by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo
Every trip to the green brought different feelings bubbling to the surface. At times, his eyes filmed red, and he burned inside. Other moments, his shoulders slumped. A chill crept through his body as he imagined what they must have felt in their dying moments.
He couldn’t help heaping the blame for the massacre on himself. Maybe if he lived a different life before he settled in Carnas this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if he hadn’t answered the summons he could’ve saved them. Maybe the souls of all the people who died at his hands had cursed him. Did he commit some other great atrocities in his past life—the life he couldn’t remember—which warranted such punishment from the gods?
His thoughts shifted, and he laid the blame at the feet of Amuni’s Children and whatever shadelings committed these terrible acts. They will pay for this in blood. And if he found out Mariel or the golden-haired woman were involved, they too would pay. His ponderings went on for hours before he stopped and studied the firewood piled around the bodies and decided he had collected enough.
Searching among the homes still intact, he collected oil in several buckets and lined them up around the pyre. Grief gnawing at his heart, tears running down his cheeks, he poured the fuel onto the wood stacks and the villagers’ remains. Black corpse flies were buzzing angrily at his interference before they settled to gorge themselves once again. Oblivious to the stench, he stood before the bodies and lit several torches. Ignoring the shadows that danced across their now grotesque forms, he pictured the villagers as they once were, alive and filled with promise.
Hagan, you and your pipe, always generous and willing to help those in need, among the first to accept me. One-eyed Mayor Bertram, you loved to argue, but you placed yourself before the village too many times to count. Vana and Vera, thank you for taking care of when I was hurt. I will miss your, Temtesa. Lara, you always cooked the best meals. Kahkon, your thirst for learning I’ve never seen in anyone before.
On and on the faces swept through him. He etched each into his mind.
“May the gods find a place for your souls and may their Battleguards keep you safe.” Ryne threw the torches onto the wood.
The logs burst into flames with a whoosh, heated waves from the pyre forcing Ryne to take a step back. He stared into the roaring blaze. Black smoke billowed into the air in greasy plumes, and the acrid smell from the burning flesh filled the air.
Ryne whispered another prayer, then a torch and the remainder of the oil in hand, he strode to Vana and Vera’s home. He didn’t go inside. He wanted to remember them as they were the night he left. He doused their home with oil and set it ablaze.
As he watched the conflagration, Ryne lost himself in thought. To have taken the six clanholds, and keep moving the way they did, the advancing army must number over a hundred thousand or more. How many of those are shadelings or worse? Halvor said my enemies sought me. Well now, I’ll seek them. If my purpose is to battle, then I’ll once again embrace my bloodlust. They will know fucking fear.
A withering heat filled Ryne as if he and the inferno were one. “We’ll need to behead and burn the other bodies. Afterward, we have cities to warn. We need to find Thumper. He should be at his favorite clearing in the Fretian.”
After destroying the other bodies and setting more homes on fire, they strode from Carnas, heading to the southeast. There, they found signs of blood mixed with the tracks left by the army leaving the village.
“Have you realized we did not find Kahkon, Bertram, or Taeria and the other menders?” Sakari asked.
“Yes,” Ryne answered, but he offered nothing more as he pushed the chance for survivors from his mind. If any did live, they were as good as dead.
They jogged across the plains, and Ryne took one last look back at Carnas. The village itself was now a huge pyre with a black pall darker than the night rising into the air to meet the dark clouds rolling across the sky.
He turned away, his face as hard as silversteel, and his heart ice.
CHAPTER 22
Irmina Nagel gestured to the rockhound, sending an image of what she wanted along her link with the creature. The beast padded behind her to guard her back.
Undergrowth wreathed in darkness and silhouetted tree trunks that wore their leaves and branches as black mantles surrounded her. They provided easy cover for the short Ostanian man with the painted face to remain hidden while making his many surprise attacks. Ever since the giant and his companion left, this had become his pattern. After graduating Eldanhill's Mystera and attending the Iluminus, she had placed at the top of her class when it came to scouting and using her surroundings to mask her presence. Yet her stealth was a pale shadow of this man’s.
Painted Face had gradually moved toward the outskirts of the Mondros Forest as evening drew to night and clouds moved in to obscure the twin moons. Not once did he allow her to come close to his family.
The multiple howls and screeches within the woods spoke of creatures much deadlier than any Irmina saw during the day. Once, when she heard nearby thrashings from one such animal, she allowed her innate sense for living beasts to reach among the trees. The animal repulsed her touch as if she were some paltry annoyance.
Through her link, she sensed the rockhound react to a feathery landing on sodden leaves. Luckily, the beast did not rely on its nose to track Painted Face. He’d hidden his scent well using mud, and the fresh smells from the earlier rain only served to help him. Still, his precautions didn’t matter. Any touch he made that connected to the earth gave him away.
The rockhound’s growl warned Irmina of the impending attack. She spun, but the hound pounced into position to guard her, ducking its head, its stoneskin hardening.
The short man’s daggers bounced off harmlessly, falling to the ground. Irmina met the man’s eyes for the briefest moment to see them flash with frustration before he slid among the undergrowth once more. She knew it made no sense to chase, not if she wanted to stay alive.
Hours playing this game had proved fruitless. She needed some way to force Painted Face to speak to her. Watching him meet with the giant convinced her this Ostanian and his family held the key she needed to approach her target. How else could he have convinced the giant and his bodyguard not to kill him? There must be another way to get through to this man.
She surveyed the land through the trees, casting her gaze out onto the road meandering next to the forest. Something about the lay of the land, the short hills, and the rolling plain beyond tickled her memory. Lights peeked back across the dark terrain like lightflies at play. Could it be? She weaved her way to the road. Sure enough, in the distance was the farm where she left her mount before making her way to Carnas. She couldn’t suppress her smile.
She sent an image across her link to the rockhound to track the man. The animal snorted and bounded away. Irmina cut across the road and jogged toward the farm.
An hour later, Irmina returned to the Mondros with her dartan, Misty, and two other mounts in tow. She trilled twice to Misty—a sound similar to what the dartans made. In response, Misty swung her long snake-like neck out, cocking her head to one side at the sounds within the forest and shifted closer to the other mounts. Like all dartans, she was taller and wider than a horse, but her bulky form belied her grace. The green hump of her shell was slick from the light drizzle falling, and Irmina hunkered down in the saddle carved into it. Beside her, the other two larger dartans mewled nervously, tails flicking back and forth. The farmers had been ready to give the extra mounts to her at no charge, but she’d shushed them and offered payment.
A smile on her face at the intimidating effect of her Devout uniform, she dismounted and carried herself with her head held high and back straight. The lamp she carried lit her path as she entered the forest. Leaves and twigs crunching underfoot, she followed her link to the rockhound.
This time, the man and his family were no more than twenty feet in. Both he and his wife stood with blades bared toward the rumbling hound.
When they saw Irm
ina’s silver uniform, the trousers and tunic bearing the stripes of her station, they gaped. She held up her lamp to make sure they could see the insignia of the sun encased in a halo on her breast. The symbol of Ilumni’s Devout glittered with its own light. Weapons lowered, and the two Ostanians bowed from the waist.
“I’m Devout Mariel Nagella. In the name of Ilumni and Granadia’s Tribunal, you will both come with me.” She indicated the other two mounts, one with extra saddles carved into its shell to carry the children.
Painted Face cocked his head to her then looked at his woman. He said something in Ostanian. Irmina knew the language by sound. Outside of a few names, she didn’t understand the language, nor did she care to.
The man stepped forward. “I, Jaecar,” he pointed to the woman, “this Melina, wife.” He said something else in garbled Granadian Irmina couldn’t quite grasp but took to mean they would follow her.
Irmina dropped the reins of the extra mounts and waited for the Ostanians to gather their belongings.
Flickers of lightning illuminated the leaden clouds shrouding the twin moons. Moments later, thunder offered its response in continuous growls. Irmina didn’t bother to wipe the rainwater running from her hair. Instead, she allowed it to caress her forehead and cheeks as she held her face to the sky and smiled at the clouds that leaked the light drizzle. Next to her rode Jaecar, his wife Melina, and their two children. Jaecar’s odd looks and cold eyes made her regret releasing the rockhound before they left the forest.
Thinking about the hound made her consider the men who set it on her. Why did her master send her after this stranger? And on the other side of the world no less, where a Granadian uniform representing the Tribunal proved to be one of the few things these Ostanians respected or feared. Well, at least now she could make some progress in securing the giant, or so she hoped. If not, she would return to Carnas after helping this family reach a town where she could be sure of their safety and where she might find someone who could translate. Jaecar and Melina could take care of themselves, but the children would be at the mercy of the wilds if either faltered. What could’ve driven them to risk travel not only in the Mondros, but at night? Irmina wished she’d taken her language lessons more seriously.
Ahead of Irmina, Melina rode in the front-most saddle position, the long, chain reins in her good hand, and her children strapped in behind her. The boy, Kass and his sister Blas, had gone from wide-eyed expressions and whimpers when placed upon the dartans, to comfortable sleep within an hour. Melina often glanced over her shoulder at her children. Without the vile-looking paint covering her or her husband’s face, the worry creasing her features was plain to see.
They rode on a much-traveled road lined by low foothills, small pastures and the occasional copse, having left the Mondros behind to their southeast and the Nevermore Heights in the opposite direction. Jaecar urged them on until the drizzle, as it increased, whipped by them. Combined with the cooling wind, it was a refreshing respite after the hot forests.
“We stop soon. Town come,” Jaecar shouted.
At the man’s insistence, they’d skipped every village and farmstead along the way. From the man’s frantic gestures and mispronounced words, he wanted his family as far away from the Mondros as possible. Irmina nodded, glad she could understand that much. Almost as if he could read Irmina’s thoughts, Jaecar grinned at his wife and said something in his language. Melina smiled at him—the first time Irmina had seen a pleased expression from the woman. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The rain ended a short time later, and they rounded a corner out of the foothills. Lights sparkled in a wide, square shape below. A twenty-foot stone wall, with towers spaced at matching intervals, encircled the town.
Jaecar pointed. “Ranoda.” Flapping his reins, he raced down the hill.
Ilumni works in mysterious ways, Irmina thought, her lips twitching into a brief smile. She’d secured a place in Ranoda on her way to Carnas. At first she hadn’t recognized the town as it appeared a lot different at night. Here, she would be able to get all she needed.
They reined in before a closed, wide gate. Large oil lamps inlaid into the walls and several torches hanging from braces threw yellow light across the area and glinted off the helms of soldiers who manned the bulwark. A guard called a challenge from a window slit in one of the two towers on either side of the gate. Movement on both towers and between the crenels of the wall resolved into more guards armed with crossbows.
Jaecar raised his hands to show he was unarmed. He then pointed to his wife and said a few words. Irmina remained silent, allowing her uniform to speak for itself.
The wait seemed to last forever. The dartans mewled to each other, and their necks swung from side to side. Restless murmurs came from the walls above them.
“Devout Irmina,” called a familiar voice with a hint of surprise.
Instructions bellowed from the same voice in Ostanian. A sally gate swung open, and they entered in single file with Irmina in the lead. A bleary-eyed, scarlet uniformed Dagodin, Knight Caden, stood with his hands on his hips a few steps inside the wall.
“I apologize, holy one. We didn’t expect you back so soon from your inspections, and coming from this direction, no less. Why—”
“Is that your excuse for having me sit outside and wait?” Irmina pursed her lips as she studied the short, square man.
“No, Devout Irmina.” Caden’s eyes flashed for the briefest moment before he dropped his gaze from hers. “Discipline must be maintained as by Tribunal law. No one is allowed into a Granadian occupied town without the officer in charge confirming their identity. It—”
“Thank you, Knight Caden. You do not need to quote the law any further. It’s good for you to maintain discipline even this far from Granadia’s borders. My superiors will be pleased to see this in my report.” That should keep up appearances nicely. Let the fool man mull over my perceived intentions.
Knight Caden blinked and smiled.
“Send Knight Ormand to me at my office. I’m in need of his services.” Her stomach growled. “And send up some food.” Without waiting for Caden’s response, she inclined her head for Jaecar and Melina to follow and rode toward the barracks.
They trotted down a wide cobbled main road intersected by winding, narrow streets and alleys at haphazard intervals. Occasionally, the murmur of conversations between passing townsfolk interrupted the sound of the dartan’s padded feet thudding softly on the cobbles. Music tinkled through the air in muted tones, often interrupted by distant laughter or cheers. Irmina flicked her thumb across her nose at the noxious fumes of piss and refuse spilling from the overflowing drains that the earlier rain had did little to help unclog. Ever since she’d come to Ostania, she found herself longing for the nightly sanitation practiced by large Granadian towns and cities.
Breaking glass sounded over the music drifting from the many taverns along a nearby side street. Irmina turned her head to the noise.
Three tall Ostanian men stumbled out onto the main road, throwing bottles, singing raucous songs and cursing. Within moments, men garbed in tawny town watch uniforms confronted them and a brief scuffle ensued. When it was over, the watch dragged the now unconscious men down the street toward the holding cells. They would release them after they slept off their drink. Irmina shook her head and continued to the barracks.
The small, drab building stood only two stories tall. Some superstition to do with the Ostanians who resided here preferring to stay closer to the earth and its Forms. Like Jaecar, many gave their praises to Humelen or one of the other gods of Forms instead of Ilumni. Grimacing with the thought of the backward Formist religion, Irmina led them toward the open gate in the wooden fence surrounding the structure.
Two guards in burnished armor stood at attention before the gate, each with a lance twice their height. They kept their eyes forward under bowl-shaped helmets as Irmina and her charges rode through.
An old man with a bent back, accompanied by
two other handlers, hurried out from the adjoining stables and pens and bowed to Irmina several times. She dismounted and passed Misty’s reins to the old fellow. The other men waited on the Ostanians.
When they finished, Irmina led the way through the wide training yard and into the building. Inside the barracks, Irmina ignored the hallways to the left and right, leading them straight ahead to a set of stairs that creaked as they ascended.
Upstairs was just as bare as the floor below. Irmina guided them to the large corner room she used as both bedroom and office. A simple oak table and four chairs, one of them cushioned, sat on the large center rug, and a bed hugged one wall. Several lamps hung on the walls at even intervals between the room’s windows, already lit for her arrival.
A painting of Ilumni and his Battleguard standing before a rift to the Nether hung on the wall above her table. Depicted as a gigantic, faceless man swathed in white light, the god and his Battleguard, a darker man holding a massive sword, stood back to back in defensive stances. The light from both men held an encroaching darkness surrounding them at bay.
Bowing to the painting, Irmina issued a prayer. When she finished, she turned to Jaecar. “You can rest the children on the bed.”
Jaecar nodded and spoke to his wife. Her shoulders relaxed, and she eased over to the wide bed with its thick mattress and lay Blas upon the covers. Jaecar rested Kass next to her. Both children were sound asleep.