The Pathfinders existed to lessen such occurrences. Disciplined unlike any others, they consisted of the minority who made no mistakes when wielding the essences. They survived longer and proved to be stronger than almost any other Forgers. In combat, few could stand before them. When dispatched, they took no prisoners.
“You’re worried about them too, aren’t you?” Mirza asked as if he read her thoughts.
She hesitated a moment before answering. Finally, she sighed. “Yes. They were at Eldanhill tonight. How many? I do not know. But if they have our trail it will only be a matter of time before they catch us.”
“What if we fled to Ostania?”
“Not a bad idea.” She hadn’t intended to reveal that was indeed her plan, at least not yet. “The problem is getting there before they can stop us. When deep in Doster, we will be fine for a while, but to cross into Ostania, we must take a ship from Damal’s Landing which means going through Ishtar. Even then, unless some captain wants to brave the Glowing Sea, we’ll land in Felan Mark.”
“We’ll be travelling through Tribunal territory almost the entire time,” Mirza blurted.
“Yes. Land with wards and Bastions able to pick out any strong Matii. Unless we find another way, they will catch us before we cross the Vallum of Light.” She and Jerem had come up with one way to make sure a portion of their people made it out of Felan. However, that plan involved Quintess and the Iluminus. The longer she was stuck here, the harder it would be to accomplish.
“Why don’t you Materialize us there? Can’t you manage now that it’s only us?”
“Materialization is not that simple.”
“It isn’t?” He shrugged. “You open a portal between one point and another, step through, and poof, you’re there. Sounds simple enough to me.”
Galiana smirked. “First, Forging takes a great deal of energy and mental strain. The risk of succumbing to the elements then is higher than at any other time. One of the main reasons why we teach Ashishin to restrict themselves. It’s even more so with Materialization. But even if the Matus could deal with the strain and had enough power, he or she couldn’t Materialize beyond the Vallum. It was built to prevent such a breach.”
“So,” Mirza pursed his lips while rubbing at the stubble under his chin, “an Ashishin could Materialize within or outside the Vallum but not cross it. Well, just take us to the Vallum’s entrance then.”
“And appear at the camp of the largest army the Tribunal possesses? Smart. Not to mention that it’s too great a distance.”
“Wait …,” the young man’s brow furrowed, “if what you say is true then whoever took Ancel’s mother must be on this side of the Vallum.”
“Either that or they made short trips until they reached Vallum’s edge then crossed.” She’d considered the same possibility as Mirza suggested when she tried to understand why the Heralds had failed to sense any powerful Forges or the shadelings.
“Fine, then take us to Calisto or even Torandil?”
She sympathized with his desperation to act. “Too risky.” Galiana shook her head. “The moment I Materialize, the Tribunal’s Pathfinders would know. Like I said, Granadia is littered with wards against such releases of Mater. Any powerful Forging will draw them to us.”
“You know, for all your power, you Ashishin are beginning to sound pretty fucking useless.”
Galiana never felt the Forge that knocked him on his ass.
“You should learn some fucking respect.”
She snapped her head around at Ryne’s voice. Leaning on one elbow, he had dark rings under his eyes, and his cheeks were so indrawn, his jaw-line stood out. Charra perked up momentarily before settling back down.
Mirza scrambled away, glaring at them both, but fear evident in his expression. After a moment, he muttered an apology.
“We need to leave right away.”
“Why?” Galiana shifted to get a better look at Ryne. His skin still had a faint pallor. “Ancel still needs more time.”
“In order to escape the Tribunal’s Pathfinders, I Materialized here.”
“You did what?”
“That isn’t the worst of it. The Exalted were with them.”
Galiana stood abruptly and began to pace, trying her best to fight down the urge to gather Ancel, put him on his mount and flee. After a moment, she stopped. “There is no way we can outrun them. Our only chance lies in making it to Harval.”
“First I must regain some strength.” Ryne climbed to his feet. “So does he.” He gestured to Ancel. The young man hadn’t moved. “The only place we can do so lies deeper into the Red Ridge.”
Galiana frowned. To what was the man referring?
“How do we get there if he can’t move?” Mirza asked.
“I’ll carry Ancel. It will be faster than tying him to his horse. The sooner we leave the better.”
“What of our trail?” Mirza stood. He bent to gather one of their saddles.
“Trying to hide it will not make a difference,” Galiana said. “They will have trackers with them. Ryne, are you sure this detour cannot wait?”
“It can’t, not if you want either of us to be of any use when the Pathfinders do catch up. Besides, where we’re headed should confuse their trackers for a time. What’s so special about this town, Harval, anyway?”
“The one chance to put enough space between us and the Pathfinders … a Travelshaft.”
Openmouthed, Ryne stared at her. “Those have been sealed for centuries. You would brave the mind-twisting of a zyphyl for a chance to escape?”
Galiana could not help the inkling of fear that passed through her at the mention of the gigantic, silver, worm-like beasts created to protect the entrances to the Travelshafts. Even asleep, they warped one’s perception of reality. Surviving the zyphyl was a test all on its own. “At this point, I will do anything to save Ancel.” Her heart ached. “With his father in the hands of the Exalted, he’s our only chance of keeping our people together.”
Ryne eyed Ancel then nodded. “There might be a way to give us more time if you can manage it.”
Galiana frowned.
“You said they will have trackers. Give them a different path to follow.”
“How do we—” She cut off as the answer dawned on her. “A construct.”
Ryne smiled. “Exactly. Give it my scent and send it in the opposite direction. Such a Forging won’t take much.” He pointed to the walls around them. “Not with all this material to work with. When you’re done, I’ll feed a bit of me into it.”
Galiana almost asked if what he suggested was possible: wrapping one’s own essence into another person’s Forging. But then, the man was an Eztezian. He should know.
Through the Eye, she opened her Matersense. The essences flooded her vision with their usual brilliance. Around Ryne, they shone even brighter. They flitted, roiled, and spun in half a hundred different patterns touching both his armor and flesh. Some disappeared when they did.
Ignoring most of them was disturbing all on its own, but she managed. As a mender, the essences that made up Ryne’s appearance grew clearer with each passing moment. With a subtle touch to keep her Forging hidden, she kneaded the earth and metals within the Forms of the rocky ground near her feet to match the man.
The ground trembled and shifted. A form rose slowly from the surface of a similar height and build to Ryne. For this, she didn’t need intricate details, which saved her from using too much power. She gave the shape the barest necessities for it to appear as Ryne from a distance.
As she made the construct, she noticed the strands of Mater easing out from Ryne to touch her creation. They writhed around it and eventually sunk inside. When they did so, a breathtaking change took place. Layers of earth peeled away from her construct and in its place stood an uncanny likeness of the man, d
own to much of his essences. She gasped.
“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 drew 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.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 22
