Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  As he studied the Forge, he picked out its delicate structure. Whereas he might have forced the essences into a solid, the Exalted had kept them as they were for the most part. They appeared natural, flowing at the correct points. Upon closer inspection, Leukisa had woven transparent bands of light thereby twisting exactly what the area revealed. When he didn’t look at it through his Matersense, it appeared as if the cliff, the castle itself, and the trees along the bank, their trunks frozen until they burst, cast long shadows over mounds of snow.

  To keep the noise of their presence from any guards, Leukisa diverted air essences, streaming them in the opposite direction well past the river’s far bank. Ancel’s lip twitched when he considered the confused expression of anyone who happened to pass by the area reached by those sounds. The murmur of any conversation and the occasional grunt, bark, or snarl from a wolf or daggerpaw would certainly spark stories of a vale haunted by troubled spirits.

  A low whine from Charra brought his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Kendin approached, his massive feet flattening the snow with each step, leaving imprints to match. He hoped the Svenzar had discovered a way to tackle the issue of the tunnel. Leukisa watched with those piercing eyes of his but kept his distance. If the Exalted had taken exception to Ancel’s displeasure at his presence, he did not show it.

  “Leukisa believes he can hide what we plan,” Kendin said.

  The Svenzar’s speech was a contrast of high and low pitches with each word. If one didn’t understand Sven, it was little more than odd tinkles and hums. Ancel didn’t know why or how, but the more he’d heard the language, the more his ability to decipher it and eventually speak it, had increased. It was something he’d question Ryne about at some point. At present, he wasn’t concerned. Learn, adapt, and take advantage. A mantra from the Disciplines.

  “What do you think?” Ancel asked. Despite the Exalted’s Forge, he’d be damned if he left any final decisions up to him.

  “You allow distrust to cloud your judgment.” Kendin gestured around them. “He has made our position invisible to prying eyes. I believe he can do what he promises. As things stand, we do not have much choice if you wish to save the ones captured.”

  Melancholy enveloped Ancel for the briefest of moments before he suffused the feeling. He couldn’t afford to let his prejudices cause a delay, and yet a hasty decision and walking into a trap would be just as bad. He sighed. Sometimes a leader had to take risks. This was one of those times. “Do what’s required. We enter either in secret or all-out attack. The end result is all that matters.”

  “A wise decision.” Kendin raised his right hand to the air and made a fist. At the same time, his left hand elongated and plunged into the snow. “A protective ward exists all along the walls. Any touch would set it off. The drain you brought us to is unguarded. We will make it possible for your men to reach it and pass through without the water to trouble you.”

  Brows furrowed, Ancel tried in vain to think of a Forge strong enough to do what was needed. One that wouldn’t be detected by whatever or whoever controlled the city. He gave up. “Even if you manage this, how will you be able to follow us inside?”

  Foot by foot, Kendin’s body shrank. “We will always be close. Ask what you need of us, and we shall give our assistance.” The Svenzar continued to speak as he melded with the earth. “Have your men follow when the steps are built.” With those words, his body dissolved altogether.

  Through the Forms, Ancel discerned where Kendin became one with the ground. The same occurrence repeated itself among all the Sven. Tracing the ripple left in their wake, he stared in shock as they, now a part of the earth, traveled to the cliff wall. As each one gained the icy surface, they reformed into what he could only describe as a set of stairs, joining where the other stopped. The steps continued up until they were level with the sewer.

  A disturbance three times as large as the others flowed up the cliff face. It stopped, and then grew from the ice-covered surface. Edges curved out into a cylindrical shape large enough to hold a man. In moments, it joined with the drain.

  Ancel cocked his head to one side. The thing was a tunnel made of stone and fit into the sewer exit, tilting slightly upward. Water gushed around the outside, some spilling from the new formation. In slow increments, the new runoff dwindled until a mere trickle escaped. However, sewage still rushed around and down the new tunnel’s exterior while inside remained dry.

  “I’ve seen lots of strange things in the past few months,” Mirza said as he strode over, “and still I see something new often enough to shake my head. Never a dull moment.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Well the men are as ready as they’ll ever be. Before the water starts making those stairs as slick as a dancer’s oiled backside I say we do what we came here for.”

  “This won’t be easy,” Ancel said in response to Mirza’s dry humor. “I fear what we’ll find inside the city.”

  “Nothing is ever easy.” Mirza’s expression became grim. “Whatever awaits inside we deal with as needed.”

  Ancel wanted to tell his friend what he suspected, but instead he nodded. If he was right, there would be time enough for Mirza to see how bad things were and the type of treachery they would have to deal with in the future. “If it goes bad in there, get as many out as you can.”

  “How will I know when that is?”

  “Trust me, you’ll know.” With his Pathfinder escort, Charra at his side, and Mirza following, Ancel headed to the front of his men.

  The first step onto the platform-like stairs felt strange. He knew he was walking on living stone, on the bodies of the Sven. The sela essences that made up their life swirled from one to the next. They vibrated within him as if from his own heartbeat.

  When he reached the new tunnel molded onto the cliff wall and the old algae-encrusted exit with icicles around its edges, he stopped. The opening yawned before him. He knew the new tunnel growing from its insides was Kendin’s body. The hole in front of him had to be a part of the Svenzar’s mouth. Well, you wondered if they would eat you, and now they will. The humor eased his uncertainty. After a deep breath to clear his thoughts and the hint of fear fluttering in his belly, he strode inside.

  His footsteps echoed along with those of the others following him. Similar to a Travelshaft, a soft glow lit the interior. Ancel strode forward amid the muted breaths of man and beast and the scuff of leather on stone. The tunnel angled upward. Soon, they were walking on level ground. They exited within the sewer system and into putrid air and squeaking rats. Darkness stretched ahead of them with a pinpoint to show where the passage ended.

  Ancel Forged, twisting air and light to match their surroundings. “Uncover the lightstones.”

  “You sure? They will be a beacon if anyone looks down here,” Mirza said.

  “No one will see. Trust me.”

  After a brief pause and a sigh, Mirza said, “Well, you heard the man.”

  Moments later came the rustle of cloth. A soft, white glow bloomed. It lit the tunnel. The drains were much the same as he remembered, clogged with shit and other wastes. His imagination conjured ghastly images of what could be wriggling within the sewage. Disturbed by the sudden luminance, rats as big as a man’s leg scurried away, squeaking their displeasure.

  Convinced of the Sven’s earlier claim, Ancel led his men forward. Power resonated above him in such torrents he felt he could extend his hand and touch it. The dream he experienced in the Travelshaft rose fresh in his mind. After a deep breath that he almost regretted when he swallowed the area’s stench, he recalled the drainage system and its series of open spaces joined by tunnels. He set off, weaving his way by memory. The castle, main plaza, and its temples dedicated to the gods pulled at him. His captured people were there.

  A brief trek filled with the stifled breathing and muffled coughs of a few brought him and his men to a passage much like the others.

  “Kendin,” Ancel kept his voice low, “I need you to c
onfirm that the castle’s cellars are on the opposite side of this wall. If so, make us a door.”

  Ancel sensed more than he saw the ripple that passed through the stone. He waited. A restless pressure almost overcame him when the wall slid apart. It was as if the stone simply peeled back.

  One of his soldiers holding a torch stepped forward. Beyond was a dusty, expansive storage room, one half of it filled with barrels and crates. Across the room was a wide set of stairs.

  After he stepped through, Ancel waited for as many soldiers as could fit to crowd inside and settle down. When they noticed he watched, silence spread across the room and outside.

  “I have a deep respect for all you who have come here to fight this battle even knowing you will face shadelings and worse,” he said. “Make no mistake; many of you will die today. If you’re wounded, there is a good chance no one will be able to save you. Your one solace is in fire, in the Streams. The same Streams that can corrupt you will also prevent what awaits you should you succumb to a darkwraith’s blade or a daemon’s tentacles. Remember that. Set it in your heart and mind now. If someone falls, behead them or burn them. It’s the only way to ensure they don’t rise again.”

  “What of your own people?” Leukisa’s eyes were sunlit orbs that reminded Ancel of Charra’s.

  This was the hard part, but he hoped Mirza would understand. “If they have been turned, they too will face the same fate.” Ancel met Mirza’s eyes. His friend gave him a nod. Tension eased from his shoulders. “You all know your roles in this. Our jobs are to assassinate whoever leads here and to rescue those captured. In that order. If all else fails, those in command must die. Understood?” He waited from the murmurs of acknowledgment, and then turned to Leukisa. “Send word to Ordelia to commence the attack.”

  Even with the meager light cast by the flames, he noted the Exalted’s eyebrows as they rose in surprise. The man didn’t expect him to know they could communicate mentally. And he didn’t. It had been a guess.

  Leukisa bowed then closed his eyes. When he opened them he said, “It has begun.”

  As he said the words, the bells throughout Randane tolled a slow lament. The ceiling shook. Dust cascaded down.

  “Give the soldiers a moment to empty from the castle,” Mirza said under his breath. “Kendin, let us know when the halls are reasonably clear.”

  Time dragged while they waited. A roar from outside interrupted the breaths of man and beast. Deep in his Matersense with the voices flitting outside, Ancel felt power jolt and ebb. With it came dull thumps from the city’s walls. The earlier resonance grew, pulling at him harder.

  Part of the stones that made up the ceiling flowed downward. More than one soldier started or grasped for a weapon.

  The stones grew into a Sven hanging upside down. “Master Kendin says the way is as clear as it will be.” The Sven retreated. The ceiling smoothed.

  Ancel drew his sword. “It is time.” Heart thumping, he headed for the stairs with Charra.

  They spilled from the cellar into a wide hall. The few guards never stood a chance. Arrows and crossbow bolts struck them down before they sounded a warning.

  “The six strongest Pathfinders, with me. Kendin, you also,” Ancel commanded. “Everyone else follow Mirza and the others.” He sprinted farther into the castle toward the main tower.

  Guards rounded a corner ahead only to be buried by a wave that traveled under the carpet and along the walls. It knocked paintings and tapestries from their perches. Bone hackles erect, Charra loped at his side.

  “Try not to Forge unless you must,” he instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” the Pathfinders answered in unison. Three surged ahead while the others guarded the rear.

  Oddly, they met little resistance. The enemies they encountered proved to be no more than a nuisance for the Pathfinders. Blades bloody, they gained the stairs to the tower. Outside, steel rang amid battle cries and commands.

  “Kendin, is there a way for you to carry us up? I need to get to the top as fast as possible.”

  The Svenzar’s massive head formed at the first landing. “Yes. Step onto me and hold onto the supports I provide.” He dissolved.

  Seven poles grew from the landing. Without hesitation, Ancel strode up the steps and held onto the one closest to the middle. Charra bounded up next to him. Their faces masks of concern, the Pathfinders joined them.

  “Hold tight,” Kendin’s voice called from below them and the surrounding walls.

  The floor lurched forward, taking them with it. Ancel sucked in a breath. The platform they stood upon moved faster than a sprinting man, steadily gaining pace.

  Guards occupied the first three landings. Miniature walls formed and crashed into them. Bodies toppled into the hollow in the middle of the winding steps.

  By the time they made the next two landings, air rushed by Ancel’s face. They shot up, the balustrade and steps a blur. He squeezed his eyes shut yet still exhilaration spilled through him. If they met more soldiers he couldn’t tell. Within moments, they eased to a halt. When he opened his eyes, they were at the top, a closed door in front of them.

  As they got off the platform, the bricks around the doorframe shook and fell. The door crashed outward. Sword in hand, Charra at his side along with his Pathfinder escort, Ancel strode outside onto the battlements.

  Unnaturally black, clouds covered the sky. Lighting illuminated the mass before streaking down into the city. Thunder rumbled. Up here, the cries of man and beast carried on the swirling winds. Cloak billowing, he headed toward the pull of power, and the spires that marked the temples dedicated to the gods of Streams.

  The plaza was worse than he expected. Dagodin and Randane soldiers battled outside the castle. Shadelings writhed before the temples. The Sven formed a wall, the earth quaking at their feet as they prevented that seething mass any purchase. Ashishin stood with them, their Forges ripping into the enemy ranks. More than half the Sven were rubble. He could pick out numerous bodies of his own army. The clansmen and their pets fought in groups among wraithwolves and darkwraiths, their savagery giving the shadelings pause.

  Daemons and darkwraiths screeched. Black tentacles whipped out to strike down any of his men within range. Darkwraiths struck in blurs, their swords swift and deadly. Black lightning streaked sideways toward his forces.

  Leukisa was repelling them with shields of his own, Forging faster than Ancel once thought possible. His skill kept them from being overwhelmed.

  A bellow tore the air. The cobbles swelled and blasted up. Kendin’s form exploded through the opening. The shower of rubble became one with his body. Arms outstretched, he threw stones as big as a man into the shadeling ranks. The enemy lines buckled. When he stomped, a circular wave swept out from his feet. Any creature it touched, it entombed.

  The power Ancel had been feeling spiked. He snapped his head around.

  Atop the temple’s steps, next to the statues of Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni, and Rituni, a woman in leather armor was dragging Kachien’s limp form by her hair. He recognized her.

  Jillian.

  Once he’d learned of Irmina’s skill, he’d suspected someone had controlled the wolves that day in the Greenleaf, but until Jillian went missing he hadn’t been certain who the person could have been. He snarled.

  A man in black armor had his hands outstretched. Shade essences billowed from him, consuming several Eldanhill folk. The Mater coalesced into thicker bands, growing stronger from some connection within the temples. Ancel could never forget the feel of those Forgings. They were the same as those the night his mother was taken. Darkness did not shroud the man’s face this time.

  Rage seethed inside Ancel until his vision filmed red. The man was Mensa, Mother’s head servant.

  The voices outside the Eye screamed. Sword in hand, he leaped from the tower wall.

  Chapter 51

  Ryne stood where the Great Divide’s black chasm began, not far from the towering edifices of the Sanctums of Shelter. The spires rose
at his flanks, their tops hidden in the clouds. This close to them he felt the various essences at use throughout Granadia and near any Bastion. It was like stepping in front a blacksmith’s bellows then being thrust onto a mountain top in the dead of winter. He didn’t need to link with Ancel to identify the young man’s Forgings. They burned through him almost as if he was standing next to his ward.

  Denestia’s Mater was somewhat odd here, concentrated. The elements whipped and coiled more violent than the worst of winter storms, their colors prismatic. The air gave off a melange of smells that made him want to retch and savor them at the same time. Bloated clouds bubbled overhead. This location being the point where Denestia’s power touched the Prima unleashed first by himself and then Ancel, the occurrence did not quite surprise him, but it was no less troubling. Although the elements from both types of Mater thrived, they were at odds with each other, like two siblings who believed each was the more dominant and thus needed to fight.

  “Are you sure it was wise to let the boy face a Skadwaz on his own?” Taeria’s voice, or rather, Trucida Adler’s, was a raspy whisper. Appearing frailer than before despite her robes, skin splotched, she hunched beside him. Discovering she kept an eye on him in Carnas had been a welcome comfort.

  “It takes the heat of battle to develop the best crafted weapons.”

  “What if he loses himself?”

  “Then we will have to kill him and start anew.”

  “Let’s hope he passes then,” she said tiredly. “From what I sense, he might be able to best a few of us even if we’re linked.”

  “Indeed.”

  Power surged again from Randane and the Iluminus. He frowned at that last.

  His cloak flapped from a sudden gust. As the wind grew, the material streamed out behind him. Snow swirled like white petals. Rain pattered, first a few drops, then a torrential downpour. He raised a hand, drawing on an Etching. A shield of pure shade, yet still transparent, formed a dome around him and Taeria. It served two purposes.