Aegis of The Gods: Book 00 - The Shadowbearer

by Terry C. Simpson

  Despite his doubts, Ryne decided on caution. If he left now without knowing where the beast headed, the last mistake he needed was to unwittingly lead Mariel to the hunters’ location. Not to mention the consequences if he didn’t find a way to calm the murderous intent Forian had stirred up.

  “But she’s a Devout,” someone from the gathered crowd shouted.

  “If she be a Devout, she wouldn’t be involved in such things,” Forian insisted.

  Mayor Bertram scoffed. “If, indeed. We’ve argued all day about whether she’s a Devout. I tend to believe differently. If only they would see it.” He regarded the other elders with his good eye narrowed. “I’ve yet to see a high priestess without their guards or their uniform.” All, except Hagan, avoided his gaze.

  The innkeeper blew a puff of perfumed giana smoke into the air. “She bears the Lightstorm insignia. And—”

  A wail broke out from the back of the crowd. Murmurs drifted through the villagers. A path opened between them to reveal a middle–aged woman stumbling toward the elders— Kahkon’s mother, Lara. Several men helped hold up the weeping woman. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her disheveled clothing appeared as if she’d thrown on any scrap she could find when she received the news.

  Lara’s body convulsed. “My Kahkon. My poor Kahkon,” she bawled.

  One man bent close and spoke into Lara’s ear. Her head rose, and her gaze ran over the Council. They regarded her with pity. She scrubbed at her tear–streaked face as she shambled into the circle of village elders. When she saw Ryne, a faint, hopeful expression spread across her face before more sobs tore from her throat, and she swooned.

  Ryne stepped forward and caught her. In her hand, she cradled one of the books he’d given to Kahkon—the boy’s favorite—When the Gods Walked Among Us, the title read. Kahkon had a love for the old stories and would often say he dreamed of being one of the gods. In his dreams, he said Ryne was one of his Battleguards, protecting him as he did Carnas. Ryne’s chest tightened with the memory.

  “I’ll return your boy safely, Miss Lara. I promise. As soon as Sakari sends word he’s found the beast’s trail.” Ryne held her upright so he could peer down into her grief–ridden eyes.

  Lara’s legs steadied, and she craned her neck. Her bloodshot eyes darted back and forth, peering into his, hope radiating from them. “I, I know you will, Master Waldron,” she said, her voice tremulous. “He’s my only boy. I told him, you know. I told him about the dead men they been finding. I told him stay away from the woods, but you know Kahkon. He loves the trees. Why me, Master Waldron? Why my boy?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Ryne released his hold on Kahkon’s mother.

  “It be Mariel’s fault all this be happening,” another person yelled from the crowd.

  “Look at the kinai crops. It’s her fault we haven’t had constant rains the last few months for a proper harvest. In the middle of the rainy season. And this year’s fruit been sour besides. The storm gods punish us like in the days of the Shadowbearer.”

  Ryne eyed the large warehouse a few feet from where they stood. The normally fist–sized kinai fruit stacked in buckets in front the building were withered and brown.

  A second voice joined in. “The old blood still runs strong among us in Ostania. We’d never lay with daemons or wolves like the Granadians do.”

  “Praise be to the true god, Humelen,” a third voice yelled.

  “It’s because they partake in flesh instead of the purity of the land,” another villager shouted.

  “The Granadians brought ruin to Ostania twice,” Forian announced. “And they will again. Let them keep their lecherous ways across the sea. It be them made all manner of monsters descend upon our lands. I say burn that bitch, Mariel, before she can make half–wolf children or any other daemon spawn who grow up worshiping the shade. Who be with me?”

  Bloodthirsty shouts ruptured the air until the uproar grew to an incomprehensible din. Lara began wailing again. Men and women reached for swords or clubs, and metal rasped on leather. Those who did not already clench weapons shook their fists.

  “Just head on out, Master Waldron,” old, toothless Sanada pleaded. “Sure as fleas to a dog, she follows you. My sons can go before you do. The rest of us can trail her. You all turn back and she be ours for the taking.”

  Ryne ignored the man and the nods and murmurs of approval.

  A smile curled onto Mayor Bertram’s lips. Ryne’s Scripts shifted like the tentative brush of a new lover’s fingers against his skin. For an instant, Ryne thought he saw the man’s aura flash to a darker shade, but it was gone so fast he dismissed the sight as a trick of the day’s heat. Bertram’s and Forian’s gazes met for a brief instant before Forian gave a subtle nod.

  Ryne wanted nothing more than to make his way to the woods to help in the search for the boy. Yet, he’d seen this coming for weeks now. He’d hoped the Council meetings would have given Bertram pause in his efforts to stir up the people. But the hateful seeds sown by Bertram through Forian had taken stronger root. If he did nothing, and they continued to grow, someone would indeed be bold enough to attack Mariel. If only Bertram wasn’t so blinded by hate.

  “Stop!” Ryne’s basso voice thundered over the riotous crowd. The din dwindled to a murmur. A few village folk standing close to him retreated several steps. “Listen to yourselves. When have any of you seen what you speak of? When have you seen any man control the weather? Daemon spawn? When have any of you seen a Granadian or a Devout give birth to or create a shadeling?” He met their heated expressions with an icy scowl, daring anyone to answer.

  “Because you don’t see a thing doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Baker Forian yelled.

  Ryne gave the man a stare that could curdle milk. “Forian, when has anyone you’ve known witnessed any such occurrence? What is it but poison you’ve been spreading for years? Now even more so when this woman has shown up. You claimed to have proof of her ill intentions, but you provided none beyond your word. And that, in itself, can be called to account due to your own ways. Believe me, if you can prove to me here and now she’s involved, I’ll deal with her myself.”

  “Her speaking to lapras not be proof?” Forian retorted.

  “You’ve seen Sakari speak to all manner of beasts, does that make him evil? A child stealer? A creator of shadelings?” Ryne shook his head at the absurdity of his own questions. Everything he’d read agreed the shade’s beastly minions couldn’t be created in this realm. When Forian didn’t answer, Ryne carried on. “Miss Corten often spoke to her flowers. Old Sanada speaks to his dogs and the rats and pheasants.” Sanada shifted uneasily as Ryne continued. “Hagan likes to chatter to the birds. Are they evil? Does it mean they were involved in the creature taking the boy?”

  Red–faced, Forian dipped his head and avoided Ryne’s cold stare. “All I know be what I saw her do. And it be said when the rot leaves the forest, the shade will walk the land.” He peered at the faces around him. “Well, the rot left the forest. An infected lapra. If what she did not be of the shade then what be?” He paused for effect. “This be the first time I seen any beasts leave the Rot. And it happens when she be here, after she speaks to the same type of creature.” He turned his hands palms up as if the conclusions were inescapable. “I don’t call that chance.” A few in the crowd nodded their agreement.

  Concerned mutters followed from the elders before Hagan spoke up. “You should be careful what you say, Forian.” He kept his voice low, but it still carried. “We wouldn’t want wind of words she might consider blasphemy to get back to her ears.” He peered in the direction of Mariel’s last camp.

  “Why should we care what she thinks is blasphemy?” Bertram shrugged, his one–eyed gaze taking in everyone. “Even if she is a Devout, none of us here worship her gods.”

  Murmurs of agreement joined the nods, steadily
increasing. Someone else yelled Humelen was the true god.

  Glowering, Ryne drew himself up, causing those nearby to take a few steps back as he loomed even larger. “Most of you here have been a part of the War of Remnants. You helped drive the last of the shadelings from your lands. Yet, your lands wouldn’t be your own right now if not for the same people you rebuke. Take a look around you.” He pointed at the rolling plains, then he gestured to the squat wooden buildings along the alleys and lanes within Carnas. “Look at your children, your neighbors, your friends.” He kept his eyes fixed on the villagers until they did as he commanded. “Without Granadia’s help, without the Devout,” he grimaced even before he said the next bit, “without the Tribunal, you may not be here today. They saved you from the shade. Remember that.”

  The unrest died down.

  “You be the reason we be here today,” Hagan said, his voice quiet.

  Bertram cocked his head to regard Ryne with his good eye. The burn scar tissue covering the left side of Bertram’s face puckered, but he said nothing.

  Ryne ignored Bertram’s expression and continued, “The most important thing right now is seeing Kahkon to safety. Debate these outlandish stories and accusations another time. Return to your homes. Make sure your children are safe. No one is to venture near the Fretian Woods.”

  Few grumbled protests followed, but after a look at Ryne’s hulking form and hardened face, the villagers dispersed in small groups. Ryne waited to make sure the village square was clear.

  “A moment if you will, Master Waldron,” Bertram said. “Hagan and I would like to speak with you.” He gestured toward the door of the inn.

  “I’ve more important things to do,” Ryne snapped. “As do you. You should be seeing to your people.” He took in the mayor’s glare with a look akin to frozen steel.

  Bertram growled something under his breath and spun on his heels. The elders followed.

  Ryne signaled to Vana and Vera. The serving women ambled over to him. “I need you two to take Miss Lara home. See to her needs and make sure she’s comfortable.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Vana said.

  Vera held out her hand. “Lord Waldron, take this with you.” She handed a pouch to him, and he leaned forward to see what it contained. “It’s the best kinai we could find. We had the mender make a paste just for you. It may also be useful when you find the boy.”

  “You should eat some now too,” Vana added. She tiptoed and brushed her hand on the scars that striped the left side of his face. “There’s never anything wrong with a little extra energy.” She gave him a sweet smile.

  Ryne sighed. He almost told them again he was no lord, but he knew his words would come and go like a fluttering breeze. Instead, he accepted their gift, acknowledged them both with a nod, and admired their shapes as they curtsied and hurried off with Miss Lara in tow.

  A hunter’s horn wailed from within the woods.

  Ryne dashed off toward the sound. Villagers scrambled out of his way as he bounded along the main road before he veered off into one of the many alleys, startling a few dogs foraging among garbage, the foul odor of piss and other undesirable waste permeating the air—the result of almost two weeks without rain. He leaped over the clogged drains and past the homes that lined the alleys, his leather boots making soft, rhythmic thuds as he ran. More than once, children at play jumped from his path. Emerging from Carnas’ eastern exit, he dodged past the gate in the low wooden wall. When he glanced out to his left, he growled.

  Mariel watched him from across the plains. As usual, she maintained a distance where he couldn’t see her aura.

  Ryne focused ahead and made a straight path toward the Fretian Woods. As he ran, he took a quick peek over his shoulder.

  Mariel followed

  Chapter 3

  Irmina Nagel studied the giant man racing across the grassy dips and slopes of the terrain. Just watching the giant with the sun beating on him while only the slightest of breezes whispered through the air made her wish for a drink of water. With the back of her hand, she flicked away dark strands of hair stuck to her face and wiped at sweat streaming down her brow.

  The thick fescue and blue and red flowering brush of the Orchid Plains offered little resistance to the man’s massive legs. His two–handed greatsword’s wide scabbard bounced on his thigh before he brought his hand down and kept it in place. He ate up the distance in great strides, three times a normal man’s full stretched leap.

  She kept a careful eye on him and his tattoos. With his every move, they glinted like precious stones where they caught the sunlight. Any change in direction could be an attempt to capture her again. He’d tried three times since she came to Carnas, and she’d quickly learned to add more distance than her master had advised.

  Birds fluttered from his path into the sparse trees, their sharp squawks announcing their displeasure. The one time he’d looked over his shoulder was his only acknowledgment of her existence, but she knew better than to think he forgot about her presence. As he closed in on the woods, Irmina’s vigilance increased. The man’s strange bodyguard and two others had passed that way. Soon after, she’d heard the horn from the same direction.

  Are they trying to save the boy or hunt the creature down? She frowned. Even she wouldn’t want to confront the infected lapra within the forest’s confines. Her brief peek into the creature’s head revealed a mind as decayed as the rest of its body. The beast refused her attempt to command it to release the boy. Despite the day’s warmth, a shiver ran through her.

  When she saw the lapra spring from the woods, she’d been tempted to try save Kahkon in a more direct manner. She almost did, before she realized it would be a fatal mistake. The giant man would see the power she used. High Shin Jerem had been explicit in his orders. At no time should she reveal herself to the man. Not if she wished to live.

  Another question nagged at Irmina. What was the boy doing near the woods anyway? She’d sent a warning to the mayor about the golden–haired woman and the lapra’s presence. Why would they still allow the children—or anyone unprotected for that matter—to venture near the forest after those who already went missing? Her brow puckered. Unless Kahkon didn’t deliver my message. Maybe he forgot? No, he wouldn’t. Maybe, he didn’t understand? But that didn’t seem likely.

  Two things surprised her since coming to Carnas in her guise as Mariel the Devout. The first was many of the Ostanian youth in the village spoke Granadian to some extent. The second was the giant man had taught them. Her stories about the gods mesmerized Kahkon, and he never missed a chance to visit her each day. She’d promised him more stories if he took her message directly to the mayor. He hadn’t returned since.

  She wondered if the reason for Kahkon’s absence bore any relation to the odd way the villagers acted of late. When she first arrived, most paid proper reverence to her Devout title, although without the typical uniform, she had nothing but her insignia of the sun encased in a halo to show as proof of her stature. Over the last few weeks, their outlook changed. She noticed a peculiar, abrasive attitude from the village folk since they found the last few dead bodies in the kinai glades and their own people disappeared. Each day since, the number of visitors dwindled until only Kahkon frequented her campsites in secret. Do they think I’m somehow responsible for the deaths or the missing villagers?

  At first, she thought it might be someone among them who knew she was not who she claimed to be. She’d entertained the notion someone had contacts within the Tribunal and informed the villagers she didn’t represent the Tribunal’s interests here in Ostania. She’d quickly dismissed the idea as ludicrous. High Shin Jerem assured her no one in Granadia would know of her presence here. One did not doubt the High Shin.

  That left the recent murders and disappearances. Surely, they didn’t think she killed those men or took the others. If so, why? Could the village folk b
elieve a Devout capable of carrying out such crimes? The savagery of Granadian politics was a thing long dead, with nothing amounting to more than petty squabbles over the last three decades. That past was the very reason the Tribunal ruled and Devout were appointed. The Tribunal’s rise and Streamean worship ensured all in Granadia walked the path of light. The idea of a Devout engaging in such heinous actions was so foreign to her as to be unfathomable. If they knew her true identity, she could’ve understood this train of thought. But her disguises had never failed on any mission.

  All this brought her to the golden–haired woman in the woods. Irmina had only gained a glimpse of her twice, but several bodies were found in the same general vicinity soon after. She’d ruled out coincidence and sent a warning to the mayor. If only she could confirm its delivery.

  Regardless, she would be even more careful. She needed to keep in mind these people were less civilized than she was accustomed. Who knew what other strange beliefs they entertained? If the giant and his bodyguard were a good guide, these Ostanians possessed capabilities she would be a fool to underestimate.

  Irmina licked her lips at the salty taste of sweat as she picked her way through the brush and sparse trees. A light breeze blew, but offered little relief from the humid air. Ahead, the giant man continued his run toward the woods, his strides steady, the sun and the hot air appearing to have little to no effect.

  “Find the man, the High Shin says. When you do, you must convince him of your need, he says. He must return with you to Granadia. Pwah. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be so simple when you told me I could never allow him to see me use my abilities.” Irmina ground her teeth.

  As if this wasn’t difficult enough, Jerem had assured her the time would come here in Ostania when she would face the hardest decision she would ever make in her life. He’d warned her whatever she chose would prove crucial in what path she took and would scar her for life. As if she didn’t already bear enough scars. Every moment spent in this backward land made her regret taking on this mission. If not for Jerem’s insistence that this was a required step in the completion of her training, she may have refused. For her, graduation meant another toehold toward vengeance.