“Wait,” Ancel said, “did the shadelings use the shafts with the zyphyls or without?” The shirt he pulled on fit a little tight, but it was better than the stench of his old clothes.
“Both. But for reasons we still do not understand, they and the Svenzar could only use those where either we had placed none of the creatures or we had kept them awake. Further research showed sleep triggers something within the creatures to change its balance and prevent the passage of shade. Later, we found the Svenzar fear the zyphyl more when they are dormant.”
Ancel felt his heart begin to race with his understanding. “By waking them, someone gave passage to the shade,” he whispered.
Mirza had stopped dressing. “Is that how they got into Eldanhill?”
“Yes,” Ryne answered, “but that is not all. Although they do not normally interfere with the affairs of men, the Svenzar have no love for the Tribunal. From what we learned, they have once again begun to raid any Travelshaft the Tribunal’s Ashishin are using.”
“Wait,” Ancel said, “you mentioned the Tribunal had abandoned the shafts.”
“Until recently, yes. I can only guess it was for one of their plots. I first got word the Svenzar were here last year before you left for Randane,” Galiana said. “I wondered why, and now I believe I know. They are not only trying to stop us but also the shade’s armies.”
“What do we do?” Fully clothed in wool and leathers, Mirza did make for an imposing figure, his flame-colored hair spilling down his shoulders. He strode toward where his scythe leaned on a wall.
“We leave immediately.” Galiana stood. “As of right now, there are guards assigned to each Travelshaft. They will be enough of a warning. We must reach Calisto as soon as possible before we head to Torandil.”
A low growled issued from Charra. The door burst open. Ancel had his hand on his sword before he realized it was Gebbert, his chest laboring with exertion. Dressed in brigandine the color of blood, with hardened leather spaulders to protect the shoulders and upper arms, vambraces at the forearms, and greaves to match, he looked like a different man.
“Shin Galiana,” the innkeeper huffed. “High Shin Cantor is here with his Pathfinders.”
Ancel closed his eyes against the rising sense of panic within him. Maybe he should have done as Mirza said and gone to the common room. A last pleasure. Whatever was going to happen, he was convinced none of it would be good. Gebbert’s uniform said as much.
“Where is he? Galiana appeared oddly calm.
“At the Travelshaft,” Gebbert said. “The others have already assembled.”
She looked him up and down, taking in his uniform, and then nodded her approval. “Good. Thank you, Master Gebbert, we shall be along shortly.”
The innkeeper bobbed his head several times, turned on his heels, and left.
“Um ...” Eyebrows raised, Mirza pursed his lips. “Shouldn’t we be looking to escape somehow?”
“No need. I expected this.”
“You expected us to be captured?” Ancel said in disbelief.
Galiana gave that knowing smile of hers. “Who mentioned anything about being captured?”
Relief washed through Ancel before it faded, quickly becoming apprehension. “Wait, you don’t expect us to fight them, do you?” It wasn’t that he lacked confidence in his new power, but these weren’t shadelings they would face. These were Matii with years more experience in Forging, whether in practice or actual battles. He didn’t even want to consider the Pathfinders who specialized in hunting other Matii.
“From the look on her face, she’s about to say she didn’t suggest fighting them either,” Mirza said under his breath. “Ashishin,” he added with a slow shake of his head and a smirk.
“Don’t be presumptuous, Mirza, even if you’re right.”
Mirza made to speak but Galiana arched an eyebrow. The words remained unspoken.
“So what are we going to do?” Ancel tried his best to squeeze his fear into a tiny knot in his belly. “If they take us, there’s no telling what the Tribunal will do. You know as well as I do—” He stopped himself. He had little reason not to trust Galiana’s judgment. She hadn’t failed them thus far, and she wouldn’t now. Whatever happened, she had a solution.
“Good.” Galiana smiled confidently as if reading his mind. “Let’s pay the High Shin and his Pathfinders a visit, shall we?” As she gestured toward the door, she added, “Do not forget your weapons.”
Chapter 41
Uncertainty inched its way into Galiana with each step. After today, she was embarking on a road that might result in the world’s end. Well, they had to start somewhere.
Outside the Stoneman, Harval was surprisingly quiet. No smithies claimed the air with their weapon making. The wind swirled, its gusts swishing before becoming howls as it swept by the dark holes for windows in the cliff-face edifices. Each yawned empty and uninviting.
The sun bled gold and red into the sky and its feathery clouds. Colors to match the Dagodin filing across the bridge ahead of them. The town’s lower levels were devoid of any other people. Wherever the children lived in Harval, they remained indoors.
She led the way across the bridge and onto a short stretch carved between two buildings. The path was surprisingly empty of snow and slush. It ended at a wall, which became a fifteen-foot wide trail carved into the cliff itself and protected by an overhang that followed its length. In single file the others stretched behind her with Mirza first, then Ancel, Charra, and Ryne.
They traveled several hundred feet up, the town sprawling under them. If not for her knowledge, Galiana would have sworn the formations below were natural and not manmade. The bridges so much matched the ground, it was near impossible to tell them apart. When they gained the summit, a windswept, rock-strewn plateau spread ahead of them. Beyond that, the mountain continued to rise in stone and ice.
Dagodin and Pupae formed ranks on the plateau. Whereas the Dagodin sported their traditional garb, the Pupae wore various colors under their short cloaks and were separated by hue. Cool, diaphanous white, flaming orange, and yellow dominated. Of lesser note were sky blue, brown, robes of a shimmery material, green, and a deep blue that would match the sea. Each color represented an essence. At their head were at least two dozen crimson-garbed Ashishin. She ignored them and focused on the man and soldiers at the formation’s center.
In gray robes that only seemed to enhance how broad of back and shoulder he was, High Shin Cantor stood with an imperious air. He had neither cloak nor jacket. Ten bands of color made rings around his long sleeves in stark contrast to the obsidian skin of his pockmarked face. He displayed as much emotion as the silent mountain behind him.
Although High Shin Cantor appeared intimidating, the soldiers arrayed in perfect symmetry behind him could give anyone the chills. Except her. Silver armor reflecting the rising sun, each bore a sheathed sword at their hip. Whether they were male or female was impossible to tell. They wore full plate helms with a slit in the shape of a T where their eyes and nose would be. Darkness resided in each slit.
“Stay here.” Galiana stepped forward. All her life she relied on deception and misdirection in her ploys, from the staff that she no longer used as she feigned weakness, to her taking on the role of a retired Matii of no importance. Not today. Today would be different. A flutter inched through her belly with the thought. She held her head up, kept her back straight, met High Shin Cantor’s eyes, and smiled.
She connected with her body heat. Once the warmth spread evenly across her body, she slid the long leather cloak from her shoulders. It fell to the ground that was absent of snow or ice. As to be expected of the roads leading to a Travelshaft, the surface under her feet was solid, smooth, and black, curving down to either side. Her white robes shimmered, sleeves reflecting a living rainbow of color.
A collective g
asp issued from everyone in attendance. Almost as one, they bowed from the waist. Some went down on one knee. Even the High Shin and Pathfinders. She basked in the response.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered masses. Galiana picked out the word ‘Exalted’. She could imagine the questions running rampant through their minds.
A smile spread across the High Shin’s face until his teeth showed. “You are supposed to be dead.”
“Am I now?” She returned the smile in kind. Despite who she was or had been, she was glad Cantor did not use her old title of Exalted.
“Very much so.” High Shin Cantor gestured with his head toward Ancel and Ryne. “I suppose this is what all the fuss has been about?”
“Partially. I assume you spoke to Jerem?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” The pockmarks marring Cantor’s face were so deep they often hid the changes in his expression as they did now. “He has arranged for protection by some old friends from the Nevermore Heights.”
“Really? And they agreed?”
“He did not give me the details, but they said the sole reason for their presence is that they have a friend of theirs here also.”
Galiana frowned. The one person among them who the Svenzar might know would be Ryne. “Have you spoken to them?”
“Yes. Their leader said he will speak only to this friend. Until then, they forbid us the use of the Travelshaft, saying they will guard it against us and any others.”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Well if that is their requirement, we do not have much choice.”
Events had been set in motion since the day she sent word to the Listeners. Cantor’s presence meant Jerem had prepared. There was no retreat now. They would garner what support they could from the seeds they’d sown among the Tribunal’s councils to see where that led. But the first true sally in a war to the end, a war between gods, netherlings, shadelings and men was soon to begin. Galiana resisted the urge to hug herself.
“Walk with me,” she said, striding between and past the Pathfinders. The dark slits within their helms revealed nothing, but she was sure they saw everything. Cantor followed. When she was out of earshot, she asked, “How are things faring at the Iluminus?”
“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,” t
he 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.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 30
