this time they were of one thought. Destroy. Ryne sought the calm center of himself, picturing the pond within the Entosis, and forced the lust and the voices down.

  A slender body, rippling with sinew, slithered out from the portal. The daemon stood over eight feet tall on four misshapen legs. Four disproportionate, claw-tipped appendages stuck out chest high. Its slender body glowed with its blackness, and two small wings hummed on its back. A flowing mass of fleshy locks adorned its head, hanging down past those wings. Many-faceted, lidless eyes glowed, and dripping mandibles squirmed in its grotesque face. The shadestalker's locks flicked up and across the eyes as if shading them.

  The cultists and the shadelings bowed low before the daemon. Screams and cries rose from the captives, and several of them fainted.

  The shadestalker’s locks dropped away from its face, and its head swiveled around to the townsfolk near the tree. They cowered away from the daemon. A few attempted to flee, but the wraithwolves quickly caught them.

  “I can distract while you take care of the stalker,” Sakari whispered.

  Succumbing to the voices screaming once more in his head and the pull of his lust, Ryne agreed. “Yes.” He pointed toward the forest. “You take them there. I’ll be able to strike and get out before they react.”

  Opening his Matersense, Ryne prepared to Shimmer into the square. Sakari’s cold hand on his arm made him stop. In that instant, his Scripts rippled.

  Ryne frowned at his companion. Sakari pointed to the square.

  A man garbed in black appeared next to the shadestalker. He carried a wide blade with distinct glyphs. Ryne knew that blade. With the recognition, Ryne’s Scripts writhed violently.

  The daemon prostrated itself before the man, its body spread like a giant insect on the flagstones. Everyone else but the captives followed suit. The newcomer strode down the line of prisoners then stopped, his head suddenly rising toward the woods at the town’s opposite end. His cloak swirled for a moment, then he Blurred away to an unknown location.

  The daemon eased up from the ground, and its locks stretched out. At the tips of each, tendrils of shade rose like wispy smoke. The locks grew longer, and snaked toward a few of the captives until they hovered before their chests.

  Those townsfolk shied away. The appendages touched each captive chosen. All wriggling stooped; each became deathly still. A wail rose once more from the daemon’s minions.

  The shadestalker snapped its head back, and the locks ripped through the townsfolk, turning their torsos into pulpy masses. Blood flew and bodies crumpled. The other survivors bawled.

  Sela glowed at each tendril’s tip.

  Ryne choked at the sight, his gut clenching. Was this what had happened at Carnas? His body and head felt as if soaring flames roared through his body.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath, struggling mightily to calm himself. Within the square, a black slit appeared in the air, and opened like an eye turned sideways. An impenetrable darkness showed within.

  The glowing sela flew into it. The slit snapped shut.

  Shade billowed from the shadestalker in waves, blotting out the orange and yellow flames from the tree. Ryne frowned at the shadelings as they grew larger.

  The shadestalker’s size increased to over ten feet. It flung its locks out, and shade flew into the air in multiple directions. Shrieks echoed from those same locations, a lot closer than they hsould have been.

  Ryne recounted the shadeling armies’ positions from the war map and cringed. They’re all heading to Bastair. He eased away from the ledge, worked his way across the Dead Hills and down onto the plains where Thumper waited. He mounted and galloped toward the Vallum of Light.

  Goaded by the urgency of his discovery, Ryne pushed hard for the wall’s soaring spans glowing several miles away. Even at this distance, Ryne could feel the Streams radiating from it. The twin moons’ light enhanced the Vallum’s Mater and bathed the hills, lone trees, and brush in slivery-blue. Questions tumbled through his head. Who was this man who made his Scripts react in that way? Was he Skadwaz, High Shin, Exalted or something more? And what was the black hole that devoured the sela? Was it the god of shade himself? No, it couldn’t be. If it had been Amuni, darkness would have devoured the world by now. Ryne shook his head. Whatever the phenomenon was, the daemon and the shadelings had gained more power from the feeding.

  Up and down the grassy knolls, Ryne ran, the wind whipping at him as Thumper’s massive legs churned through the grass and sand. The only hope left for Bastair lay in reaching the army in time. The fate of the innocents flooded through Ryne and left him shivering.

  Not long after, Ryne reached the first sentries a few hundred feet from Varick’s encampment. He rode straight for the Knight Commander’s tent.

  Along the way, soldiers in the same scarlet uniforms he saw at Bastair saluted him. Others ate at the many fire pits. In their heavy crimson armor, infantrymen practiced formations in a clear training area. The first row consisted of shieldbearers carrying large rectangular tower shields and wielding short swords. Pikemen with lances twice their heights made up the next rank. The final rank bore lesser armored Dagodin carrying long, shining scythes with wicked blades.

  Ryne pulled up in front Varick’s tent. One of the two guards turned inside to announce Ryne’s arrival. The other stood with his hand on his sword hilt—a customary gesture. Ryne dismounted just as the first guard returned.
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  “You may enter, Master Waldron. The Knight Commander is expecting you.” The young soldier nodded to the tent’s entrance.

  “Thank you.” Ryne pushed the flaps aside and entered.

  Knight Commander Varick stood at a broad table in his suit of embossed silver plate with his maps spread before him. His beard was now trimmed into a neat V. Ryne smiled. The man disliked going to war with an uncouth appearance. Three helmets rested on the table beside the maps, and next to Varick, stood Clovis and Strom.

  “Greetings, Master Waldron,” Varick said without looking up from the maps.

  “Greetings, Knight Commander. Clovis, Strom.” Ryne stepped closer to the tent’s center.

  The Knight Captains nodded.

  Varick turned his gaze up to Ryne’s face. “So, what news of Bastair.”

  “Not good. They’ve captured the town. I saw shadelings, one daemon and—”

  Varick frowned. “What kind exactly, and in what numbers?”

  “About forty wraithwolves, several hundred darkwraiths, and a shadestalker,” Ryne answered. Clovis snorted and opened his mouth to speak. “They also had about four thousand Amuni’s Children. Not your typical ones either. These were soldiers, all equipped with divya spears,” Ryne finished before Clovis could utter a word.

  Strom’s mouth dropped open. “That’s more divya than we currently have.”

  Varick stroked his beard calmly, his eyes not betraying the same concern as Strom’s. “A few cohorts of Amuni’s Children and nowhere close to the full bane of shadelings rumored to be advancing.” He grunted. “The daemon is worrying but I've dealt with its kind before during the War of the Shadowbearer. That wouldn't make you rush back this quickly, Ryne. If you’re the same man I remember, with those numbers, I would’ve expected you to attempt to kill the daemon even against the darkwraiths. There’s more isn’t there?”

  Ryne stared into Varick’s sharp eyes. “Yes, the shadestalker began a sela harvest. It took fifty the first time. There’s still about a thousand townsfolk left, but the daemon has already called to the other banes. They’ll make it to Bastair within the hour. Also, there was a man who could well be a Skadwaz.”

  The men gasped.

  Outside, shrill horns keened. Within the camp, waring trumpets blared.

  CHAPTER 48

  Ryne’s head snapped around at the sound of the horns.

  “They’re here?” Strom’s eyebrows rose.

  “Maybe they have some secret,” Clovis sputtered, his earlier bravado gone. “Dear Ilumni. How else could…they…?”

  Varick tilted his head and regarded Clovis with cold eyes. “Calm down, Clovis. These aren’t those Svenzar raids you’re used to where you sit and chat after a show of force, man. This is real war. Get a fucking grip on yourself or return to Kalir where you can be coddled.”

  Sweat trickling down his brow, Clovis knuckled his forehead. “Yes, Knight Commander. I-I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Leave it to the Tribunal to send an inexperienced officer,” Ryne said under his breath with a shake of his head.

  Varick gave a slight nod and sighed before returning his attention to the map. “Ryne, this doesn’t make sense. Even if all their banes came here with every divya they have, they couldn’t hope to win, not this close to the Vallum.”

  The tent flap ruffled and a guard stepped inside. “Sir, an Envoy is here.”

  “Send him in,” Varick said without taking his eyes from the map.

  The guard stepped outside, and a sharp-eyed young man in the green shirt and dark blue trousers of an Envoy entered. He made several nervous bows to the men inside.

  Varick waved the man to the table. “Report.”

  “Herald Jensen says the scouts have reported multiple enemy movements. The shadebanes are no longer at the other towns. They’re concentrated near Bastair and Cendos, sir.” He indicated an area between Bastair and Varick’s encampment. “The army of Amuni’s Children has formed here.”

  Varick nodded. “In what numbers?”

  “Three legions, sir. Scouts estimate four thousand per legion. And at least one full shadebane.”

  “Cavalry?”

  “Yes sir, three dartan cohorts. Four hundred mounts per cohort.”

  “Thank you, Envoy. Dismissed.”

  The Envoy bowed, turned away from the table, and strode from the tent.

  Clovis drummed his fingers on the table. “Sir, we should use the advantage of the Vallum and crush the cultist force. If we’re able to also defeat that shadebane, it would be a huge blow.”

  “Huge blow for whom?” Ryne asked. “Are you even paying attention?”

  Clovis hissed. “Do not speak—”

  “Oh hush, Clovis. Ryne knows more about war than you’ve seen or read in your lifetime twice over,” Varick said. “Now, do as he says and pay attention. To have moved so many men so fast means only one thing. It’s as you said, Ryne. There are those among the shade who can Materialize.”

  Clovis offered no response, but his pasty face was almost pink. He gave a hesitant nod.

  “Interesting,” Strom said. He traced his gloved fingers along the map from Sandar and Dastan to where the enemy force was now positioned. “As unlikely as it would seem for someone that powerful to be helping them, it must be a consideration. Could it be this daemon or maybe some old remnant from Seti?”

  Varick shook his head. “I’ve approached the Tribunal about this in the past. They seem to think no Ashishin or daemon powerful enough to have such a skill still lives in Ostania, and that they eliminated the few Skadwaz from Denestia a century before the Shadowbearer. This may be just what I need to prove them wrong. Any suggestions, Ryne?”

  “It’s simple,” Ryne stated. “Whoever is leading the shade knows we would love a chance to take out a bane. He also knows he would lose in a fight here due to the Vallum. Using a full bane to lure our forces is a smart maneuver. Almost irresistible. However, it’s all a distraction.”

  “I disagree—”Clovis began.

  “As you would. This trap would work perfectly on someone as foolhardy and unblooded as you.” Ryne stared at the man until Clovis averted his eyes. “This is a distraction. A simple sacrifice.” Ryne stepped up to the table and pointed out the locations on the map. “With the numbers they needed to defeat the Alzari, they could field a larger force, but instead they send this group. Why? They intend to finish the harvest at Bastair, and then move on to Cendos. By the time we defeat their forces blocking us, the deed would be finished. And the other five banes would be that much stronger for it. They will then escape with ease, Materializing to safety.”

  Varick grimaced. “Hmm. In one move, they would have reinforced five banes. We can’t afford that.”

  Strom regarded Ryne, one thick brow raised. “What do you suggest, Master Waldron?”

  “Leave Clovis with his heavy armored dartans here.” Ryne indicated the Knight General with a tilt of his head while pointing at the location of the shadebane and the enemy army. “Have Refald assist him.” Seeing Refald’s infantry at work should lend some backbone to Clovis. “Let Refald engage first, and Clovis can flank them in a simple pincer.”

  Clovis opened his mouth but Ryne continued, speaking to Strom. “We take your light cavalry and Varick’s legions and engage the banes at Bastair. That’ll force the other two banes moving to Cendos to help. Then we can crush all five. If the High Ashishin shows up by then…” Ryne shrugged. “All the better. They can bring reinforcements.”

  The tent flap whipped aside. In strode High Shin Jerem, his silver robes flowing about him, followed by Irmina. “A good plan, but there’s one issue.” He made his way to the table.

  Ryne's eyes grew wide at the sight of Irmina. Her armor left her entire stomach exposed and accentuated her breasts. Her leggings appeared as if they were molded to her skin, and around her waist hung a belt with several disks. A kilt barely managed to cover her privates. The most heavily armored part of her body was her shoulders and arms, which w
ere covered by pauldrons and vambraces made from some pliant material that glinted like polished steel. The crimson of the armor set off her pale skin. A sword hung at her waist.

  “Blessed High Shin and Raijin,” the other men intoned almost at once while bowing.

  High Shin Jerem coughed.

  Blushing, Ryne tore his eyes away from Irmina and the slight twitch of her lips.

  “As I was saying. Your fight is elsewhere, Master Waldron.”

  Ryne frowned. “There’s at least one daemon at Bastair and maybe a Skadwaz. Why would I go some place else to fight?”

  High Shin Jerem’s bony hand snaked out of the flared ends of his robes’ sleeves. “Study the map once more.” The markers for the enemy forces repositioned again. “Think about how many they needed to destroy the Alzari. Then consider how many Alzari now possibly belong to the shade. What do you see?”

  Pursing his lips, Ryne counted a third of the Alzari as having succumbed to the shade’s influences. With the mercenaries among them, this army was unlike anything he remembered encountering. So if they wanted Cendos and Bastair so badly why not bring all their forces? Why send what may well be only a third? Was it a trap? Where was the remainder of this army? And why avoid all the towns and cities they had, leaving the chance to be struck from behind by the massed Ostanian armies?

  Ryne’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a double feint. Cendos and Bastair aren’t their true targets either. They want us to fight there.” He traced a straight line across the map from the two towns to a city thousands of miles beyond them to the northeast. “Their target is Castere.”

  Breaths drew in from everyone but Jerem. The old High Ashishin smiled. “I knew you would see it if nudged a bit. However, it’s worse than you think. It appears Castere was already being ruled by one of Amuni’s servants.”

  “Voliny?” Ryne scrunched up his face.

  “Or Mayor Bertram if you would rather,” Jerem said.