Etchings of Power aotg-1

by Terry C. Simpson

  Hands trembling, Ancel tried to keep his father steady as Alys held his mouth open. With a teacup in her other hand, she poured red tea down his throat in short doses. From the tea’s scent, Ancel knew it was kinai tea. One of Shin Galiana’s favorite mending tonics. When Alys finished, Ancel laid his father back down. Color returned to Stefan’s face, and his body warmed in that small period. Alys studied his father, and after a moment, she nodded in satisfaction and picked up the tray.

  “This is for you,” she said, holding the other cup out to Ancel

  He almost protested, but he remembered Shin Galiana’s words. Moreover, Alys had made the tea. Things were already bad enough between them without him making them worse. He took the cup and sipped. The warm, sweet tasting tea slid down his gullet, and its warmth invigorated and calmed him at the same time.

  Her green eyes met his. “Ancel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

  “It’s fine, Alys…” No, he couldn’t lie. “I mean, it’s not fine, but I understand.”

  A deep breath released from her at his words. “You’ve never been the same since-”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever truly get over her, Alys. I’m sorry if I led you on, but that’s the way of things. Whether I like them or not.”

  Her lips trembled and her eyes became downcast. “I know. I just hoped…I won’t ever forgive her for leaving, for what she did to you.”

  Ancel smiled and touched Alys’ hand tenderly. “Thank you for that. Maybe you’re stronger than I’ll ever be.”

  A faint smile crossing her lips, she gave his hand a brief squeeze.

  “I’m glad we had this talk,” Ancel said.

  “Me too.”

  “How’re you handling all this.” Ancel pointed to the other cots.

  “I’m managing. Barely. How could this happen, Ancel? Without anyone knowing?” Alys’ eyes glistened.

  “I–I don’t know. Have you heard anything from your father about Council’s plans?”

  “No, they’ve been in meetings all day. Mother has been quite flustered though. And Shin Galiana has acted strange. She’s been staying close to your father ever since they brought him in. A few times she wrote something down during his rambling but later burnt it.”

  Ancel studied his father’s face. Since drinking the kinai tea, Stefan had regained some of his color and his chest rose and fell in even breaths. Why did Shin Galiana write down what he said?

  A commotion to the other side of the room drew Ancel’s attention. About twenty Dagodin followed a senior officer with the crossed swords signet on his arm that named him a Knight. The black-haired, hook-nosed man strode next to a mender who pointed out men on cots. Two Dagodin marched to each cot chosen, positioned themselves to either end, lifted and headed to the hall leading upstairs.

  “What are they doing?” Ancel asked, amid women’s panicked wails from across the room.

  Each time the menders pointed out a man, cries burst out from a woman. A few tried to reach the cots picked out, but the soldiers restrained them.

  “When someone dies from the taint they’re cremated. Shin Galiana hasn’t given a reason for this, but her orders were explicit.” Tears streamed down Alys’ face.

  Ancel watched in stunned silence as the Dagodin took ten dead men. He took a step forward, before he fought back to urge to help the townsfolk, his arms tight from the effort. An Ashishin’s orders were not to be disobeyed, no matter how gruesome.

  “I have to go console them,” Alys said, her tone painfully soft. She crossed the room and spoke to the women, touching a shoulder here, squeezing a hand there, or whispering in an ear. Sometimes, the sobs increased, and she would hug that woman until her display of grief lessened.

  Another Dagodin squad entered, and the process repeated. Ancel swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and scrubbed at the wet warmth that ran down his face. He reached for his father’s hand. Dear Ilumni, spare my father such a fate.

  Ancel’s head spun for a moment. This time he quickly sought the Eye and brought himself under control. He frowned. Was it the third time that had happened? All after a prayer to Ilumni? He said another prayer in his mind for the well-being of Eldanhill, but nothing happened. Shaking the idea off as ridiculous, Ancel returned his attention to his father. Anything so he wouldn’t count how many people he knew were being cremated.

  His father’s confusing words continued from time to time. Often his face would revert to its pale appearance. Every hour Alys dosed him with kinai and the color returned. Eventually, Ancel took over the doses.

  Ancel was sipping his second cup of kinai tea when Mirza and Danvir visited.

  “Sorry, Ancel. We didn’t know.” Danvir patted Ancel’s shoulder.

  “Not many did,” Ancel said.

  “How’s he doing?” Mirza asked, his gray eyes steady.

  Ancel shrugged, trying not to show how torn up he felt inside. “Not as bad as some. He keeps coming in and out of consciousness.”

  Dagodin carried away another group of men.

  “What’s that about?” Danvir nodded at the commotion and crying women.

  Ancel explained Shin Galiana’s orders. Both his friends stared.

  “Any idea why?”

  Ancel shook his head.

  “Hmm, I’ll ask my father when I go home, see what he says,” Danvir mused.

  “How’s everything outside?”

  Mirza raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly. “Bad. They deployed Dagodin to the south of town. The Sendethi have gained reinforcements. But there’s no sign of the shadelings. You should see all the lightstones and lamps they have out there. You can hardly tell moonrise is com-”

  “M-m-moonrise?” Stefan sputtered painfully.

  “Da!” Ancel exclaimed.

  His father’s face had retained its color since the last kinai dose. The man’s cheeks appeared fuller even as his emerald eyes watered. He gripped the sheets as a spasm wracked his body.

  Ancel squeezed his father’s arm. “Take it easy, Da.”

  “An-” His father coughed. “Ance, Ancel what are you doing here. W-w-where is your…mother?”

  “She’s fine. At least that’s what Guthrie said. Why-”

  His father struggled to sit up. “You need to go to your-” He coughed. “Your mother. S-s-she will need your help. Get… get to her before moonrise.”

  “Da-”

  “No, boy.” His father’s voice became steel. He hacked another cough. “Take my sword. It’s a divya. You’ll need it.” He pulled the sword, in its white and gold scabbard, from under the sheet. With his other hand, he made the sign of an X over his heart. “Release-” He collapsed.

  White heat flashed through Ancel. “Alys! Alys!” he yelled. The heat sucked at him as if it wanted to swallow him. Chest heaving, shoulders knotting with strain, he fought against the feeling, and it subsided to a comfortable warmth. Warmth he could sense outside himself, on his chest, and in his father’s hand.

  The sword and the pendant. He could sense them. Ancel’s eyes bulged.

  Alys appeared by his side. Danvir and Mirza tried to help, but she shooed them away. She motioned for Ancel to help her with the medicine, and he did, all the while hoping to ignore what he felt. His father sputtered as he drank.

  Stefan’s hand rose feebly with the sword in it. “Go,” he whispered, then his body sagged and his eyes fluttered shut.

  “No. No. Alys is he…”

  She touched his neck. “He’s asleep. What happened?”

  “He woke and asked after my mother. Then he said she’ll need my help and to take his sword.” Ancel refused to touch the weapon, but he could feel it all the same. “He said I needed to reach her before moonrise.” He wiped tears he didn’t realize he’d shed from his face.

  “He always feared this.” Guthrie’s grim voice sounded from behind them. He still wore his armor. His massive greatsword rested on his shoulder. “Take the sword. If we’re to save your mother, we must go now.”

 
; CHAPTER 47

  Irmina stood in the Bastion’s s main envoy room. Like the others, the room’s white alabaster, feldspar and steel blocks formed a dome. No lamps hung along the walls, and neither the Dagodin guarding the room nor Herald Bodo bore lightstones, yet the room was bright all the same. She waited to the side for the Herald who still read the message map.

  Somewhere above her, Ryne was meeting with Knight Commander Varick and his Knight Generals. The man had pushed the dartans hard, not stopping to rest or talk.

  “You seem impatient,” Herald Bodo intoned. Whenever the man spoke, he sounded as if on the verge of some important proclamation.

  “I don’t know if it’s impatience as much as it is worry.” Her thoughts still hovered around the discovery of the shadelings, the wraithwoods, the breach of the Vallum and the powerful man Ryne had fought.

  “Rest assured the High Shin isn’t ignoring you. Your message has more severe implications than the last.” Lights flashed across the map in an ordered sequence, and he frowned.

  “Then why so long for Jerem’s reply?”

  Herald Bodo stroked his forked beard. “According to the message I just received, there have been similar occurrences in Granadia.”

  Irmina gave him an incredulous stare. “What? When?”

  “In close proximity to several northern towns in Sendeth and Barson. Right now, the Tribunal is still discussing the best course of action.” His attention remained on his maps.

  Irmina’s eyes grew wide. “In Sendeth? Which town?” A chill crept along her spine.

  The Herald strode across the map from the Ostanian side into Granadia. After a moment studying it, he pointed at a location to the extreme north of Sendeth’s capital, Randane. “Eldanhill, in the Whitewater Falls region, if I am not mistaken.” He paused for a moment and raised his gaze to her. “And I am never mistaken.”

  The chill became ice, freezing her in place with her mouth slack.

  “Are you familiar with this town?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s my home.”

  Through window slits atop the Bastion, a cool wind brushed Ryne’s face. Dappled shadows covered the land below, yet he could shoot an arrow straight to where Sakari waited if he chose. Clear skies stretched for miles, the stars a twinkling carpet. A good night for a battle. Ryne wished Knight Commander Varick could have addressed his findings right away, but what lay before them on the war map was of immediate concern.

  Six shadebanes marched on four major Ostanian towns held by the Granadian armies. At possibly five thousand shadelings and Amuni’s Children for each bane, it made for an imposing force. Still, the numbers fell short of what he knew would’ve been needed to take the Alzari clanholds. Where was the rest of the army?

  “Here and here,” Knight Commander Varick said, pointing to two spots to the east as he walked across the map, his feet passing through its life-like replicas.

  The Herald’s eyes tightened, but he said nothing. Varick had already dismissed the man’s colleague who’d voiced his displeasure at the Knight Commander setting foot on the maps. The two locations Varick pointed out, close to two towns, Bastair and Cendos, were the only ones without a scout’s markings.

  “We need to know what’s happening there before the High Ashishin arrive,” Varick said.

  The three Knight Generals, Strom, Clovis, and Refald nodded, their armor reflecting colors from the lightstones decorating the war map.

  “I can take my force here,” said Clovis in his white armor, inlaid with gold. The hill he pointed out was west of Cendos and closest to the Vallum, near a town named Sandar.

  “And I’ll go here,” Strom said. He pointed a few miles south of Clovis’s position. “I can help Clovis, then we can head north to defend Dastan together.”

  Clovis nodded, brow puckered in thought. “Yes, yes. With your faster dartans, you will easily catch my heavy armored cohorts. It looks like your light cavalry may prove useful after all.”

  Strom grunted and cast a sidelong glance at Clovis. “A dartan’s shell is more than enough protection.”

  Clovis opened his mouth just as lights from the scout locations marked on the field blinked. Herald Jensen stepped forward, his robes with its sashes that reached his waist swirling about him. After a moment studying the lights, the bald man nodded to Varick. Each man knew what that meant and stepped off the war map.

  Herald Jensen waved his hand over the three scout locations near Sandar and Dastan. Light and shade spilled up into the man. A small slit Materialized in the air and widened to about the size of a palm. Individual blades of grass and bleached white sand showed beyond the tear. A small, folded paper slipped through the hole, and then the breach twisted back into a slit and snapped shut. Ryne arched an eyebrow. A basic Materialization like the one Herald Jensen just Forged was almost as impressive as the one Jerem used to bring him to the Vallum. The Herald passed the paper to Varick.

  The Knight Commander unfolded the paper and studied it. “Hmm, the scouts confirm the bane locations at those two towns” As he spoke, Jensen waved a hand and new enemy markers appeared around Sandar and Dastan. Your plan is even more feasible now, Clovis and Strom.”

  The two Knight Generals nodded and smiled, clapping each other’s shoulder.

  “Refald.” Varick eyed the scar-faced man in heavy crimson armor. “You keep the Dagodin infantry ready and waiting. When we give you the locations, the High Ashishin will Materialize your legion in to close the traps. My legion will take Bastair and Cendos, and then we finish whatever dregs are left. What do you think, Master Waldron?”

  “Seems as fine a plan as any,” Ryne said. “There’s no reason it shouldn’t work.” He ignored the grimaces and narrowed eyes from Clovis and Strom.

  Varick nodded. “Well then, that’s it until the High Ashishin arrive. You three go prepare. Master Waldron, with me.”

  The Knight Generals struck fist to hearts and stalked off.

  After they left, Varick strode to the window slits overlooking the landscape below. Miles in the distance, twinkling lights marked a few towns or cities.

  “Those two dislike you. I almost expected you to react.”

  Ryne shrugged. “Demand discipline, but first show mastery of self. Men tend to dislike what they can’t understand. They’re new enough to this to feel the way they do. Like the others, they’ll come to understand me. If they live long enough.”

  Varick smiled. “Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t born to lead, old friend.”

  “I wish I knew what I was born for,” Ryne said staring out into the darkness.

  Varick stepped up next to him, the cool wind ruffling the white-streaked hair he had left. “This feels like a bad one, Ryne. The word you brought made it no better. And the Tribunal hasn’t responded to my report yet. You would’ve thought they’d have the High Ashishin here already.” Varick’s eyes hardened. “I’ve received word there were other shadeling attacks in Granadia itself. I have an ill feeling about all this. That’s why I’m sending you to Bastair where the banes are closest together.”

  An hour later, near a rocky crag of the Dead Hills, Ryne hugged the slanted ground in the shadows of an incline. Sakari crawled next to him. Ryne had avoided Irmina following him by Shimmering down from the Bastion. Thank the gods.

  The stench of burnt flesh drifted on the cool night air. Screams rose from the town below as swirling winds whipped at Ryne’s cloak. O, Ilumni, please bring them a quick death. Even as he prayed, Ryne knew no one listened. The god of light offered no mercy this night.

  Children’s cries and babies’ frantic bawling reached Ryne where he crept along the slope. Undetected, he eased up onto the peak of the crag and looked down.

  Bastair was in shambles. Greasy smoke and ash billowed into the sky from fires illuminating broken buildings with their ruddy glow. Huge sandstone blocks littered the ground where homes once stood. Piled rubble marked other foundations as if those structures had been ground to sand in a gigantic hand and pour
ed from it. Many houses left standing lacked roofs or walls. Wide, gaping holes big enough to swallow a building marred the ground in several places. In the town square, a gigantic oak tree burned.

  Corpses littered the cobbled streets, some dressed in shredded, scarlet uniforms and others in the tattered trousers and tunics of townsfolk. Bodies clothed in black armor lay close to those in red.

  Rank upon rank of black armored Amuni’s Children wielding long, sooty-looking spears herded disheveled survivors into the town square. Once there, the soldiers ripped babies from the arms of wailing mothers. They separated crying children from adults.

  Ryne clenched his fists against the urge to charge down into the square.

  Men and women surged toward the soldiers who carried the young off to one side. Spearmen intercepted them, dark lances stabbing legs and arms of those who protested as Amuni’s followers restored order within a few minutes.

  A few hundred Amuni cultists formed ranks between the adults and children. In unison, they ground their spear butts at their feet. The flames roaring from the oak tree illuminated the spears, which stretched several feet above the soldiers’ heads. Ryne narrowed his eyes at the smoke rising from the wavering black blades.

  Several soldiers stepped forward, placed long horns to their mouths, and blew. One, long, shrill note keened.

  Among the shadows in the square, darkwraiths appeared by the hundreds as if from nowhere, long cloaks flying in wispy swirls with the strong wind, black blades hanging from scabbards at their hips. Smoky darkness wrapped their entire countenance like waves of black heat.

  Screeching howls echoed from within the dark forest surrounding Bastair. From the tree line loped several wolf-like forms, green eyes glowing. Ryne counted forty wraithwolves in all, running like men on two muscular legs. Black hair covered their bodies, and they sprang with long, leaping bounds that could outpace a horse’s gallop. With each leap, they dropped to all fours, and their arms helped propel them into the air. After they landed, they sprinted on two legs again. In minutes, they reached the town square and the captives.