Three thousand feet outside Eldanhill’s southern exit wagons and drays by the score blocked the road. Gathered behind the makeshift blockade thousands of men and young boys toiled in the storm as thunder and lightning warred in the sky. They built spiked, wooden barricades to stretch through the fields on that side of town. Women and those too young or old for the strenuous labor of fortifying the town’s defenses ferried water and food to those who worked.
Rank upon rank of once retired soldiers and trainees, many in mismatched pieces of armor, stood at attention. Separated from them in several cohorts, their crimson armor spotless, were all the retired Dagodin Eldanhill could muster. Lined behind the Dagodin were over two dozen retired Ashishin who worked to lessen the effect of the raging storm. Galiana knew it was more the threat from the Matii that kept Sendeth’s forces at bay than anything else.
“I thought you said this Giomar would do as you wished?” Stefan stood next to Galiana with his half of the tall windowpane closed.
The mosaic imprint stained into the glass depicted one of Ilumni’s triumphs over Amuni. Maybe that is a sign for us, Galiana thought as she passed the looking glass to Stefan. “I used Manipulation on him. By all means, it should have worked.” Her frown betrayed her confident voice. How could her Forging not work? There were no signs to say differently. The patterns of essences in his mind had been clear and concise, and she pulled the correct strings to touch off his fears, his need, and his own beliefs. Failure should have been impossible.
Stefan’s thick eyebrows drew together. “You used Manipulation, and he was still able to defy you? A Buffer, maybe?” He put his eye to the looking glass and grunted.
“I was just thinking the same thought. But that would mean a High Ashishin within the Tribunal is making a play for power now rather than later. Who would betray them?”
Stefan slid the looking glass closed and gave her a sidelong glance. “You mean besides us and Jerem?’ He shrugged. “Take your pick.”
“Our reasons differ though,” Galiana protested. “How long did they expect people to stand idly by while they leeched life from the lands around them for their attempts at immortality? And then destroy those who brought their concerns before them?”
Stefan stroked his gray-streaked beard. “Yet, what we do to fight them hasn’t proved to be much different, Galiana. What makes what we do right?”
Galiana leaned on her staff, the scented incenses and the lightstones inserted at regular intervals along the walls reminding her of where she was and her purpose. “We have never killed a single person in Ilumni’s name. We were forced into this position. Seems the burden of what we do has made you forget. How could we fight near immortality without doing what we have done?”
“Saying we’ve never killed anyone is Ilumni’s name is stretching the truth just a little don’t you think? Even so, it doesn’t make what we do right.”
“Sometimes, it is not doing what is right that saves man, but what is necessary.”
Stefan gave a snorting chuckle. “I’m sure they would say the same.”
“What they’ve done to remain in power all these years is evil, dating back to what Nerian began with the Erastonians. What he forced upon you, the lives he snuffed out with his wars. Sometimes you have to fight shade with shade. Isn’t that what you once said to me?”
“I’m just weary of it all.” Stefan sighed. “All these centuries planning and waiting and to see light at the end of the tunnel, only to have things start to spiral out of control. If we allow what the Tribunal has done to continue, Denestia will be forever mired in darkness. They must go. The fact they've abused the Chronicles to choose the path they did only proves the point more. I want this to end already.”
“Patience. The Setian will be the spearhead of the war to come. The Chronicles do not lie,” Galiana said in an effort to soothe Stefan’s frustration. “We need to be strong for when the shade does come. If that means dealing with the Tribunal a little longer, then so be it.”
“Maybe. But you and Jerem keep so much hidden it’s hard to keep the faith.” Stefan pointed out toward the massing army. “I doubt it’s a coincidence they’re here at a time we may actually gain the upper hand. And who is to say what other allies they have? Barson, for sure. They’ve always made their hate for the Tribunal clear. Maybe Danindad or Calvar? Who knows? Then there’s the Dosteri. All signs from our agents point to them knowing the importance of our kinai.”
“When surrounded by enemies, choose a path no one expects,” Galiana quoted from the Disciplines.
Stefan shook his head and gave a wry smile. “Is there such a path? Crossing too far down the Kelvore leads to territory caught up in the battles between Doster and Sendeth. The mountains, as you well know, leads to the feuding clans. We could ask them for help, but why should they help us? Giomar’s failed attempt to demand their obedience to a King they don’t recognize may have ruined that chance. Going west would be to enter Barson, which is forbidden territory for us. Has Jillian sent eagles to the Iluminus?”
“Yes. As soon as word arrived about the army. It will be at least a week and a half before the eagles arrive and we get help.”
Stefan opened the looking glass and studied the opposing forces once more. “A week and a half we don’t have. This has been almost perfectly orchestrated. The Tribunal is so blinded by their schemes in Ostania they’ve missed the real threat.”
“But we cannot afford for them to lose beforehand,” Galiana added. “So for now, we need to do what we can. We need them as much or more than they need us.” Although she wouldn’t admit all to Stefan, Galiana agreed with everything he said. Events were falling out of their control. Without word from Jerem, her hands were tied. They would need to sit and wait and hope reinforcements from the Tribunal arrived in time. Their outlook was bleak.
“Have you heard from your agent about my son?” Stefan closed the glass once more and turned to face her. He looked as if he aged ten years as he mentioned Ancel. Even within his crimson uniform, she could tell his shoulders slumped. Bags marred his face under his eyes.
Galiana sighed. She’d hoped Stefan wouldn’t bring this up now. “No. Not yet.”
Stefan’s eyes hardened. “So not only are we faced with this, but Ancel may be hurt or imprisoned for all we know. How can we save the people if we can’t even save my son?”
“Well, we know he is not dead.”
“I thank my wife for that every day,” Stefan muttered,
Galiana’s heart ached to see Stefan this way, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Has the Access Key changed?”
Stefan touched his sword with its hilt of chased gold. “No.”
“And Thania has not felt him pass?”
“No.”
“Then he is not dead. Held captive would make more sense. It would give another reason why Sendeth’s army has given us a few days to make our decision. They could be bringing him here to bargain.”
That set Stefan’s eyes smoldering. “Or they could be waiting for the arrival of their own Matii. The Pathfinders may have done a good job culling those without control, but we all know they didn’t capture every single one. Regardless, if Sendeth has my son, I will give up Eldanhill for him.”
“As would I,” Galiana said. “He is too important not to. But I fear if they do have him they will not surrender him.”
“I’d announce my rule and flay them all if they tried to keep my son from me. Or if they hurt him.” Stefan’s hands balled into fists.
Galiana didn’t doubt the man. He’d lost one family before to the Tribunal’s schemes with Nerian. She’d spent too many centuries plotting with him not to know the look his face bore. People were going to die. A great many, if they harmed Ancel. “I beg you to be patient. Wait and see what other terms they send while we build our defenses here. In the meantime, you plan a way for us to escape.”
“I’ve been thinking on that.” Stefan’s forehead furrowed. “There’s no way for everyone to escape. The
best we could hope for is to defend Eldanhill until we find out where Ancel is, collect him, then you Materialize him, Thania and the Access Key somewhere safe.” Stefan’s gaze met hers in an intense stare.
“You know what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
Galiana’s shoulders slumped bonelessly. To use Materialization, she would break the last bonds of her control. The Pathfinders would come and put an end to her. “If that is my fate then the sacrifice would be worth it for him, for the world.”
Stefan nodded, reached out, and gave her a firm squeeze. The sadness of her possible death radiated from his eyes. What’s done is done. She prayed that somehow Kachien had taken Ancel to safety.
CHAPTER 35
Ryne took note of the Astocans, with regalia on display, who had continued to talk and partake from the supply of food available as if no one had announced the presence of an encroaching force. He allowed his lips a slight twitch. So, Voliny still keeps his Advisors and Generals mingled within the crowd, and he obviously knew of this army’s approach beforehand.
Speculation still ran rampant despite the announcement the reported army was Granadian. Many fidgeted or dabbed at sweaty foreheads, and hushed murmurs swept through the room. The anticipation within the air grew palpable, and all heads faced the wide door to the chamber.
Marching footsteps sounded from the hall, the door swung open, and a gold liveried servant with the Waterwall insignia stitched to his breast entered. “Knight Commander Varick of Granadia, Your Majesty,” announced the servant. He shied away from the entrance.
A sweaty Lieutenant Rosival entered and stepped aside.
Following Rosival was a wide-shouldered man in silver armor filigreed with an embossing of the sun and lightning bolts striking in front of it on his chest plate. Short, gray hair, interspersed with white streaks, perched on his head and matched the scraggly growth on his chin. His hair bounced with each robust stride. Eyes like flint stared straight ahead at the King as the man strode down the hall. Varick had aged since Ryne last saw him, but those hard eyes remained the same. The Knight Commander carried a silver helmet under one arm. Although unarmed, he moved with a predator-like grace in his calf high sabatons, his gait and his expression daring anyone in the room to challenge him. The man’s eyes gave a slight twitch when his gaze crossed Ryne.
Knight Commander Varick stepped onto the dais and bowed from his waist to the King. “Your Majesty.” He gave a mere nod to the rest of the room; his gaze strayed to Ryne for a moment. “People of Astoca and those of the other Ostanian Kingdoms, I thank you for accommodating me.” His attention returned to the King.
Without standing, the King gave a slight bow. “You’re always welcome Knight Commander. I hoped for a quick response, but this is faster than I expected.”
“We could have come directly, but we did not wish to create alarm or provoke any attacks. A High Ashishin brought us as close as he dared, Your Majesty. The Tribunal recognizes the threat we all face. I’ve been ordered to help in whatever way I deem necessary.”
The King stood. “In that case, would you all please excuse us?” He gestured to everyone within the chamber. “The ambassadors who represent the interests of the other four kingdoms can stay.”
All the other nobles, dignitaries, and their translators bowed to the King and filed out of the audience chamber. Those still left were the representatives from Cardia, Harna, Bana, and a black-coated Felani Lord. The King’s Advisors and Generals stayed. Ryne turned on his heels to walk from the room.
“A moment if you will, Master Waldron,” Voliny said.
Ryne stopped and turned to face the King. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Would you stay and lend an ear to the proceedings?”
“No,” Ryne said. Face a blank mask he met the King’s stony gaze. “You know my opinion, and even without me you already sent word to the west. His presence,” he gestured to Varick, “means the Tribunal’s offer of support is genuine. Now the strategy is up to you. I was never good with that sort of thing.”
The King eyes tightened, but Ryne didn’t flinch. “That is not what I have heard when my soldiers faced you. However, I will not try to force you into something you do not wish. Yet, can I ask…will you fight for us?”
Ryne sensed a subtle shift in the Royal Guards hidden around the room. A touch on his arm announced Sakari stepping up next to him. Ryne’s hand rose to the scarred left side of his face, and he stroked the old wounds. “Yes.”
Sighs rolled around the room like whispered hisses as the Royal Guards relaxed.
“Master Waldron,” said Knight Commander Varick in his familiar gruff voice, “I’d like to speak to you after this meeting.”
Ryne still stared at the King who finally looked away. “Sure, I’ll be outside when you’re finished.” Ryne’s gaze brushed Varick long enough to see the twinkle in the Knight Commander’s eyes. “It’ll be a pleasure.” Ryne strolled from the room.
Almost three hours later, with the sun waning in its dying throes, Ryne and Sakari rode with Varick toward the Knight Commander’s encampment accompanied by Rosival. They left the lights and sights of Astoca behind them to the north. Rosival took his leave when they reached the encampment comprised of several hundred white tents with the Tribunal’s Lightstorm standard flying high above.
They dismounted, and several Dagodin took their dartans. Knight Commander Varick led the way through the neat tent lines. The camp reeked of the droppings from gathered mounts mingled with the sweet aromas of food for a stifling contrast. Soldiers acknowledged Varick with a bow or knuckled their foreheads. Many relaxed at fire pits, either cooking or sharpening weapons, while others practiced the sword using wooden lathes. The clack, clack of the weapons played a soothing beat. Almost every soldier they passed studied Ryne, often fingering their weapons. They ignored Sakari.
“I had no desire to speak around Rosival,” Varick said.
“I figured as much.”
“I was surprised to find you here. And discussing war no less. I thought you retired?” Varick led them to a tent about twice the size as the others.
“I did.”
Two lance-wielding guards stood at the pavilion’s entrance, snapping to attention at the sight of Varick. The Knight Commander nodded to each man in turn.
“Knight Cosar,” Varick said to the one on the left. “I’m as hungry as a starved bear. Send for food.”
The soldier bowed, leaned his lance on the canvas with care, and strode away toward the cook fires. Varick entered the tent.
“I’ll wait out here,” Sakari said.
Grumbling to himself, Ryne raised the flaps and ducked low as he stepped inside. Too often, he had to keep his body hunched and head down when standing inside one of these contraptions.
“Sorry about that.” Varick pulled off his gauntlets and threw them on the plain, wooden table. They thudded next to a bright lamp and Ostanian maps. “If I knew we would’ve found you, I would have had the tent raised.”
Ryne grunted dismissively. “You would think I’d be used to it, but it’s been too many years.”
“Now, that’s the truth.” Varick turned to face Ryne. Smiling, he held out a callused hand. “It’s been too long, old friend.”
“Indeed.” Ryne clasped the shorter man’s arm. “Way too long.”
“Well, at least the years have been good to you. You haven’t aged a day since we first met.”
Ryne grinned. “I wish I could say the same for you. Your hair is almost as white as this tent.”
“Don’t let the white hairs and wrinkles fool you.” He looked Ryne up and down. “I could still manage a blow or two on you.” Varick released the handshake and faked a strike at Ryne.
Leaning away from Varick, Ryne held up his hand. “I’d never make such a mistake, old timer.”
Varick wrinkled his nose. “Although, I would have to beg you to take a bath first.”
They both laughed. Ryne sniffed himself. The smell of death
and days without a bath clung to him still.
Varick took a step back and studied Ryne. “So, are you joining with the Astocans?”
“No.”
“But, you said-”
“I said, yes, I’ll fight. Meaning I’ll fight for the Alliance. If he took my words to mean I’d fight for Astoca…” Ryne shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I said it in a way he’d want to hear. After I came here, the plan was to go find you.”
“Oh?” Varick removed his sword and strode over to a bedroll, the only other contents in the tent. “The gods work in strange ways. Before I received the message from the Tribunal, I planned to come to Carn-.”
Ryne took a deep breath at the mention of his home, his hand tightening on his sword.
“I’m sorry,” Varick said. “I forgot. You feel like talking about it?” He carefully lay his sword down on the bedroll.
“Not much to talk about. They didn’t leave anyone alive. Not much different than what I’ve done in the past.”
“You shouldn’t compare yourself to them. You’ve always fought for the light, for Ilumni.” Varick headed to the table and its maps. “There’s nothing but darkness in what they do. We’ve both seen it, Ryne. They have to be stopped, or else we all fall.”
Stooping slightly, Ryne moved close to the tent’s center to better accommodate his size. “I just don’t understand the point to all of this. The killings, the wars. Is it just for territory? For power? If this is all part of a divine battle in preparation for the day the seals break, wouldn’t Amuni secure his powerbase in Hydae first, before he tried to claim Denestia? What of the other gods? Where do they fit in? If Denestia is Ilumni’s, why does it seem we’re always defending? When do we attack? Is this really about divinity or just some story drawn up for us to spill blood so one kingdom can claim another in the name of religion?”
Varick remained silent for a moment. “You’re asking questions I can’t answer. I’m just a soldier who’s been fighting for too long. The Tribunal points, I attack. This is the way things have always been.”
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