Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  “Some days I wish I could make all this go away,” Ancel said. “The worry, the pain, the anger, the uncertainty, the war, the death to come … the betrayal.” Kachien’s involvement in what was happening cut deep, even if he found it hard to believe. The visions within the zyphyl had shown him other possibilities. Ones that confirmed his suspicions about the way the wolves acted back in Eldanhill. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

  Ryne remained silent.

  “If wishes had wings,” Ancel said to himself. Cohorts formed ranks on a wide avenue, enough to be at least one full legion, their weapon and armor reflecting the morning sun. He took a deep breath. Alys’ perfume still tickled his nose. “Do you think we have enough to accomplish our plan? And will the others,” he pointed out the window to those already fleeing the city, “the rest of them be safe from any retaliation?”

  “I cannot reassure you that anyone will be safe. They are making a choice they have to live with.” Ryne paused. “As for our forces, Kendin and some of his Sven will accompany you. The Dosteri refuse to let you go without several of their cohorts. And apparently, while you were training in the Entosis, the remainder of the mountain clans, both Nema and Seifer made their way here. Half of them demanded to be a part of that battle. The other will fight at the Iluminus.”

  Frowning, Ancel faced Ryne. “Why?”

  “I noticed it when I first arrived in Eldanhill. Many of the Dosteri, the Nema, and the Seifer are of the same bloodline. They were originally Erastonians.”

  “From Everland?”

  “The same. It is because of your father’s actions that they still live. If not for the preparations he made right before the Shadowbearer War, the Dosteri as we know them would not exist today. They owe him a life debt they say. It extends to all his immediate family. They feel they owe him even more now with some of their people’s betrayal.”

  A memory sparked within Ancel’s mind like a lamp blinking on at dusk. He recalled the entire passage from the Chronicle of Undeath, of the Dosteri’s rise and the essences. “So it seems one of your Chronicles is true.” If indeed it referred to him, then he still lacked fire, ice, and shade. That last brought apprehension creeping through his body.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” The big man’s features saddened. “Do you know why I named it Undeath?”

  “After the zyphyl, I think I do. I saw what happens when daemons harvest sela. The zyphyl showed me what will become of the people in Randane. Not just the ones from Eldanhill, but everyone not aligned to the shade.”

  “It’s the fate most of us will suffer if the shade wins out.”

  “And the Nine?”

  Ryne shrugged. “Who knows, but from what I have seen, it wouldn’t be much better. At least not for us. Slavery, used as cattle, or worse.”

  Ancel didn’t want to imagine what could be worse than that already mentioned. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to help me in Randane?”

  “What I would rather do, and what I must do, are two different things. We all have a part to play. I believe you’re strong enough for this. Don’t doubt yourself. It’s a precursor to failure. Strike hard and fast.”

  “Even if it means I must kill some of my own? Or someone I love?”

  “Then so be it.” Ryne’s gaze was cold and unwavering. “People die so others may live. It is a harsh reality, but a reality nonetheless.”

  As much as Ancel agreed, he couldn’t find the words to say so. He turned away from Ryne and gazed outside once more. “Have them bring the preparations to an end. We must attack before word of our exodus reaches anyone.”

  Chapter 48

  Irmina knew stealth would be of no use here. Even within the Iluminus’ dungeons, no shadow existed. Light radiated from the walls. Besides, she was a Raijin. What she needed to do was be herself. Dressed in the black, form-fitting uniform with crimson sleeves of her calling, she approached the dungeon guards with an expression that screamed she’d gut anyone who stood in her path. So much so, that not only did they avert their eyes, but not one among them questioned her. The score of Dagodin following behind her marched in a rhythm to challenge the finest army.

  These weren’t the deepest cells-those were reserved for the more violent offenders, those the Pathfinders had captured-but they still stunk of piss, shit, unwashed bodies, and blood. A hallway lined with metal doors stretched before her. Moans, groans, and muttering echoed along its length in odd counterpoint to her soft footsteps and the louder leather on stone thud of her Dagodin complement. The dissonance was a grim reminder of the impressive number of prisoners the Iluminus kept. As tempting as it was to free many for sheer chaos, she’d come here for a select few.

  Although she knew the cells by memory, she stepped to each one she needed anyway, slid back the metal grate over the solitary window, and peered inside. Refusing to cringe at the stench, the half-healed wounds, yellowed and scabbing patches of skin, and disheveled, torn clothing on people she barely recognized anymore, she gave commands to remove each Eldanhill Council member.

  Guthrie Bemelle was a sliver of his former self, clothes hanging loosely around what was once a barrel of a belly, his cheeks withdrawn, jawbones protruding. Devan Faber wasn’t much better, the mining foreman having lost the slabs of muscle that marked him. If Javed was old before, his current appearance leaned toward senile, the once robust kennel and stable owner now feeble, his skin drawn tight over his skull.

  Irmina frowned at the next two cells. Of Edwin Valdeen and Rohan Lankon, she found no signs. An awful feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach.

  Stefan’s condition was by far the worse. She couldn’t help the involuntary hiss that escaped her lips. Jaw lopsided, his face wore a mask of purple and black. Scrawled across his back was a tapestry of cuts, welts, and scabs. Blood crusted his missing fingernails. The usually well-groomed gray hair was dirty and matted brown; his unkempt mustache and beard formed a bush. Not once did Ancel’s father raise his head when the two Dagodin entered and picked him up under his armpits. He didn’t even groan.

  Fighting hard to maintain an uncaring facade, Irmina spun on her heels and strode back to the exit. It took all of her composure not to lash out at the dungeon guards as she passed them. She led the way upstairs, wincing every time she heard a moan behind her.

  “Traitor.” Underneath the painful rasp, she picked out Devan’s voice. “Why don’t you just finish us off? There’s nothing more left to tell.”

  Irmina continued on as if she hadn’t heard the man. Once up several flights and out of earshot from the guards, she stopped. “Where’s Edwin and Rohan?”

  A coughing laugh rattled from Devan’s chest. He spat out blood that landed near her feet. “Edwin’s a traitor like you. From what the questioners said, Rohan’s gone. You fucks tortured him to death.”

  Both Guthrie and Stefan appeared to be unconscious.

  After saying a quick prayer for the old man, she said, “I’m here to rescue you. And I didn’t betray you.” She gestured to the Dagodin holding Devan. “As planned, get them on the wagons and head to the Travelshaft. I have to find the other one.” If Edwin had betrayed them, he would pay with his life.

  The men gave slight nods. They headed up the last flight of stairs and into the courtyard. After a futile search, she rejoined them. Moments later, they were heading down a wide avenue with their wounded charges in the back of a wagon drawn by two horses. The usual crowds on the street cleared a path for them, some stopping to whisper or point. As they walked, Irmina got the niggling sense that something wasn’t quite right. Her escort must have felt it too, because they grew more vigilant and kept their hands on their swords.

  When they rounded a corner onto the Shining Way, the avenue was empty. Irmina stopped. The busiest road in all the Iluminus over the past months, she’d never seen it without its traffic. The mesh of walkways directly above her were the same. She spun, glancing in the opposite direction. In the distance, folk crossed several other paths, but they were hurryin
g. The shuffle of feet behind her and the occasional moan were the only sounds to break the silence. The empty eyes of the buildings and towers around them watched, the doors open but without a single patron or hawker. As always, the air within the Iluminus was still and motionless.

  “Be ready,” she said to the nearest Dagodin. She gave the signal and strode forward.

  The wagon wheels’ rumble, the clip clop of horses’ hooves, and the thud of her soldiers’ feet might have been the only sounds louder than her own beating heart. Irmina kept her focus on the interconnecting lanes, the doors and windows in her periphery. Any movement would meet violence.

  A brush of wind where there should have been none announced the attack.

  “Above us,” she yelled, rolling away.

  A flash of black and red landed next to her. A woman garbed as she was, brandished a short sword, cowl pulled tight over her head so only eyes showed, Similar forms fell all around them.

  “Now,” Irmina said.

  She opened her Matersense and felt the others around her do the same. It was odd being linked to Pathfinders in this fashion. To her, it was almost like touching the mind of an animal, except there was coherent thought rather than a ball of emotions. Oneness filled her, the collective consciousness drowning out any urges from the voices that normally rose with touching the essences.

  Before the Raijin reacted, the Pathfinders, disguised as Dagodin, created individual shields for each person and the wagon. Along the exteriors of the buildings that lined the Shining Way, the walls shimmered. Ashishin appeared, having Forged a Masking to camouflage themselves as stone. Hands upraised, they shot arrows of light.

  The projectiles blazed a trail through the air as they punched into the Raijin from all sides before slamming into the shields and dissipating. Smoking, bloody holes, no bigger than coins, riddled the Raijin uniforms. One by one, enemy Matii crumpled to the cobbles.

  Yet as much surprise as her forces had on their side, some of the Raijin were able to react. They were trained and bred for this. Several had thrown up their own shields. A second group dropped from the walkways. Together, they turned on those near the buildings.

  A storm of steel ensued.

  This close, no one, not even the Ashishin dared to Forge. That gave the Raijin the advantage. As assassins, their close quarter combat was near unparalleled in the Iluminus. Within minutes, they decimated the Ashishin ranks in flashes of weapons, bone, blood, and screams.

  The lone High Shin, Delienza, that led this first group for Irmina, was still standing, along with two Pathfinders. Not giving them a moment, the remainder of the Raijin charged in. Backs to each the other, the three fought, their weapons a synchronous flow of defense.

  That was when the next group of Raijin dropped down.

  High Shin Delienza gave a near imperceptible nod.

  Irmina issued a silent prayer then called out, “Full shields.”

  As a small cocoon of light and air essences wrapped around her group, there came a thump. Struggling for balance against the ripple in the ground, Irmina dropped to one knee and watched.

  An eight-foot wave of earth washed out from Delienza and her Pathfinders in a concentric circle. Part slammed into the building, shattering its supports. The other raced toward Irmina and her charges. The ground swallowed the Raijin and continued to flow outward. With a rumble, the building collapsed, Delienza and her two disappearing from view amid mortar, brick, and dust.

  “Go,” Irmina yelled, once the attack dissipated against their shields.

  Her Ashishin on the opposite side hadn’t managed to replicate Delienza’s feat. It wouldn’t take long for the surviving Rajin to regroup.

  The driver snapped his reins. Horses whinnying, the wagon surged forward, away from the destruction. Ahead, a glow lit the skyline between the towers and spires.

  “Their other attacks will follow now,” she said, remembering Quintess instructions on Raijin tactics. They would attempt for quick kills. Failing that, the Tribunal would send whoever remained.

  Irmina didn’t like the idea of hurting those who might be innocent in all this, but neither could she pick and choose who to fight. These men and women were following orders. It was either her life or theirs. She had a certain attachment to hers.

  All pretenses gone, they sped down the avenue, horses’ hooves clattering, leaving the screams and moans of the dying behind. Irmina glanced back and nearly tripped. She had expected to see the Raijin running after them. Instead, the Matii disappeared and then reappeared several dozen feet from their original locations. Squinting, she picked out what they did. They were leaping from one mass of light essences to the other.

  “Shimmering,” Hardan said from next to her, dropping his disguise. He made a signal and two Pathfinders stopped running.

  They flung their hands out from left to right. Stone and wood ripped from the buildings and zipped toward the oncoming Matii. Then as one, the Pathfinders pushed their arms to the sky and pulled down. A translucent distortion formed above their fists. They made dual motions as if pushing something of great weight away from them. Irmina gaped as swaths of air coalesced, changing the once clear, even, light into semi-opaque, undulating bands.

  Whatever it was, it threw off the Raijin’s Shimmers. It was as if they slammed into walls. In response, the Raijin had to spend time working around the Pathfinder Forges.

  “May the essences bless them.” Hardan’s tone radiated reverence.

  For a moment, Irmina frowned before she understood what he meant. The Pathfinders intended to sacrifice themselves to buy her more time. Not allowing the shock to overcome her, she focused ahead, ignoring Hardan’s signal to have two more of his men drop off to defend. She couldn’t help but wince every time steel clashed and screams echoed from behind.

  They rounded a corner leading to a large square and the road near the Travelshaft. Immediately, they drew up short. She should have felt some exultation at acquiring her destination, but that troubled sense from when she found Rohan and Edwin missing still niggled at her. When she saw the square, she knew why.

  Glass, pieces of buildings, dust, blood, and bodies littered the flagstones. With the earlier sound of battle all around her, she never heard this attack. Now, it echoed with the clash of steel and the bellows and cries of those locked in combat.

  The many Matii who had joined their cause struggled mightily against an army of Dagodin, Raijin, Ashishin, and High Shin all wearing the Tribunal’s crimson, gold, black or white. Where space separated them, the Tribunal’s forces cut swaths into her army with Forgings of fire and light.

  Buildings burned. Flames trailed along the cobbles, petering out, blackened stone left in its wake. Where the few Pathfinders loyal to her cause tried to form shields, Raijin appeared. Exchanges of sword and knife work happened faster than any untrained eye could follow, often resulting in the Pathfinder lying in a pool of blood. Ashishin attempting to do the same met a similar fate. So concerned was her people with defense, they were unable to attack.

  Toward the square’s center, a milling mass of the Tribunal’s Dagodin and Raijin fought against a clump of defenders. Among the crowd, Irmina picked out High Jin Quintess’ strained face as she sent arrows of earth out into the attackers. A flick of a hand from Berenil at her side brought lightning shooting down from the clear sky, blasting foe and friend alike from their feet. Cobalt charges sputtered across the ground where men once stood.

  A hand on her shoulder brought her attention to Hardan. He pointed past the battle toward the stretch that led to the liquid, silvery monolith that was the zyphyl. Behind it, set into a large tower, the Travelshaft’s darkness loomed. Upon a balcony, dressed in full High Shin regalia, stripes covering his robes, his cloak as dead as the nonexistent wind, Buneri overlooked the square.

  Irmina snarled. She’d known from the start that the man was more than he let on.

  “Do not attack him.” There was a sense of urgency in Hardan’s voice she hadn’t heard before.<
br />
  Confused, she frowned at him.

  “I suspected but I never knew for sure. He’s a netherling. What’s inside of us is reacting too violently to this much sela for him to hide himself. If you attack him, you will break the contract that’s saving most of their lives. It’s the only thing preventing any of us from becoming physically involved against humans.”

  Irmina nodded. Hardan had been insistent on their comprehension of those specific rules. She’d been unsure of his reasons until now.

  “What can we do to stop him or them?” She nodded toward Buneri’s Matii.

  Half of her original fifteen thousand remained. The rest were dead or dying, their bodies strewn about the square. The survivors were steadily retreating while attempting to keep Quintess and Berenil alive. Already she’d practically given up hope on assistance from Torandil. At least not in time to escape the Iluminus. However, if they managed to hold out in one of the buildings, help might yet arrive.

  “You can do nothing. I, on the other hand …”

  As his voice trailed off, Irmina glanced at Hardan. Eyes widening at what she saw, she almost lashed out with a Forge. She had to remind herself that she trusted him.

  Hardan’s body twisted to an inhuman angle. His hand reached up and snapped his head over until it lay parallel to his shoulders. A tentacle, black as charcoal, sprouted from his neck. His body contorted, bloating then deflating as if something writhed within his armor. With a wet sound, the armor burst apart, revealing a writhing mass. Black skin stretched over muscle and sinew. A snake-like head rose up as the netherling grew. Horns sprouted from its head. Chitinous armor formed to cover the body. Four limbs, two on each side, jutted out from the rib cage. Hardan, now as a full netherling, screeched, the sound carrying across the battlefield. His eight eyes opened, milky white against the ebony of his face.

  The entire battle stopped.