“Send it where you will,” Ryne said in a strained voice.
Galiana pictured the mountains farther to the north and sent the image to the construct. The creature took a few lumbering steps before walking became natural. It disappeared out the cave’s mouth and into the dim morning.
Chapter 30
Each of Ryne’s steps became practiced agony, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. His breaths left his lips in wheezing gasps. Legs and arms on fire despite the freezing temperature, he carried Ancel on his back. He found himself hunched over to accommodate Ancel’s unexpected weight. What in Ilumni’s name did the boy eat? He didn’t look close to being as heavy as he felt. Careful to stay away from icy patches, Ryne strode forward, telling himself he only imagined the cold, the aches, and the soreness.
For a while, he thought the increased weight was simply a reflection of how worn out his own body had become. Until he realized the truth. His body was not healing. Both his energy and life were leaking away in small increments from the vasumbral’s touch. One side of his aura was a torn mass. Anguish accompanied each movement as his sela eased out through the rents despite him trying to force it into place by sheer will.
One chance for his survival existed. If they could reach it before he collapsed completely and another snowstorm buried them. He fought against the thought, concentrating on each step instead. If he failed this, Ancel would most likely die also. That was not an option. Determination not to lose his ward lent him strength. He surged forward.
Charra loped in front, often tossing its head as if trying to dislodge something from its shoulders. Snow and ice flew as the netherling manipulated the elements to clear a path. With his Matersense, Ryne determined what Charra did was not a Forging. It appeared as if the beast and the elements were one-they, an extension of the netherling-and Charra had some ability to shift them as if they were physical entities. The action reminded Ryne of watching a puppy at play.
A serrated blade of staggered cliff-faces made up the ridges on either side of them. Pockmarked with overhanging rock, crags, and precipices along the canyon walls they spread before disappearing in the light flurries that fell. Under most overhangs were deep hollows leading to caves similar to the one they left several hours ago. The phenomenon occurred every few hundred feet up the sheer, ice-coated walls. At the peak was a massive plateau, its edge jutting over the cliffs and offering protection to the gully through which they traveled. The occasional snow cornice broke off, tumbled into the passage, and left a dull rumble to accompany the mournful wind.
“The caves are from all the quarrying,” Mirza said from a few paces behind him. “The cliffs have been our livelihood for years.”
A rainbow of color reflected from the ice and the diamond glint of embedded minerals and metals. The sun shone at an angle well shy of noon, giving warmth to Ryne’s weary bones. He was unaccustomed to experiencing the cold, and he could no longer feel his toes. “Were you both miners?” he asked to keep his mind occupied.
“By the gods, no.” Mirza chuckled. “Ancel was too busy chasing the girls, and well, I had this habit of disobeying my father who happens to be the foreman at the mines. He wanted me to have no part of his old life as a Dagodin, but,” he touched his chest, “this uniform called to me. Everything about being a Dagodin fascinated me. Let’s just say my father wasn’t pleased.” He paused for a few moments, a faraway expression crossing his features. “And now they have him too.” Regret seeped from his tone.
Ryne could only imagine what Mirza was experiencing. To know the Exalted now held your last surviving parent after their followers had taken your mother must be tearing at Mirza’s insides. Ryne allowed silence to grow between them.
A quick look over his shoulder showed that Galiana still followed, keeping an eye on their rear. The passage continued ahead, the footing treacherous, but not as bad as it would be without the series of ridges protecting the lower areas from the worst of the weather. Although the wind crooned a doleful dirge, it did little more than ruffle his cloak. Snow and ice showered the passage behind as another cornice fell. The customary rumble chased it.
As the noise droned to a halt, another reached Ryne. It reminded him of a donkey’s bray, but then he realized the sound was a cracked howl. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite focus. He paused, frowning. “Wolves?” He should have been able to tell what they were, but too much had become skewed.
“There aren’t wolves in this part of the Red Ridge, not that I know of at least.” Mirza’s hand eased down to his bow as he scanned the ridges.
The howl came again, but this time another followed. And another.
“Rockhounds.” Mirza said, voice a breathy whisper. “I–It’s the trackers.” Eyes wild, he stopped and stared back the way they came. “I’ll never forget that sound. It’s the same as when they came for my mother. Those are Pathfinder hounds. They’re usually more of them, but they must have split to cover several directions.”
With Mirza mentioning the animals, Ryne recalled the familiarity he had with their howls. The six-legged creatures were descendants of similar beasts created from the Forms during the height of the wars between the Eztezians and the gods. Coveted for their ability to traverse the worst terrain, many a hunter or herder reared them. However, unlike their namesakes, they lacked hanging jowls, their features more like the wide-muzzled lapras that inhabited the wilds of Ostania.
Behind them, Galiana had stopped to peer up the gully.
“Can we outrun them?” Ryne hefted Ancel higher onto his back.
“No.” Mirza tilted his head; his face strained with concentration. “They don’t seem to quite have our scent yet, but once they do, we’ll have a mile, maybe two at best before they catch us.”
Galiana kicked her spurs and her horse trotted over to where they stood. Worry creased her forehead. “Go.”
Ryne turned and began loping up the path Charra had made. Behind came another bray from the rockhounds.
“How far is this place of yours?” Galiana called.
“After this gully, maybe another four miles.”
“Too far. Our pursuers are close enough now that they will pick up our scents at any moment.”
“There must be something one of you can do,” Mirza said.
“Anything I try will destroy any chance we have. If you are what you say you are, Ryne. Now would be the time to act.”
Ryne gave a slow shake of his head, while trying to ignore his burning limbs. “Despite what you have read, there are limits to our power. And I have just about reached mine. I refuse to attempt anything that will jeopardize Ancel’s life any further.”
“If they catch us, it will not matter,” Galiana said.
Ryne pushed harder, willing himself to place one foot after another. He would see Ancel through this no matter what. If he was forced to fight, then he would make sure no one survived that could stop Ancel from reaching the Entosis. If it came to that, he would tell Charra where to take Ancel.
A low whine made him glance up the path. Charra sat watching them. A feathery touch brushed Ryne’s mind. He shivered. It was too familiar, echoing the link he once had with Sakari. No words were spoken but he immediately knew it originated from Charra. The creature gave off an impression, more like a picture of what it intended.
“The daggerpaw will give us the time we need,” Ryne said over his shoulder.
“Look,” Mirza said, “I know he’s big even for a daggerpaw, and he’s smarter than most, but what can Charra possibly do that you two can’t?”
“Whatever it is, let’s hope it’s good.” Ryne continued on, passing Charra where the daggerpaw crouched with its gaze riveted on the gully behind them.
When the hounds brayed once more, this time closer, and with more urgency, Ryne stopped. He eased Ancel from his back onto a snowy mound. When he rose, he drew his greatword.
Eyes fearful, Mirza drew abreast of him. Ryne couldn’t help his smile as the young man d
rew a bow and nocked an arrow.
“They have the scent now.” Next to him, Galiana peered up toward the cliff faces and the plateaus above. She turned to Charra. “Whatever you plan to do, now is the time.”
Without his Matersense, Ryne didn’t see what Charra did. There was a brief sensation of pressure on his mind. A surge of energy and increased awareness ebbed through him. The air throbbed, followed by the slicing sound of a portal opening. Then Charra was gone. Before Ryne could locate the beast, a barking roar echoed from beyond the gully. Ryne understood.
“Run, run now,” the bark said. “Run.”
Pulling on the renewed vigor he was certain Charra had lent him, Ryne sheathed his sword and hoisted Ancel.
They fled.
Chapter 31
Irmina tensed as the search party surged through the snow and away from the small cave set in the cliff behind them. Fear and worry tied her stomach in knots. She had stopped feeling the link to Ancel not long after he left Eldanhill. Her mind conjured the worst possible scenarios from its absence.
“On the other side of that ridge,” a tracker yelled above the rockhounds’ baying.
Similar to the one she controlled in the Mondros Forest, these had a stony carapace, but were not as large, maybe the size of a wolf. The six-legged creatures paced back and forth at the plateau’s edge.
Ahead of her, several High Ashishin in woolen trousers and fur-lined jackets picked their way toward the edge of the ridge. Half a dozen Pathfinders in their customary silver armor, faces enclosed in full helms, followed them. The trackers were pointing below as she caught up.
The tiny forms of three people, two on horseback, were fleeing through a gully several thousand feet below them. Somehow unimpeded by snow, they made good time. The largest of them was carrying another person on his back. Sunlight glinted from swaths of color on the big man’s arms. Irmina’s breath caught in her throat. At once she knew that was Ryne and Ancel. She attempted to find the link but came away with nothing.
One of the High Ashishin snarled. Three others raised their hands.
Essences of cold coalesced as they sapped them from the ice, snow, and the chill in the air itself. A crackling sound ensued; a semi-transparent bridge formed. It elongated out over the precipice and down.
A roar reverberated, rebounding off the surrounding cliffs. The bridge shattered.
Icy shards careened through the air. Quick as thought, the Pathfinders erected a shield of solid air. When the projectiles struck its translucent surface, they broke into pieces. The Matii scrambled away from the precipice.
“They dare to attack us?” High Jin Quintess blurted, round-eyed, auburn hair spilling about her face. “Finders, use-”
A gust of howling wind cut her off. It abruptly grew to gale-like proportions, snowflakes pelting them, tiny icicles pinging off armor, and thudding into Irmina’s clothing. If not for her layered wools and furs, Irmina was sure the wind and icy barrage would have sliced to the bone. Squinting, she pulled her scarf up to cover her mouth and bowed her head. The snowflakes became pebbles.
However, she knew they shouldn’t be exposed to the hail of ice. The way the ridges and plateaus formed, with this one being maybe a few hundred feet from the one directly opposite, and the method in which the outcrop of the ridges above extended over each other, they should have been sheltered from such weather. The storm had found a way to funnel itself down into the passage.
Before she could dwell on the idea, the hail grew bigger, some almost the size of a fist. Now, they didn’t simply thud against her clothes. They hurt. One struck her in the head. She cried out. Bright lights danced before her eyes. A moment later, she felt something wet under her fur-lined cap. Warmth trickled down her brow followed by the sharp scent of blood.
She thought she heard yelling above the gale, but when she glanced up she couldn’t see but a foot or two in front of her face. Ice crusted her eyebrows and lids. Instinctively, she retreated to the cliff face rather than attempt to move forward against the swirling eddies buffeting her. Her breaths grew raspy as the temperature plunged.
Head throbbing, she remembered the caves. With her back to the icy wall, the torrent of the storm was less. She edged sideways, a hand feeling along the cliff to where the opening should be. When she met empty air, she grasped the edge and pulled. The cave mouth and the warmth within yawned blessedly before her. Breaths coming in ragged gasps, she stumbled inside.
Irmina blinked several times for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A rustle of movement sounded in a corner, and then a light bloomed. The luminance resolved into a small fire. Around it was what remained of their party.
There was High Jin Quintess, lying on her back, eyes closed; High Shin Hardan, his eyes reflecting the flames, silver hair soggy as he worked a mending on Quintess; High Shin Cantor with his broad back against a wall, nursing a gash to his head, blood running down his dark-skinned pockmarked face. Of their counterpart, Neftana, there was no sign. Only four of the six Pathfinders remained. Not a single tracker or rockhound was among those inside.
A sound drifted over the howling wind outside. Several more joined it. Although her head throbbed, Irmina frowned. It was a bark ending in a roar or piercing growl.
She reached her senses out and recoiled as her mind touched another consciousness. It was like slamming her fist into a brick wall. She gasped.
“What is it,” High Shin Cantor asked, his voice a dull rumble steeped in pain.
“Daggerpaws,” Irmina replied. “Hundreds of them.”
Chapter 32
Ancel drew the sword. The Etchings running down the blade glowed. As they did so, the essences rushed into its surface and bonded. In a burst of luminance, the weapon transformed, its width increasing to massive proportions made up entirely of completed elements. The Etchings spelled out a single word.
Antonjur.
He pointed the sword skyward, to the heavens above Jenoah.
Elemental power roiled across the sky as if the gods of Streams and Flows battled for supremacy. No, not as if. They did indeed battle. He felt them. The threads of their power, of their essences, flowed and congealed all around him. He imagined their fear-inspiring visages clad in the finest armors, only their sparkling eyes showing through slits in their helms.
Ilumni and Amuni wielded the elements of Streams. The essences of light and shade within each comingled. The god of light’s power resonated in the lightning flashes and in the wan afternoon sun. Amuni’s taint bubbled everywhere, from the foliage below, infected and decaying with his shade, to the darkness choking the air. Even the sun appeared diminished here in Hydae.
Opposite those two, Ancel sensed the twin goddess and god of Flows lashing out together. Their power sent prickles across his skin as if he stood naked instead of in his silversteel armor filigreed with Etchings. Aeoli commanded the void, using the air itself to form the storm winds. Hyzenki paired with his sister in the fight, breaking the thunderheads to make water join the fray. Black rain pelted down before howling winds whipped the drops sideways like arrows shot from a million bows.
However, the attacks were not aimed at each other. The blasts soared through the sky, across the lands and seas, headed toward Ancel and the hundreds of thousands of people in Jenoah. A single word echoed in Ancel’s mind.
Protect.
Energy coruscated from his sword. It formed a dome many miles wide and high, encompassing the entire city. From his Etchings came a Matersurge. It joined that in the air. The primal essences were his to command. A towering figure wreathed in light formed.
The attack of the four gods struck. The world went white. He screamed.
Mouth open in a soundless shriek, Ancel jerked upright. Sweat poured down his face. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest. “Mother, Da …” his voice trailed off as the greenery around him caught his eye. A dream. He gulped in air, let out a slow breath, and then frowned. Green? And why was it so warm? The last he remembered was dragging Ry
ne-. He froze, his heart thundering once more. Where am I?
Dotted by occasional blooms, verdant plains of grass spread down from the slope where he sat. Beyond them was a lake, its waters glinting with the sunlight, and a forest with so many different shades of color it appeared as if someone draped a rainbow atop the trees. The aroma of fruits and flowers was so overwhelming he could taste them. The expansive forest continued to where a mountain sprouted in the distance, a titan of earth and stone wearing a green cloak, its shoulders and peaks disappearing in mists and clouds. He scrubbed at his eyes and licked his lips, but neither the sights nor the tastes wavered.
Although he couldn’t see them, he felt the pull of essences as if they wanted to snatch the skin from his body. It brought memories of the night the man in black took his mother. He slid his hand to where the link said his sword should be next to him and closed his fingers around the hilt.
“You’re awake, finally.”
Ancel almost leapt out of his skin. He snapped his head around. Behind him, Ryne stood with a hand on his hip. Eyes narrowed, the giant man, stared at him.
After swallowing a few deep breaths that he hoped Ryne didn’t notice, Ancel found words. “What happened?” He somehow felt more refreshed than he had in a long time.
“You Forged too much Mater in your efforts to help me. You not only depleted your sela, but you damaged your aura.” Ryne still squinted.
Ancel remembered what he saw leaking from Ryne and the cracks in the man’s aura. He nodded.
“It’s why I needed to get here and brought you.” The tightness in Ryne’s eyes eased. “There are several outcomes to a broken aura. Madness can be a result. Death is inevitable if the damage isn’t completely sealed. This,” Ryne gestured around them, “is one of the few places where such a mending can take place. It’s also one the few places where an Eztezian can empower their Etchings.”
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