“What about the Tribunal?” Steyn asked. “Won’t they be using the Gap and Calisto?”
“No,” Galiana said. “The Dosteri refused them access to either. It was their answer to the Tribunal’s lack of help in the negotiations with the Sendethi.”
“As you command, Shin Galiana.” The Knight Captain wheeled his horse and rode off with the Ashishin following at his heels.
“Come,” Galiana said. She cocked her head for a moment when she saw Mirza.
“There’s no way you’re leaving me behind,” Mirza said before she uttered a word.
Ancel opened his mouth to tell his friend to stay with the others. The defiant look on Mirza’s face and his earlier sentiments concerning the Ashishin spoke for themselves. Ancel smiled.
They rode east, cutting a swath through fresh snow as high as the horses’ knees. Beside them, Charra bounded, unhindered by the drifts. The deep fluff made for slow going, but Ancel would let nothing stop them. At the back of his mind, the lump that spoke of Ryne’s location pulled him, the feel of it as tremulous as the day when Ryne stepped out from the woods. Locking onto the location in case he lost the link entirely, he slogged on. The wind whipped and howled about them as if possessed, kicking up powder that made him pull his scarf even tighter and duck his head. Icy flecks caked the cloth around his mouth, the material carrying the scent of his breath, steam collecting moisture that soon froze. Hands gripping the reins tight through his fox fur gloves, he concentrated on the thought of reaching his mentor in time.
The plains, broken by the occasional tree or slope of land, seemed to go on forever. The towering silhouettes of the Red Ridge Mountains appeared to move farther away. Undaunted, Ancel snapped his reins, ignoring the stallion’s snort of protest. He lost track of time, but not of the lump. Soon, they reached the first foothills.
The going became tougher then, the route more treacherous as the snow grew deeper and the slopes icier. As much as he wanted to push his mount, Ancel slowed, choosing their path carefully. It would do little to help Ryne if his horse broke a leg now. Even deep in furs, his bones were still chilled and his feet numb. At times, he couldn’t feel his fingers. Ignoring them, he plowed on.
The Red Ridge Mountains rose up before them like massive white monoliths. In warmer weather, red, dusty sand covered these slopes, but now no such color existed. Enveloped by winter’s freezing breath, they were expansive precipices and cliffs glowing silvery blue whenever the moons peeked from behind the clouds.
Ancel stopped abruptly, the lump in the back of his mind spiking stronger than before. He glanced around at his surroundings. Something about the area clicked. The visions he witnessed through the link came again. He closed his eyes, taking in the mountains as Ryne tumbled down an embankment. Ancel snapped his eyes open. That one. He flapped his reins, heading toward the closest steep rise.
A sudden barking roar from Charra stopped him in his tracks.
There, at the bottom of the hill was Ryne, his Etchings giving off a soft glow.
Ancel couldn’t tell if his chest rose and fell. Nor could he make out the telltale mist from his nostrils or mouth. Before anyone uttered a word, he leapt from his saddle and stumbled through the thigh-high snow to Ryne’s prone form.
Ryne’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a weak smile. “I overdid it again.”
“You aren’t wounded?”
“N-no. W-w-worse. C-c-cold. I used too much power. I had to in order to pull the vasumbrals away and make sure everyone escaped. I fractured my aura and one of them touched it, ate into my sela.”
Galiana and Mirza rode up alongside them.
Squinting, Galiana said, “We need to get him some place warm.”
Ancel barely heard the words as he delved into the Eye to study Ryne’s aura. He gasped as he did so. Mater rolled off the man in waves of color. Where an aura normally appeared as a solid shell around a living being, he discerned rents in Ryne’s. From those fissures, essences leaked in a grayish hue that at times grew darker before shining to near silver. Somehow, Ancel knew what they were.
Sela essences.
“I know where we are,” Mirza said. “This is one of the routes my father takes when we’re heading to the quarries or to Harval for mining supplies.” He pointed up the incline. “Not too far up the slope is one of the many caves in this area. We usually keep them stocked with wood and the like. The snows won’t be as deep either because of the way the ridges protect each lower one.”
“One problem,” Galiana said. “How are we going to get him up there if he cannot walk?”
“I–I can manage with Ancel’s help,” Ryne said, his voice a raspy whisper.
Ancel frowned.
“N-need,” Ryne said, his teeth chattering. “S-same as you used a-against the Knight and for the Chainin. Subm-m-it that need t-t-to the essences through your Et-etch-etch-ings. P-pic-picture what you nee-need and the Et-Etchings will grant it.” When he finished, Ryne’s chest labored as he sucked in great breaths. Steam spilled from his mouth and nostrils.
Ancel closed his eyes and reached to his Etchings. He pictured every intricate detail, each edge, the pictures of the sun’s searing flames, the soft glow from the twin moons, the earth below where they touched. What he craved was strength. He delved into the Eye and opened his Matersense. Immediately, the clamoring voices tried to overwhelm him, but he guided them down into the depths of the pool within the Eye and into his sela.
A contented sigh came from the voices. “What is it you need of us?” they said in a chorus.
Strength.
“Take it. It is yours, but remember this is a bargain. You take, we feed.”
You have all you need before you.
Their answer was a sudden surge of Form essences mingled with a bit of the Streams. He guided them into the Etchings. As soon as he did so, the intricate art along his arms writhed with life. Light filtered in to bond earth and metal together in a way that would put a mastersmith to shame, then that luminance diffused into its more potent form: energy. A heated blast rushed through him, snatching all sense of touch from his chest and arm. Almost involuntarily, his hand snaked out. Ryne’s fingers engulfed his arm. With an effortless snap of his wrist and forearm, Ancel swung Ryne around, plowing through snow as if the deep drifts and Ryne’s body were weightless. He faced uphill. A gasp from Mirza and a hiss from Galiana reminded him they were still present.
“Lead on,” Ancel said.
Mirza eyed him and Ryne before he nodded and headed up the incline. Behind them, Galiana guided the three horses.
Not sparing a moment to contemplate all he’d done, Ancel dragged Ryne through the snow, the giant a pin weight on his arm. Up ahead, a path cleared before Charra.
Deep in his Matersense, Ancel gaped at the elemental bursts flying from Charra. The snow and ice melted like a hot knife through butter. Where Charra found such heat in the freezing cold was beyond him.
While Charra’s clearing did help, it created another problem. The ground was becoming slick with mud. On several occasions, Ancel slipped, and as they worked their way higher, the more treacherous the path became. He wanted to check on Ryne, but he needed all his focus to maintain his footing. Slowly, he also grew colder. Without the ability to bundle himself up, his arms and legs soon went from tingling with cold to outright numbness. If not for his scarf and hood, he may not have been able to feel his ears or his nose. Ice clogged the cloth at his mouth.
Need. The word surged through him. He needed warmth if he was to continue dragging Ryne to safety without the protection of his furs for himself. His wish communicated itself to his Etchings and the drawing of the sun twitched as if it wanted to walk off his skin. Warmth rolled through his body.
Head down, Mirza leveled off as they crested the foothill and reached the Red Ridge Mountains proper. When Ancel gained the same expanse, he spared Ryne a glance. His mentor’s eyes were closed, but he did appear to breath evenly.
Ancel let his shoulders relax as
he took in their surroundings. The clouds had finally given up their fight with the moons. Silver-blue illuminated the rest of the way, allowing the mountains to throw their shadows out across the land in a vast shroud. Whereas the ground before rose in gradual inclines, here, the walls shot up before them, cliff-like, glittering with thousand-foot long icy teeth. The phenomenon continued up the mountain.
As he was about to voice the opinion that there was no way he could drag Ryne farther up, Mirza pointed and led them alongside the steep slope. The deep shadows had hidden a wide path free of precipitation. A glance up revealed why.
Above them, an overhang protected this shelf of land-the ridges after which the mountains gained their name. They spanned to overhangs, each jutting out farther than the one below it, protecting each in turn. Out into open space was a set of the icy teeth. He realized then what it was: a frozen waterfall cascading off the ridge above.
The view to the land below was breathtaking. For miles, moonlight illuminated the plains and hills in a mosaic of white, silver, blue tints, and shadow. Whiteness still wreathed the area where Eldanhill should have been. A glow lit the clouds in the town’s vicinity.
“In here,” Mirza called, his voice echoing. His head popped out from the dark moments later. “We’ll be safe for now.”
Ancel squinted. The darkness became a wide cave mouth. He let out a long exhale and dragged Ryne’s prone form inside. Darkness swallowed him.
Strong odors of wet earth and mustiness filled his nostrils. From a few feet away came a shuffling and Mirza’s muttered curses. Running water gurgled nearby. A sudden flash of light filled the interior, and he averted his eyes. As his sight adjusted, he took in his surroundings.
The ground was worn smooth from use. What appeared to be old clothes were piled near the blackened embers of a firepit. A small waterfall cascaded from an outcrop at the back of the cave, the falling water pouring into a stream that ran past them into a small clear pool before continuing into darkness.
Galiana stood near the cave mouth holding a lightstone. “Don’t worry, I made sure to hide the entrance with a Forging. No one can see the light.”
In one of the corners were several stacks of branches. Mirza was already gathering them.
“You can set him down now.” Galiana nodded to Ryne.
Ancel looked down. Ryne was still holding onto his arm. His face carried a slight blue tinge similar to the day they first encountered him. Ryne’s eyes were closed but his breathing was steady. Ancel pried his fingers loose. At the same time, he released the Eye and his hold on his Etchings.
The room spun and blackness took him.
Chapter 27
Sometimes the snow fell so heavily it blotted out the surroundings, but as the flakes touched the ground, the blood of the fallen painted it red. Moans of the dying, wails of the mourning, screeches of the bloodthirsty, and the gurgles of death washed through the air upon the howling wind. Mangled armor and torn bodies lay strewn as far as the eye could see as if flung by a massive storm.
There had been a storm, Sakari thought. A storm of death.
His shadeling army boiled black across the land tearing into the Dagodin ranks.
And shattered.
Garbed in armor to match the bloody snow, the Tribunal’s soldiers held fast. Their shield wall dropped with the precision of a hundred thousand dancers synchronized to one song. A symphony of steel played. Shadelings died.
Several hundred beasts Blurred up and over the shield wall. Bolts of fire and lightning met them. The concussions from both should have rocked the Dagodin formations below the shadelings, but the Shins had formed a layered barrier to protect them. Dark blood spattered upon its surface. Bodies landed, appearing as if they were suspended in the air above the enemy’s ranks.
As for his vasumbrals, the writhing, worm-like monstrosities churned underground before boring up and out. Earth and snow crashed into any nearby soldiers, flinging them from their feet or crushing them. Maws agape the beasts snatched men by threes or fours, their black bodies bulging as they swallowed. Foolhardy Shins attacked them with any manner of Forge, from icy spikes able to skewer a man in half, to searing fire waves or bolts crackling with energy. Unaffected, the vasumbrals wreaked havoc, absorbing as many Forges as they could, growing stronger, maturing.
But not fast enough. Not against this army.
The telltale hiss that imitated a giant sword slicing the wind rose over the din of battle. Those weren’t any blades. More portals were opening to allow the Tribunal’s Matii in-Dagodin, Shin, High Shin, and Raijin by the thousands.
Mater surged moments later. A swath of light cut through a shadebane, decimating its number by half. The daemons threw up their own shield too late, barely saving a few of their number.
With the Exalted and the Raijin joining the fray, he knew he needed to call a retreat. This wasn’t the time or the place to war against them. Not unprepared. Not without the Skadwaz and not with immature vasumbrals. Besides, Ryne and his ward had fled. Of that, he was sure.
He considered breaching the shield over the town and taking the young man’s father and the woman, Irmina. He sensed her presence there and knew the council was still within Eldanhill’s confines. Acquiring either would not break the accords as they had both attacked him directly. However, destroying the shield would expose the rest of Eldanhill. That would violate the agreement.
So much had transpired as he hoped, as his master decreed, but so much had gone wrong. Ever since Benez, he and Thanarien had searched for years to find the Dorns, all to no avail. Rumors spread like snow from the heavens, each one dissolving when they grew warm. Someone had used his master’s own methods against them, spreading lies as if they were the truth, subtly changing fact into myth and myth into fact.
Now, he’d failed by no fault of his own, or at least it would appear that way to Kahkon. The accords had always been a hindrance, but the Eztezians forced it upon the Nine as reassurance before accepting the Etchings. As much as it seemed that he had wanted to fulfill the orders to kill Thanarien, they prevented him and any other netherling from doing so. He could not help his smile. A useless habit he’d picked up from humanity, but he smiled nonetheless. The pact was of no consequence now though, not as far as Thanarien was concerned. His old master had broken that protection himself.
A chance still remained to trap Thanarien and his ward, but he doubted anyone else knew the location of the nearest Entosis. If they did, then Charra would need to lend a hand. He knew he needed to tread carefully now. His job was a precarious undertaking. Hopefully, he’d bought enough time.
After surveying the remnants of the battle once more, he decided it was time to withdraw. He nodded to the ebony, glossy-winged form of the archdaemon, its color tinged with deep blue, and watched as it concentrated, fixing its mind along the link with all its brethren.
As he turned away, Sakari waved a hand and several portals appeared, their blackness blotting out the land behind them. He stepped through. The portals would be left open long enough for the vasumbrals and the daemons. Whatever shadelings made it back through would be a plus. The rest he would abandon to wreak havoc and keep the Tribunal occupied for a while.
He had a homecoming to prepare.
Chapter 28
On one knee, head bowed, Irmina waited for the Exalted. The stillness of the room needled at her, making her want to stand, move around, anything to dispel her apprehension. The marble floor of the Mystera’s main audience hall was cold even through her leather armor. Dagodin and Ashishin had escorted Stefan and the other council members to another building. Full-throated screams echoed from that direction, rising above the howling gale outside. She flinched with each painful wail.
When the door opened, five people strode into the room, chilly air and swirls of snow accompanying them. If not for the softness of the three females’ features, the difference in sex would have been impossible to tell, especially with their matching, pristine white robes. Colors shimmere
d from their sleeves as if a living rainbow inhabited them. As she noticed within their room at the Iluminus, the reek of festering flesh wafted from the Exalted. Throat constricting, Irmina swallowed against a sudden lump.
The Exalted’s heads were bald and speckled like eggs. But where an egg would be smooth, their skin reminded her of old, pale leather. It was wrinkled and dry, loose in spots, pulling at the edges in some areas, while tight and shiny in others. Not a single pair of eyes among them contained an iris and instead appeared to be radiant, golden pools. The hands exposed by the openings of their long sleeves bore the same splotches as their faces and heads and were just as sickly and emaciated. Irmina always thought of Jerem as old, maybe ancient. When she gazed upon the Exalted, one word came to mind.
Eternal.
“Stand.” Their voices were one.
She obeyed.
“What is the meaning of this, Raijin Irmina?” The voice was the disembodied one she remembered from the Iluminus.
Irmina tried to discern who spoke but not a single pair of lips moved.
“You were ordered to kill this Ryne, whoever he was linked with, and the council.”
“You did none of this but still saw fit to call on us,” said the voice that dripped like water.
“You failed,” said musical tones.
“Yet you dared summons usss,” hissed steam from liquid poured over hot coals
“Punishment,” Thunder rumbled.
The voices rose around her, their doubts repeated, their threats maintained. They came from so many directions her head spun. If there had been a wall close by, she would have leaned on it to steady herself. Instead, she did the one thing she could think of; she allowed herself to delve into the Eye. Almost instantly, a sense of calm settled over her.
With serenity came clarity. Each voice grew more distinct. She could attach each to a face. Disembodied belonged to the woman on the far right, her nose slightly crooked. Musical tones tinkled from a man with smoother features than the others, his skin a shade darker, a wry smile on his face. Owned by a woman a hand taller than the other two females, dripping water pattered faster and faster before cutting off as Irmina stared directly at her. The hissing voice was a woman who made a habit of interlocking her fingers as she spoke and whose expression showed no emotion. The last man, thunder, had eyes that reminded her of storm clouds. Their voices dwindled to a faint buzz as Irmina looked from one to the other.
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