Etchings of Power aotg-1

by Terry C. Simpson

  Irmina smiled wryly at the two Ostanians as their eyes lit up with each dish. They gave her an inquiring look and she indicated they could eat. She didn’t need to make the gesture twice. Soon, the two were tearing at mutton while swallowing down wine in deep gulps. So much for the Formist belief that eating meat was to give one’s self into the impurities of the flesh, which weakened the body and was thus forbidden. Irmina shook her head and nodded her thanks to the Cadet.

  As she studied the two strangers, Irmina took her time eating her fill. She even gave in to the temptation of licking her fingers. When she finished she poured herself a glass of wine. The liquor was not as good as the Dorns’, but she still found it refreshing. “By the way, Ormand,” she said between sips, “did you find out anything concerning the man I inquired after?”

  “Very little,” Ormand replied, his voice muffled by his chewing before he swallowed. “He’s revered as a great warrior among the Ostanians. His name is Ryne Waldron. Most became silent whenever I mentioned a giant man with tattoos or his name. It was…strange.” Ormand paused, his face reddening. “Wish I could have gotten more, holy one, a-apologies.” The man’s hands drifted to his neck, and he loosened the collar of his high-buttoned jacket. An unusual amount of sweat cast a bright sheen on his forehead.

  Irmina’s brow creased at the sight of the man’s concern. Failing High Shin Jerem’s requests often came with unpleasant consequences, but their master had nothing but praise for the Knight Ormand. “No need to apologize. At least I have a full name to add to the face now. You’ve done better than I have and found out more than I could. It’s not like our master gave me much to go on when he sent me here. Well, the good news is this man here seems to know Ryne personally.” She indicated Jaecar with a dip of her head.

  Ormand gave her a weak smile at her compliment and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief he produced from inside his jacket. “Where did you meet them?”

  Jaecar eye’s followed their mouths whenever they spoke. His face wore a frown.

  “In the Mondros Forest. They had a fight of some kind with this man, Ryne, and his bodyguard. During the fight Ryne saved their children from several forest lapras. After they spoke Ryne ran off with his bodyguard.”

  “The Mondros Forest? Most stay away from the place. Too wild. And they were there with children? You said they fought, your holiness. Where are their weapons?” Ormand leaned forward, his eyes intent on the Ostanians.

  “I had them leave their knives and daggers on the dartans.” Why was Ormand curious about their weapons?

  “Knives and daggers?” Ormand’s eyes narrowed. “Did they have their faces painted, holy one?”

  “Yes.”

  Ormand’s body stiffened, and his pudgy hand drifted toward his sword. Jaecar made a great show of placing his hands with his fingers spread wide onto the table. His eyes became slits as he watched the Dagodin.

  “Cease, Ormand,” Irmina commanded. “I invited them here.” She looked at Jaecar. “You, stop.”

  “B-But, Devout, they’re Alzari,” Ormand blurted out.

  Irmina shrugged. “And that means what to me?”

  “They’re wanted mercenaries who fight in the territorial battles among the cities here, and-”

  “Are they considered enemies to the Tribunal?” Irmina asked in a soft voice as she slid her hand closer to her sword’s hilt below the tabletop.

  “No, your holiness.”

  “Ostania’s internal squabbles are not a concern of ours, Ormand. Please, remember we have a task. Or would you rather disappoint High Shin Jerem in pursuit of some bounty?” Irmina’s eyebrow rose.

  Face paling, Ormand said, “No, Devout Irmina.”

  “Good. Now, ask them who Ryne is, and why were they in the forest.” Irmina focused on the Alzari.

  Ormand turned his attention to Jaecar and began to question him. With each answer, Jaecar gestured several times with his hands. Neither his golden eyes and or his facial expression changed.

  “He says Ryne is a hunter. A hired killer to be exact. He’s surprised we don’t know him. Claims Ryne fought for the Tribunal in the War of the Remnants.”

  Memory followed by pain flared at the war’s mention. Irmina took a breath and forced the feeling down. Why would High Shin Jerem need an assassin? That was her job. Unless he wanted to use someone who couldn’t be traced to him. But why send me to fetch him? Did Jerem also send the strange golden-haired woman? No, she doubted it. Jerem knew she worked alone. He was obsessive about maintaining comfort for those who served him.

  Jaecar continued talking. With each word, Ormand leaned closer.

  “He says he hid his family in the Mondros because their clanhold was destroyed.”

  Irmina almost waved Ormand off. No. The best way to find information sometimes was to feign concern for the plight of those she questioned. She put on her most sympathetic face. “How? What happened?”

  The conversation between Ormand and Jaecar resumed. A change came over Jaecar’s face. His eyes flickered in fear, and his pitch increased and sometimes grew soft. Tears ran down Melina’s cheeks. Ormand’s mouth hung open.

  “What is it, Knight Ormand?”

  “All their clanholds were destroyed, not just one,” Ormand whispered.

  So some force had defeated these warriors. Irmina shrugged. Their plight was not her concern.

  Ormand continued, “You’ve seen them fight, your holiness. They had six clanholds. Each occupied by eight to ten thousand warriors, each fighter as capable as these two, if not better. He says everyone in his clanhold died or was captured within an hour. He says the invaders used shadelings. He claims the army was led by Amuni’s Children.”

  “Impossible,” Irmina whispered.

  Her haunted memories flashed again. Word of her parents’ death to shadelings in the War of the Remnants felt as if she just heard it. That night her life had shattered, and remained in shambles even after the Dorns took her in. Somehow, she’d managed to patch herself together with the love they showed her. Through it all, she’d fallen in love with Ancel. Then came her last Ashishin trial when she’d discovered who the Dorns were, the part they played in the War of Remnants and the Shadowbearer War before it. The part they played in her parents’ deaths, in the demise of much of her family.

  “Devout Irmina?”

  Irmina looked down. She was standing with her unsheathed sword in her trembling hands. “I–I’m fine.” She took a deep breath.

  She hadn’t noticed the heat flowing through her. The same heat Jerem taught her to control when she touched Mater. The same heat that brought a craving to kill. She forced the feeling into the coldest part of her mind until it dwindled to nothing.

  Neither Jaecar nor Melina had moved, but a still air hung in the room. Irmina met their gaze and slid her sword into its scabbard. Jaecar’s lips parted before he gave a simple nod. Ormand sweated profusely, and he wrung his hands several times.

  “Continue your questioning.” Irmina paced across the room.

  With a nervous nod, Ormand turned to Jaecar, and their conversation resumed. If Jaecar was telling the truth, an army possibly several hundred thousand strong was sweeping across Ostania. Those numbers must be an exaggeration. Yet, she needed to consider the worst. She would get word to High Shin Jerem and the Tribunal regardless.

  “Ormand, did he say which way they were headed?”

  “Yes. Southwest, toward the larger cities beyond the Orchid Plains. It’s why he came this way. He’s trying to reach the Vallum of Light to warn our armies there, and to get his family to safety.”

  Irmina pondered the news. If indeed the invading army headed across the Orchid, it would only be a matter of time before it reached the Vallum itself anyway. She needed to get a warning across as soon as possible. She stopped pacing. “Where are the closest Envoys or Heralds?”

  Ormand shook his head, reading her thoughts. “There are none before the Vallum of Light.”

  Striding to a window, Ir
mina stared out at the twin moons and another set of thunderclouds. She would have to do it herself then. Misty would have to run like she never ran before. Granadia’s fate may well depend on it.

  “Ormand, gather the men,” Irmina commanded. “Let them know what was said. Also dispatch several eagles with messages of these tidings. Tell Jaecar he can leave with me if he chooses, but I won’t be staying with them. I’ll push to the Vallum to warn the army and pass word to the Heralds for the Tribunal.”

  “Devout Irmina,” Ormand said, his tone a plea. “I mean no offense but, it’s one thing to speak to us with your authority as a Devout, your holiness, but the laws prevent you from commanding any military into action. Knight Caden is most…particular about the laws.”

  Irmina’s mouth curled into a devilish smile. She strode to her desk, reached down, and clicked a hidden lever. An extra draw slid open. She removed a rather skimpy crimson uniform and two pins, one in the shape of crossed lightning bolts and the other of the Lightstorm.

  Ormand gaped, his eyes shifting from the clothes to Irmina. Her gaze met the man’s as his recognition of a Raijin’s uniform changed his eyes from those of reverence into fear. As the elite assassins among the Ashishin, Raijin could command anyone at anytime and their rank fell just below a High Ashishin. Irmina had not noticed a reaction to her real name from Jaecar earlier, but the Raijin garb brought a gasp from him and a hiss from his wife. Both dropped to the floor with their heads down.

  Snapping to attention, Ormand rose to his feet. This time when he bowed, it was from the waist, and his eyes never left the floor. “I shall inform them, Shin Irmina.”

  Outside, lightning flickered and thunder rumbled. A scream sounded. Then another. A trumpet wailed.

  Irmina swung her head around toward the window. Instead of Ranoda’s lights or the dark curtain of clouds crossing the moon, blackness greeted her in a raspy whisper.

  CHAPTER 23

  Hands sticky with blood, Ryne moved with practiced efficiency. Cut, contour, split, pull, followed by a wet tearing sound. Fluids dribbled to the ground like viscous red wine as skin and hide parted from flesh. He raised his head from the work, tossed the useless fur to one side, and dropped another lapra’s hindquarter onto the pile of meat near the fire.

  Gray lined the skies, a remnant of the storm the night before, and mist crept through the forest as if the clouds had descended among the trees surrounding the glen. A nearby stream gurgled its soft song.

  Cocking his head, Ryne listened to the thrashing within the undergrowth for an imminent attack, but none came. Growls and snarls announced predators stalking within the woods drawn by his work’s pungent aroma, their eyes often glowing among the trees. However, none of the animals had attacked since he and Sakari slaughtered the first few. The beasts now resorted to challenging each other.

  The night before, Ryne and Sakari had found Thumper alive and well at the glen. The dartan lay next to a stream, his extremities retracted into his shell, his olive carapace a giant, rounded rock. Scattered remains, mostly from plains lapras that had hunted Thumper, littered the ground. Among them lay a few of their bigger forest lapra cousins. To cause such devastation there must have been at least four forest lapra packs defending their territory. Although, a few carcasses did the show the results of Thumper’s enormous fangs.

  Thumper hadn’t moved since Ryne and Sakari found him with his claws protruding at the six openings for his legs, his head tucked where only the carapace on its crown showed, and his tail curled snug under his shell. He could remain this way for days when he felt threatened.

  “Do you think you have enough for him now?” Sakari asked as he dragged a fourth carcass over through the muddy leaves.

  Ryne studied the meat next to him. “Yes. He won’t be able to resist this. Skin the last one for me to roast. I’ll go feed him.”

  Sakari nodded and dropped the remains next to the fire. A knife appeared in his hand, he sat cross-legged on the ground, pulled the lapra by a leg, and began cutting.

  Ryne dragged the meat to where Thumper lay, leaving a bloody trail through soggy leaves. Calling Thumper’s name in situations like this never worked, so with a great heave, he sent the chunks tumbling under the dartan’s head. The meat struck the shell with soft thuds.

  After a few moments, Thumper’s shell rocked back and forth. Legs eased out, revealing mottled, blue-green skin. When the claws touched the ground, all movement halted. The dartan remained motionless for a moment before his legs eased farther down and pushed up until he stood twenty-four hands from the ground to the rounded top of his shell-the same height as Ryne. The dartan’s tail uncoiled at the same time that his head stretched forward. Thumper mewled when he saw Ryne.

  Ryne stepped up under his dartan’s head, a smile on his face. “Good boy. You missed me? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a good meal.”

  Thumper’s neck curled down, and he rubbed his head against Ryne’s arm. Rows of sharp teeth clicked against each other in a face too small for the dartan’s girth. As he sniffed at Ryne’s hand, Thumper’s tongue flicked out and licked the blood. His bulbous eyes rolled, and his gaze shifted to the meat.

  “Go ahead, enjoy,” Ryne said. “Wish I could’ve found you some kinai to go with that, but this will do for now.”

  The dartan rocked from side to side and turned to the carcasses. He tore into the meat and swallowed in loud, gleeful slurps.

  Ryne ran his hands down Thumper’s neck and along his sides and underbelly where the carapace was softest, searching for any wounds. Finding none, he reached up along the base of the shell where his bags hung and retrieved his reins. They were still in good shape.

  He checked the two deep saddle grooves cut into the spine of the shell a few feet apart, one behind the other. Over a month had passed since he last rode the dartan, and left alone, the saddles tended to grow back in, but so far, Thumper’s had not. A good sign, Ryne thought, considering how he allowed Thumper to roam in the wilds. When he finished, Ryne inspected the small hand and footholds carved on either side of the shell. Satisfied, he washed his hands at the stream and rejoined his friend.

  Sakari finished skinning and skewered the meat onto a few sticks Ryne had prepared earlier. Soon, the succulent flesh hung roasting over the fire, juices dripping and sizzling when they touched the flames. The sweet smell made Ryne’s stomach grumble.

  “After we’re done eating, we’ll make for Astoca,” Ryne said. “Thumper should be strong enough from the meat to run for a good eight hours nonstop. We’ll see if we can find some kinai fruit patches on the way to give him a real filling. If we can keep him stocked, we should reach the capital in a week.”

  “You’re not going to warn the other towns between?”

  “There’s not enough time,” Ryne said. “Besides, those towns can’t be helped if this army attacks them. Their only salvation rests with the Astocans. They can field the largest legions of the Ostanaian kingdoms, and we’re more likely to find an Envoy in Castere than any of the other capitals. Once forewarned, they should be able to muster a large enough force to repel the invaders. At least until the Envoy gets word to the Tribunal and they send the Dagodin legions.”

  Sakari shook his head. “It will take more than Dagodin Matii to stop what Jaecar mentioned and the daemon we suspect. They will need at least an entire legion of Ashishin.”

  “I still don’t understand how they reached Carnas so fast, and from the southwest.” Ryne frowned. “Something just doesn’t make sense. But you’re right, with the numbers Jaecar reported and what we saw at Carnas, it’ll take more than Dagodin to stop them.” Did the Tribunal have that many Ashishin to spare? And if they did would they risk sending them? Maybe, the best course of action was to warn the King, then head to the Vallum himself. If Varick still commanded there, he’d listen. Maybe, he could convince Varick to influence the Tribunal should they not think this a credible threat. “At any rate, we must eat before we go.” Ryne took in Sakari’s expressionless
face. “I must eat before we go,” he corrected himself with a rueful smile.

  Breakfast passed in silence. While Sakari practiced the sword, Ryne plotted the route they would take to Astoca, revising the trip several times in an effort to shut out the thoughts of Carnas’ dead and those who were captured, but their faces crept in. Hagan, you and your pipe, One-eyed Mayor Bertram, Vana and Vera, Kahkon, Lara, Taeria…On and on the memories swirled. As Sakari’s sword work whistled in the background, Ryne prayed they’d found quick and merciful deaths, but he could no more rid himself of his morbid thoughts than he could forget the lives he took in the past. Such thoughts could consume a soul, he knew.

  The song from Sakari’s sword drew Ryne, its tone crooning a soothing rhythm he knew too well. He stood.

  Sakari stopped mid strike, sheathed his sword, and strode to the fire in his gliding gait. With an exaggerated bow, Sakari indicated the open space within the clearing.

  Ryne strode to the center of the area where a light breeze prickled the hairs on his arms. He unsheathed his sword, the Scripts etched into the hilt pressing against his palm as he lifted the weapon in front his face in a salute to the gods. His movements came slow and easy. Strange and sweet at the same time. He’d disciplined himself to practice daily but hadn’t done so since the Nevermore Heights, and this felt as if he’d been locked in a windowless room for months until one day someone let him out into the open air.

  He flowed through the basics, repeating every parry, cut and strike like a lost lover’s kiss. The swish from the slick carpet of mud and leaves under his feet became a part of him, and he glided through it unhindered.

  Speed increasing as he progressed into Stances and eventually into Styles, his blade became a whirlwind in his hand, lighter than thistledown. Ryne’s swordplay built into a soothing melody that played within his head. In his mind, he poised upon a pond covered in floating lilies, his steps never disturbing its smooth surface. The melody built into an orchestra played at a ball, but strain as he might, the music remained at the edge of his hearing, barely discernible.