When she entered the clearing the animals were already among the brush and trees surrounding it. So were a dozen Pathfinders, silver armor gleaming. Hortin and Kazneer were on one knee. Trucida stood to the side, observing the proceedings. Stunned, Irmina could only stare.
Charra, at least as huge as any dartan, was leaping around the clearing like a puppy while carrying Ancel on his back. Laughing, Ancel hung on for all he was worth. In the middle of the area stood Stefan, dressed in leather armor, and covered in Etchings.
Not much about the man she once saw as a father was what she recalled. He’d always been a tall man with bulging shoulders, a broad back, and features all too similar to his son’s, down to the black hair. Now that face was indrawn, all hard jaws and chin, the hair so silver it shone. His right eye was a mass of scarred flesh; his left, emerald ringed with gold. None of that shook her as much as the tapestry of Etchings covering his body up to his neck.
Hortin and Kazneer stood, bowed once, and jogged into the woods. Clansmen and their pets followed.
Ancel glanced in her direction before he leaped off Charra’s back. In a blink he Shimmered, snatched her up in his arms, and spun her. He smelled of sweat and blood, but no better scent existed. She clung to him. He set her down and kissed her. Hard. She responded in kind, breathless within moments.
“Exalted Trucida, Irmina, I’m pleased to see both of you again, and in one piece,” Stefan said, turning to greet them with open arms.
“Co-Commander Dorn, how are you?” Irmina asked, at a loss for words.
“Besides this little thing,” he said, pointing to his eye, “I’m almost as good as ever.”
Trucida bowed. Bowed! Irmina was speechless.
“Eztezian Stefan, I’m happy you’ve once again accepted who you are. It has been too long.” The old woman smiled as she spoke.
“Ez-Eztezian?” Irmina repeated. It was as if hearing the word finally made her comprehend what the Etchings meant. Wide-eyed, she looked from Stefan, to Trucida, to Ancel.
Ancel nodded.
“How?” she asked. Merinian had revealed the netherling castes to her, had shown her that the Stefan in Benez was an impostor, a Deathspeaker, but she wouldn’t have guessed the real identity of Ancel’s father.
“He sealed his power, even going so far as to have a new layer of skin laid over his own to hide his Etchings,” Ancel answered proudly.
She recalled seeing a similar feat accomplished by Ryne, but using his armor. “How did you find him and where?”
Ancel pulled out a pendant from under his armor. “This connects everyone in our family, containing essences from each of us. When Stefan, or rather the impostor that is posing as him, was uncertain whether Mother still lived, I suspected. Even if my mind preferred not to accept it, I had the feeling something wasn’t right. Then there was his apparent dislike for dartans. My father loved the creatures, and we even bred our own. Also something happened while we were in Kajeta. For a scant moment, Celina and I clearly felt him, not just the pendant, but him. I knew for sure then. Buneri still had him imprisoned.”
“The argument,” she said, “when the two of you stopped talking to stare off in the same direction.”
“I was telling her I would go alone, that her place was to reinforce Astoca and Cardia, and see to the Desorin.”
She eyed Stefan. “Why hide? Why not let us know who you were?”
“What we suffer now with the advent of shadelings and the Nine hunting Eztezians should be answer enough,” Stefan said. “I had to delay them for Ancel to gain the power for what’s to come.” The light went out of Stefan’s eye for a moment before he smiled at his son once more.
“Did you do as I asked?” Ancel touched her hand.
“Yes, I spoke to Knight Commander Varick. He agreed to wait for your father and the Queen. He hasn’t left any hint as to which side he will fight for. I also sent word to your sister, apologizing for what happened with Traushen. Hopefully he is still alive.”
“But Varick did leave us a hint,” Stefan said.
Everyone turned to look at the elder Dorn.
“If he didn’t believe you, you would be dead.” Stefan peered toward Benez, only its upper spires visible from where they stood. “I must speak to him before word from the Iluminus reaches my impostor.”
“That’s easy enough to arrange. A tent has been set aside for when I need to speak to him.”
“Good, take me to him, and then to my daughter. Trucida, it’s time we called on the Svenzar.”
The Exalted bowed and with a flick of her hand, a slit appeared in the air. Shrouded peaks and vast forests showed through its translucent surface. It twisted, opened wider, and she strode through, closing the portal behind her.
“Father, you speak as if you intend to lay siege to Benez,” Ancel said.
“Siege? By Ilumni’s Light, no.” The silver-haired Dorn drew his sword. The blade glinted in the sunlight. “Each Eztezian who held a Tenet possessed a specialty. Mine was defeating netherlings.”
“But you no longer have that power,” Ancel said.
“Not all of one’s power leaves when you’re no longer a Materwarden. Besides, what I lack in power I make up for in experience a hundredfold. Never underestimate experience. Remember that when you face Thanairen.”
“So what’s your plan?” Irmina saw no way for them to liberate Benez without deaths they couldn’t afford. “With those in the city firmly believing the man they serve is you, they will fight to the bloody end. The last stand of the Setian. At least that’s how they’ll see it. If Varick’s forces don’t attack, the impostor will simply send his troops out. They’re already massing along the walls. It will accomplish the same purpose. The only option I see is to get him to surrender, and he has no reason to do that.”
“The plan is to walk in there and kill him if needed.”
“As simple as that? Through the front gates, into the throne room, and kill him.” This new Stefan scared and worried her at the same time. She wondered if the man was sane.
“Who said anything about the front gates?” Stefan asked.
“How else would you—” She stopped short, eyes widening. “The message maps, like in the Broken Lands.”
The elder Dorn grinned. “Yes, my son told me of your encounter. It’s a wonder no one ever thought of it before. What I need now is for you to take me to Varick. Ancel, remain here until I return.”
Irmina opened a portal to the tent in the encampment, strode through so as not to cause any alarm should Varick’s guards be inside, and then waited for Stefan to appear.
She parted the tent’s flaps and stepped outside. Two guards acknowledged her with nods. “Send for the Knight Commander immediately,” she ordered. “And hurry.” One of the Dagodins snapped a salute, fist to heart, and hurried away. She watched him for a moment before returning inside.
Stefan was standing in the tent’s center, and despite the loss of weight and size, he seemed to encompass the entire interior. This was the first time she’d been alone with Ancel’s father since she’d left Eldanhill to become an Ashishin and then a Raijin. All because of a command issued by this same man. A thousand questions came to mind, dominated by those of her parents.
“Why?” she asked, voice soft, dreading the possible answers. “Did they really turn to the shade?”
He drew in a deep breath, and closed his eye. When he opened it, his emerald and gold stare was unwavering. “I’ve always wanted to speak to you about them, but an opportune time never presented itself. I can only imagine some of what you feel, thinking Thania and I took you in out of guilt.”
“Or to watch over me to see if I would become like them,” she said, trying not to allow her bitterness and anger to color her tone.
“We took you in because that’s what they wanted, to make certain you were safe.”
“Safe? Safe from whom?”
“Whomever or whatever would seek to harm you for your ability.”
Confused,
she studied his face, trying to decide if he was lying. His gaze remained steady, his eye focused on her.
“You find it hard to believe, I know,” he said. “Why would your parents put your life in the hands of a man and a woman they apparently hated? In the notes you found, they detailed our work with the Tribunal, our Forges to slow the aging process, how people were drinking our kinai wines and juices all across the world without realizing that we used our creations to siphon off essences. And yet they sent you to us.”
Hands folded into fists as she listened, Irmina remained silent.
“Did you ever stop to think of the convenience of the evidence against us?”
Trembling with suppressed anger and grief, voice a little more than a whisper, she said, “No. It all seemed to fit.”
“Emotions can be terrible things, particularly when it comes to rational thought,” he said.
“Tell me what happened.” She needed this so badly. For too long she’d carried its burden, to the point where it had almost broken her. She had made it her strength.
“I will not lie to you and say there weren’t some in your family who turned to the shade or who were turned by the shade, for they were, one of my best friends among them.” He paused for a moment with the declaration, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, his eye closed as he fought against whatever painful memory his admission brought. “I destroyed a few of them myself,” he continued, resuming his unflinching gaze, “and I say destroy because to say I killed them would be to act as if they still lived. To me, they were already dead. Some had died before being made into shadelings.”
“But not my parents,” she offered hopefully.
“No, not Merisse and Arshan.”
Hearing their names brought a fresh gush of sorrow. She considered his words, the way they could be taken. “You didn’t destroy them or they weren’t of the shade?” A weight settled on her with the question.
“Neither.”
She released a breath she didn’t realize she held, pressure easing from her shoulders. With their vindication a stream of questions ran through her head. Why did they have to die? Why did he give the command? Who carried out the act?
“The Tribunal, or rather, the Nine, discovered your parents’ secret,” Stefan said.
Mouth open in the act of voicing another of her thoughts, she stared at him. After a moment his words registered. “Me,” Irmina whispered. “I was a threat. A Beasttamer.”
Stefan nodded. “As for the command, the Tribunal did order me to take their lives, and would later blame it on the Shadowbearer, coinciding with me having destroyed Garrick and others in your family line. But I never sent assassins. I sent Jillian and Edwin to warn your parents, to tell them that their knowledge of the Tribunal’s plots had been discovered. Most of all, I sent word that your ability was no longer secret. But I played right into the Tribunal’s hands.”
If she harbored doubts concerning his story, the pain etched in his features washed them away. It was real, not an act.
“Jillian and Edwin returned,” he continued. “The Matii I sent with them didn’t. Those two claimed they arrived in the middle of an attack on the house. Said there were shadelings and Amuni’s Children.”
Memories of that night filled her. Her parents had sent her toward Eldanhill, claiming they feared the War of Remnants, feared the discovery of their Setian heritage. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“They killed them,” Stefan said softly.
The need for revenge, to slice their throats, surged through her stronger than at any other time. Suffused by the urge it was a struggle to find the Eye within the torrent.
“Jillian and Edwin are alive,” Stefan said.
Her body stilled, became cold, unfeeling. She locked gazes with him. “How do you know? Ancel believes he killed Jillian in Randane. And Edwin might have died during our attack at the Iluminus.” Even as she said the words, she prayed he was right.
“They helped torture me. Boasted of killing your parents, of their treachery, hoping the failures they’d caused, the lives they’d taken, would help break me.”
“So they’re at the Iluminus,” she said, disappointed.
“Not anymore. When they thought I had passed out from the pain I overheard them talking. Edwin was being sent to help with attacks on the Bastions. Jillian is here.”
Irmina’s breath caught in her throat, her heart began to race. What had been heat before was now aflame like the rents in the Broken Lands. “How do I find her?” Her voice came out choked.
“If it were me, I’d begin looking somewhere close to the animals,” Stefan said with a shrug.
Before she offered a reply, Knight Commander Varick entered the tent flanked by Sorik and his scar-faced Knight General, Refald. All three stopped and gaped. Only Sorik snatched for his sword. Stefan eyed him lazily.
“Stay your hand, Sorik,” Varick warned, “unless you wish to lose it.”
The Knight Commander bent on one knee, and Refald followed suit. Forehead creased, Sorik glanced from one to the other before he copied them.
“Welcome Eztezian Stefan,” Varick kept his head slightly bent, but his eyes were visible beneath white wisps. “What is mine is yours to command.” The response came too naturally.
In shock, her aunt forgotten for the moment, Irmina eyed Varick.
“Rise, my old friends.” Stefan gestured to them with one hand. “The days of formality to me are long gone.”
The three men stood. Without another word Stefan strode toward Varick and the two hugged and laughed like old friends. He shared the same with Refald. To Sorik, he gave a mere nod.
“Well,” Varick said, gesturing to Stefan’s armor and sword, “with you finally here in your old garb, it can mean only one thing.”
“I fear you’re correct.” Stefan gripped his hilt. “The final days are upon us, the peace I once promised shall be ours, even if it’s the peace that death brings.”
“Death’s always simple,” Varick said. “Sorik, bring us some Granadian maps.”
As soon as the Knight Captain left, the three men began to plan. On several occasions Stefan questioned her on her ability to control animals, the range of her eagles, how many creatures could she have available, and repeatedly asked after the zyphyls. With each question and answer she gained a better understanding of the war’s scope. The length of the Vallum of Light would become a battlefield.
By the time they returned to the Netherwood, the sun had left the sky bloody and bruised. Ancel and Charra were waiting for them.
“You will all accompany me,” Stefan said to them, “if for nothing than to have familiar faces with me that might dissuade some from attacking. If things go worse than expected, Ancel, I might need your help. Charra, once we enter the castle, and are within its wards, send word to those of yours who will listen. They are not to interfere.”
Charra whined his assent.
A moment later, Stefan’s Etchings glowed. A different type of portal formed, this one a small circle that grew bigger and bigger. Beyond it was a room with a message map encompassing the entire floor, its lightstones blinking. They followed Stefan through, the way closing behind them noiselessly. Mustiness, dust, and cobwebs greeted them. Ruddy hues bled through four narrow windowpanes.
The room’s single door led to a winding staircase. Above them, the roof formed a dome. Below them, the steps clung to walls pocked with murder holes, sunset’s streams slicing the darkness, and dust motes dancing in the air. They didn’t encounter the first guard until they were striding along the main hall. Without hesitation they swept by him. The man simply bowed. So did any others they met.
On their approach to the final door, Charra growled. They all stopped. Irmina’s heart sped up. The door opened. Two men dressed in green armor, expressions vacant, strode in.
“Do not attack them,” Stefan whispered.
Charra trotted ahead until he was less than three feet from the guards. No sound passed between them; they star
ed at each other. The men stepped aside. Irmina breathed a tad easier.
“The same thing applies inside,” Stefan said. “Ancel, take care of anyone who isn’t a netherling who might choose to interfere.”
“Yes, Father.”
Irmina’s stomach fluttered as the elder Dorn pushed open the door. Memories of the fight at the Iluminus gave her pause. A hand on hers made her glance over.
“Trust in us and in yourself.” Ancel squeezed her hand.
With a nod she followed them.
Armored men gathered around the room’s message map. She picked out Guthrie, Devan, Garon, Edsel, Idnal, Steyn, and three others she didn’t recognize.
Stefan’s twin glanced up from where he was perusing the map. His eyes opened wide. “Assassins and impostors,” he yelled. “Kill them.”
Garon and Edsel had similar surprised reactions, but they recovered quickly. Edsel grabbed for his axes. His father stopped him. The older man edged away, drawing his son with him.
Guthrie and Devan stared for a moment, brows creased. A look passed between them. Without uttering a word they backed off until they were near the wall.
With no more concern than if they’d been out for a stroll, three of the other soldiers simply watched the proceedings, gazes focused on Stefan and Ancel. They made no move for their weapons. The two remaining, Idnal and Steyn, cast nervous glances from the impostor to Stefan and back again.
“I see the years haven’t been so kind to you, Kasimir, but I’m pleased to see you alive.” Stefan stood so still he might have been a statue. To Guthrie and Devan he gave a quick dip of his head. They responded in kind. His attention returned to Kasimir Edsel. “This would be your son, the one you wrote to me about?”
“Y-Yes.” Kasimir Edsel’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.
“I’d be suspicious too if I were you, but I assure you I’m no shadeling like Garrick turned out to be.”
Embers of a Broken Throne Page 33
