Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  “Not well I’m afraid. The Exalted sent Qunitess and a few others from the Assembly, myself included, and Irmina, after you and your charges. We were about to attempt your capture when something attacked us. We failed. Irmina said she sensed daggerpaws by the hundreds outside the cave we hid inside.” He paused. “But I saw Quintess wounds. Neither hers nor my own were from any creature I know. In fact, I am positive it was some kind of Forging used against us. One we were unable to defend against. We lost Neftana, a few Pathfinders, and the trackers.”

  Galiana’s heart skipped a beat. She’d hoped Charra hadn’t harmed them. There was no more time for uncertainty or changes to their plans; she needed to know the daggerpaw’s true nature. “How is Quintess?”

  “Alive but suffering within the Iluminus. There isn’t much she can do. She claims to have found some person who can finish our cause there, one the Exalted will not suspect.”

  Galiana shook her head. After all their planning, so much relied on chance. Quintess always made the best decisions. She could not see the High Jin failing now. “I trust that she will be fine.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Mirza and Ancel watched her every move. “You should come meet them. However, be warned, the young Eztezian more than likely fears you and the Pathfinders, while his best friend hates you with a passion.”

  “Stories about Pathfinders can be moving things, I suppose,” Cantor said.

  “That’s not all. You took the younger one’s mother.”

  “Oh. Have you told them?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “How do you keep a secret that big, Cantor?”

  “You tell no one,” Cantor said with a wry smile.

  “Exactly. Now come meet them. They can use some reassurance.”

  “So you haven’t even hinted about what we,” Cantor gestured to himself and the Pathfinders behind him with an incredulous expression, “were created for?”

  “You get to tell him.” With those words, Galiana turned and headed toward Ancel, knowing Cantor would follow. The clink of armor and thump of boots confirmed it.

  Ancel’s eyes grew rounder as they approached. As for Mirza, he glared, eyes seeing through her, lips curling in a snarl. Ryne was expressionless, and Charra simply watched.

  When High Shin Cantor stopped before Ancel, he gave a slight bow. The twenty Pathfinders formed a double file ring of shining steel. They placed gauntleted fists to their chests.

  “Eztezian Ancel Dorn,” High Cantor said, his voice grave to match his face, “I present to you, your personal guard.”

  The young man looked as if he would faint.

  Galiana smiled.

  Chapter 42

  Sitting within sight of the Iluminus and built around the Everlast Mountains’ foothills, the city of Coren during the winter was supposed to be a shell of what it was the rest of the year. Whereas spring, summer, and fall meant prepping the vast fields at its outskirts, growing much of the food that not only supplied the Iluminus but also much of Barham, and then delivering the renowned harvests that brought people from all over Granadia, winter meant rest and a lull in visitors. Not at present.

  Tucked deep within her cloak, boots slogging through slush, Irmina weaved her way along streets crowded with more than the farmers and folk from the Iluminus who normally patronized Coren at this time of year. Dagodin in boiled leather, armor, or cloth; Ashishin in colors to represent their essences; dark-garbed Raijin; as well as one or two immaculately clad Pathfinders trod purposefully along the cobbled streets. The cold air reeked of unwashed bodies, beasts of burden, and clogged drains. Foot, animal, and wagon traffic added their sonorous drone.

  She’d contemplated not coming here, but several notes from High Jin Quintess had set this in motion. After discreet introductions with a few of those on the list, she followed Quintess’ suggestion to set up this rendezvous. Time was growing short according to the information provided. The refugees in Eldanhill were due to proceed soon. If she stood any chance at freeing the Eldanhill Council, as well helping those associated with Jerem’s cause in the Iluminus, she needed to act. Events were too close to becoming desperate.

  Gray, basalt buildings hugged each other, many at least five stories, while others were square or rounded towers. Light glowed from windows. Torches and lamps sprang to life with the encroaching twilight. She’d memorized the map provided by Quintess, and after a few twists and turns down tight lanes and broad walks, she arrived at her goal: a nondescript inn, which appeared to be frequented by mostly farmers. Despite her apprehension, she smiled. In her current garb, she would fit right in with this crowd.

  The low tinkle of music filtered from the establishment as she approached. A wispy-haired farmer pushed open the door, glanced back inside, laughed, and then muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He pulled his furs around him and shuffled away. Irmina grabbed the large oak door by the handle before it closed on the warmth from inside. When she entered, the light music grew more pronounced, but laughter and chatter drowned it out. Giana smoke scented the interior in a wavy haze, rising to the ceiling to mingle with the waft from various dishes.

  A pale-skinned serving girl greeted her, gliding across the wooden floor as if it was dry instead of a muddy mess. “Welcome to the Angry Lion. Table or bar?”

  “Table.” Irmina rubbed her arms under her cloak. “So cold this year, don’t you think?”

  “Not more than any other year. You could go farther east if you wanted to stay warm.” The serving girl said the words without a change in her demeanor.

  “East does have more favorable weather.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the serving girl answered. “This way to your table.”

  Irmina’s anxiety grew, the flutter changing into a clench. The inn’s smoky innards did little to help. She was certain the serving girl had said the correct words, but the woman acted no differently than if Irmina was a usual customer. The daggers hidden at her sleeves and in the folds of her cloak beckoned to her, but she took a calming breath, fighting down the urge to snake a hand closer to one of them. Whatever happened, she would play this one out to the end.

  Eyes absorbing every nuance for the slightest change in the patrons at the tables, Irmina followed the serving girl past the bar and into a separate room, this one also filled with people who were smoking, drinking, and eating. Irmina strained her ears for a telltale rasp of steel on leather. There was nothing but the murmur of several dozen conversations, laughter, and the clink of dinnerware and glass.

  Tension easing up her spine with each passing moment, she allowed herself a little space from the girl. Without ever looking back, the girl continued forward to a heavy metal door with a curtain across its entrance.

  “Here we are.” The serving girl pushed open the door and ushered her in.

  Lamps along the walls lit this room brighter than the ones before it. Whatever conversation had been occurring before came to a halt. An eerie silence filled the room as every face turned Irmina’s way. She recognized quite a few from the Iluminus. Every one of them was an Ashishin dressed similar to her in clothing befitting farmers. At the sight of appreciative nods and pleasant expressions, the tightness eased from her body.

  “You may leave us now,” Irmina said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The door closed behind the serving girl.

  A man with hair the color of silversteel stood. She recognized the face immediately, as well as the flicker within his eyes that matched his hair too perfectly and seemed to change color the way a chunk of glass does when turned at certain angles to reflect light. It reminded her of the fun she and Ancel used to have long ago playing with pieces of glass, watching the colors change as they spotted it on the side of the Whitewater Inn. The lack of lines around the man’s face served to convince her.

  “I know what you are.” She tried to breathe easy even as her hand trembled and inadvertently crept toward one of her daggers. Whatever she did, her mind told her not to attack him. It would break the pact netherlings made
ages ago.

  The smile on High Shin Hardan’s face stopped her cold. “Good. So does everyone else.” His voice was devoid of inflection, vacant as a dead man’s sightless gaze.

  Confirmation flitted across the sea of faces. She frowned. “But-”

  “Sorry that your first encounter with one of us has ruined your thoughts on what we might be.” Hardan turned his hands palm upward. “However, like humans, there is good, bad, and indifferent among us.”

  She’d read much from Quintess’ books about netherlings. The more she read, the more she became convinced that most sought to replace the gods with themselves. The tomes had been less clear about the function of others among the creatures. Suffice to say that after her experience with Sakari, she trusted none of them. “Which one of those do you fit into?”

  “You could say good.”

  “How so?”

  “Not meaning to answer a question with a question,” he said, “but have you ever stopped to wonder why the Pathfinders are what they are?”

  She grimaced in confusion. With every Ashishin group, at least one Pathfinder would be somewhere close in case a Matii lost themselves to the madness. They also hunted anyone said to have broken the Principles guarding Mater, specifically using it to do harm to others or break the Tribunal’s law. However, over the years, their main purpose had been to find any taken by the madness. What happened to that person afterward was mired in conjecture.

  “I see, like many, you have taken the Pathfinders for granted, not even seeing their relationship and effect on the Forgers among you.”

  Irmina narrowed her eyes, still confused.

  “If you were able to go through the annals of all Ashishin who remained constantly under a Pathfinder’s protection, you would most likely notice one thing: beyond a doubt those Matii survived more years than any other before they succumbed to the madness.”

  She felt her eyebrows shoot up at the implication. “Are you saying the Pathfinders were responsible for lessening the essences’ effects?”

  High Shin Hardan’s smug expression spoke on its own, but he still answered. “Yes. There’s a reason why Pathfinders are required to wear the armor they do and be individually unidentifiable. Among every group of them is at least one netherling. Why? There are those of us, my caste specifically, whose ability it is to lessen the essences’ mental impact.”

  “How many were aware of this?”

  “Prior to the last several years? Only the Exalted and a few within the Assembly. A secret is no longer a secret if everyone knows.” Hardan smiled. “Besides the awe and fear associated with the Pathfinders served us well.”

  Secrets upon secrets wrapped in lies or veiled truths. Irmina couldn’t help the loathing she felt for how much the Iluminus’ hierarchy kept hidden or had changed. So many people’s futures ruined.

  A man stood. Irmina squinted as she recognized his face, her mouth opening, and then closing with her shock.

  “Raijin Irmina.” Exalted Buneri’s voice carried its customary deep rumble. “He has told you this much to show his goodwill, to reveal truth as Quintess has done. She has been your contact so you know what is happening. Either we start trusting each other or we perish and our loved ones with us.”

  Of all the Exalted, Irmina had disliked him the most. When she discovered they were behind her parent’s death, she pictured herself gutting the man. But he had been one of the two among them who had voted against their actions. It did not make her like him, but it gave her a measure of respect for him.

  It didn’t help that he was correct. They had all risked this meeting in a city inhabited by Matii, many of whom belonged to the Tribunal. All of them had much to lose and more to gain by their success. Shoving her questions aside, she strode forward to the head of the table and stood next to Hardan and Buneri. She felt inconsequential next to an Exalted and a netherling. None of that mattered now. The one thing of importance was the plan and carrying it out perfectly. Expectant expressions greeted her as she gazed out into the crowd.

  “Right,” she began, “you all know who I am. Each of you lead a sect or a division within the Iluminus where you command Matii or soldiers. And each of you are of the Gray Council.” She let that sink in for a moment. “You will have noticed those under you are being recalled to the Iluminus, and then massed here and at the Vallum of Light. The reason given is to strike at the uprisings in Randane and Barson, to quell the advance of the shade, and to retake Castere.

  “I believe there’s more to this. Not all of the White and Shadow are at each other’s throats. Someone in the Iluminus, someone of power, wanted the Travelshafts open. Someone wanted the zyphyls woken so as to release the barrier they held on the shafts. Folly, many of you would agree, as it has allowed the Svenzar to once again raid. I believe the meaning is deeper rooted.

  “The real reason was to give the shadelings a way to cross the Vallum without having to breach its power and so they could avoid the Heralds.”

  Irmina gauged the shocked, outraged, and grave expressions across the room. “But they have also played into our hands. The shafts will be keys in our attack. You each have intimate knowledge of how your sections operate. Knowledge we will use.”

  Silence ruled as she laid out her plans to escape the Iluminus. In the morning, she would send word via eagle to Torandil. She did not trust the Heralds. Jerem had shown how he could infiltrate the message maps through them. The possibility someone from the Tribunal Assembly did the same was too great a risk to overlook. She hoped her birds reached in time.

  Chapter 43

  No matter how many times he repeated High Shin Cantor’s words, and recounted the ensuing conversation, Ancel still found it hard to believe. The Pathfinders were his personal guard. That was their foremost responsibility. After all the time spent fearing them, Mirza’s stories about how they took his mother, praying they did not visit Eldanhill, now he was supposed to believe they were his to command? And yet, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t dismiss the claim as ludicrous. The affinity he felt to them spoke all on its own.

  If that wasn’t enough, when he stepped outside his room, there they would be, standing guard outside his door, at least two of them. In their silversteel armor, its shine ever bright with their full plate helms hiding their faces, even their eyes. His personal guard. So what am I now? Some kind of king? No. Ryne and Galiana made it clear I have no such titles. What am I then?

  According to them, he was hope.

  Hope. It had been good enough to keep him going over the past year. He caressed Mother’s pendant. Now, with the advent of his power, he had something beyond hope, something real, physical, a reassurance against possible failure.

  “I still can’t believe this.” Mirza scrubbed a hand through his red hair. He’d been repeating the same words most of the day and into the night. “I’m supposed to think my mother might be alive, but they won’t tell me where they took her.” He paced across the room’s lush carpets, his boots hardly making a sound. “Damned Ashishin.”

  “I would think you’d be happy,” Ancel said.

  Mirza stopped pacing, anguish contorting his features. “I am. I mean, I’m excited, overjoyed even, but at the same time, I’m frustrated. Every time I try to question the High Shin, I’m either turned away, or he says,” Mirza’s voice changed to match Cantor’s grim intonation, “‘If your mother is alive, it is beyond my power to reveal where she is. That, my son, is the reason we have secrets.’” Mirza shook his head. “I feel like telling him I’m not his damned son, but then what would I gain?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Exactly.” Mirza began to pace again, grumbling under his breath. He paused midstep, gray eyes pleading. “You could always try to order them to tell us.”

  “No,” Ancel said. “Not that I haven’t considered it, but how would it make me look to them? Obviously, the reason it’s still a secret is due to necessity. I know you don’t want to hear this, Mirz, but I have an example to set, as do you. Galian
a nor Ryne have led us wrong. I’m willing to follow until they believe it’s time for me to take things into my own hands.”

  “Even though we both know they’re hiding things, maybe important ones? Like the fact that Galiana is actually one of the first Exalted? I overheard Ryne questioning her.”

  Ancel mulled it over. In ways, Mirza’s thinking made sense, and it also confirmed his suspicion of their ages. They were thousands of years old, and yet they had not succumbed to the madness that killed most Matii. He glanced at Charra’s form and its lack of an aura. He had a theory on that himself, but he needed to see more. After another moment to ponder, he answered Mirza. “Yes. At this point, I trust them both. Look, I’ll be honest. There is going to come a time when all I’ll be doing is fighting. I can feel it. You are the one friend I have who has stuck by me regardless. You like to act as if it’s all fun and games, but I know you take the future as seriously as I do. I’ve seen you go from Mr.Wild-and-Carefree to what you are now.” Ancel gestured to Mirza’s uniform. “I don’t think I’m cut from the right cloth to lead the Setian when the time comes. Attack and defense are my strong suit. Yours is thinking, planning. I’ll need that from you.”

  “Even after what I did, not telling you about Galiana’s orders in Randane?”

  “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same myself. Ashishin can be quite persuasive. Her? Doubly so.”

  Mirza let out an audible sigh, his posture relaxing. “Thank you for that. We haven’t talked about it since, and-”

  Ancel held up his hand. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have met Kachien. If not for Kachien, I, no, we would be imprisoned or dead. I don’t know about you, but I’d take where we are now over those choices.”

  Mirza grinned like the old Mirza, all innocence that said he was up to no good. “Speaking of Kachien, what do you plan to do about her and Irmina?”