Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  “I can feel the shade changing, becoming more and more unstable, worse than the days of old,” Ryne said. Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls. “The same for the other essences, but to a lesser degree. Besides, although the shade is mine for the most part, you forget that Kahkon stripped away much of what I commanded at the Great Divide.” The idea that the Skadwaz’s coupling with a netherling had given such power set his heart racing. He had to steel himself against his fear. “Whatever is feeding off Mater must be stopped, and soon.” He pictured the world falling apart as it once had during his brother’s time when Damal and the first Eztezians battled against the gods. It seemed unlikely for Denestia to survive another such onslaught.

  “How do we stop it?”

  “The little I learned I gained from my sentient within the Entosis, hut his memories revealed only so much. The one thing all the Eztezians agreed upon was that the Aegae had to be created. I don’t know if any of us were ever privy to the exact reason. It just had to be done, like knowing you had to eat. Our one certainty stemmed from recognizing our main enemies: the Nine and the threat from the shade. And regardless of whether we believed what we wrote in the Chronicles, experience taught that a balance in the essences is necessary.”

  “And I cannot play my full part until I have received the remaining Etchings.” Ancel let out a long exhale. “Nothing is ever easy.”

  “Not anything worth doing,” Ryne added. The words brought back memories of the numerous times Damal had said them to him. With the memory came a pang of sadness that he shook off. More immediate issues needed his attention. He could feel the shade building again. In tiny increments, but it was there. “I suggest we hurry, the sooner we leave this city the better.”

  Chapter 6

  Thankful they were once again outside and away from temple’s fetid stench, Irmina sucked in a deep breath. The air was cold and refreshing, sweet even, at least when compared to the earlier death and rot. She said a prayer to Ilumni for the canvas of twinkling diamonds and the twin moons above her, and for seeing that they escaped the shade’s corruption unscathed.

  Aldazhar’s ruined structures spread around them, broken giants casting long shadows. The Travelshaft and the road leading to it were inky pools in the surrounding darkness, the glare of Trucida’s lightstone stretching but so far. She could feel the pull of the power the road held; it drew her like a fruit fly to overripe kinai with promises of speed to numb her senses.

  As she walked she allowed their echoing footfalls to play a rhythm to soothe her unease. Still, she found it hard to ignore the occasional cry of some animal stalking the broken city or out in the Green Wastes. She cringed to think of any creature dangerous enough to be hunting among plants and orchids that were capable of killing a man with a mere touch.

  “What happened to this place?” she asked out of a need to draw her attention away from a beast’s screech.

  “Aldazhar was destroyed during the Luminance War,” Trucida said.

  Irmina frowned. “Considering its closeness to the Vallum of Light, wasn’t the city protected?” From where they walked she could pick out the glow along the skyline that told of the towering, imbued fortification.

  “Amuni’s Children and their shadebanes relied on that very fact.” Trucida shifted the staff upon which her lightstone perched, placing it in her other hand. “As a Setian stronghold and a major trade city, Aldazhar sat at a midpoint between the Iluminus, Benez, and the easternmost Ostanian kingdoms. It was the first stop for caravans who risked crossing the Sands of the Abandoned to bring goods to or from Granadia through the Iluminus’ Vallum Gate. It was either here or travel thousands of miles south to Felan to the only other gate. For a combined Felani and Setian army to strike with any haste into the Great Divide, they would stop at Aldazhar for supplies. Amuni’s Children sent a small force who secured the same Travelshaft we’re approaching.”

  “The wards failed?”

  “The infiltrators weren’t shadelings, but men and women like you and I. We always thought the wards worked against them also. The breach taught us differently. In the end, they only needed to hold the Travelshaft for a few moments to allow a massive part of their army to enter the city. Before anyone realized, they had killed the king, taken the city, and had destroyed a good portion of the alliance’s forces. Of course, Aldazhar was eventually retaken with the Tribunal’s help. What you see now is the result. From here Amuni’s Children skirted Seti and pushed into Felan.”

  Irmina contemplated the size of the battle that could have razed such a large city. The battle at the Iluminus felt meager in comparison. “What of the Eztezians, shouldn’t they have stopped them?”

  Trucida gazed at the backs of the two men a few strides ahead before turning to Irmina, voice lowered. “I’m uncertain if any of them fought in that battle besides Ryne.”

  “Ryne?”

  “Yes.” Trucida’s voice was little more than a raspy whisper. “Not to worry. I’m good at keeping secrets. The Luminance Wars were how he gained the name Nerian the Lightbearer.”

  Irmina considered denying her knowledge, before asking, “Was he aware of his actions at that time?”

  “No, he’d already fallen under the shade’s control.”

  Hearing the story rekindled the pain of keeping her knowledge from Ancel, but as him and Ryne talked to each other, the sense of more than just teacher and student about them, she knew she had to maintain silence.

  “We’ve arrived,” Trucida said.

  The Travelshaft yawned before them, a black mouth surrounded by a faint ethereal glow. If she stepped onto the last sliver of road before it she would be propelled at ten times her normal speed until she hit the opening. Then she would feel as if she slowed to tiny increments as she passed through. Inside the Travelshaft she would be able to choose paths to different cities, each one with the ability to carry her faster than the road outside but giving the illusion she moved at a normal pace, while time itself was suspended.

  But she hadn’t come here for a trip. She’d come for the creature that allowed the Eztezians to see the Planes of Existence, to have insight into possible futures, steal glimpses of lives from the many people who used the Travelshafts. Ever since she’d first tamed a zyphyl at the Iluminus she could sense many of the others. The feeling was slight, but she could tell it originated from them. No other creature gave off such sheer joy at the ability to procure its own freedom. The reason this zyphyl had remained was unknown to her.

  Closing her eyes, Irmina allowed her mind to roam, searching for the connection. When she found the zyphyl’s mind, it was dormant, the beast asleep. Tension should have eased from her with the knowledge that the shadelings couldn’t have used the Travelshaft. Instead the discovery brought a rush of questions that knotted her gut with fear as she considered how they’d appeared to be waiting for her group. A trap. It meant either a traitor among them or Amuni’s Children or the shade had a way to track them. Neither boded well. She would bring it up to the others later, but for now she had another more pressing task.

  Outside the zyphyl’s body lay the Forge that shackled it to the Travelshaft. With the ease of practice she shattered the combination of light, earth, and air essences. Once more she brushed the creature’s mind, this time with a more insistent push. After a few such attempts the zyphyl woke.

  Memories by the thousands rushed her, along with a jolt of agony so intense she thought she was being ripped asunder. Before the sensation overwhelmed her, she slipped to the edge of the zyphyl’s consciousness. The creature writhed, its monolithic silvery body twisting. A screech echoed from the beast, sending a chill down her spine. Yet she did not withdraw. She waited.

  When some semblance of control returned to the zyphyl, Irmina touched its mind again, this time sending projections of what she’d done for its counterparts. For a moment there was a sense of confusion. As she did with animals she tamed, she touched the center of the creature’s brain that would accept commands from he
r. Her eyes widened at the lack of resistance. Emboldened, she showed the zyphyl how to find the Eye and separate itself from the torment of its sight into the Planes and into the lives and emotions of people throughout the world. The creature shuddered with ecstasy upon relinquishing its burden.

  And then another connection sprang to life. And another. And another. The links continued to increase. They reminded her of the night Ancel activated the Chainin, when she’d seen and felt the pinpoints of Mater spread across the world, had known them to be not only Matii but millions of people, every one of them linked together by partaking in Thania’s kinai, connected through the temples across Granadia. Somehow she knew what she felt was every zyphyl in the world. The idea left her stunned.

  The collection of minds did not abate. They were growing, spreading out, so many as to be near countless. A tidal wave of emotions swamped her, threatened to destroy a mind not meant for such communication. Her own sense of self was being swallowed. In desperation she threw up a wall in her mind, cutting off the contact, a trick she’d learned from Charra and used on Sakari.

  Floating in that void she still felt her link to the zyphyl. A bond made only when she had done a successful taming. She put a hand to her mouth, speechless for the moment.

  “Irmina, Irmina.”

  The deep voice was distant yet familiar. Ancel? With a shake of her head, she focused. Ancel had an arm on her shoulder and was staring into her face. Next to him Trucida’s expression radiated concern.

  “I, I’m fine,” she said, mouth dry. She licked her lips.

  “What happened?” he asked. “You’ve just been standing here, staring at nothing.”

  A pinprick at the back of her psyche reminded her of her new pet. “Oh, that.” She couldn’t help but to smile. “I tamed the zyphyl.”

  “I told you she could do it,” Ancel exclaimed, his grin one of a young boy who’d discovered some new animal.

  Her smile grew wider. It was refreshing to know Ancel could still find such innocence.

  “Well, before we become carried away with the achievement I suggest we return to camp,” Ryne said. “I would hate to be caught by whatever created the Wraithwood or for it to attack the others while we’re here.” He peered out into the night, his hand resting on his greatsword.

  Reminded of their encounter, Irmina followed his gaze, concerned of what might be hiding around some corner or in the dark recesses of the ruined buildings.

  “There is no danger for the moment. At least not form the shade.”

  The voice that relayed the words in her head was soft, but Irmina could do nothing but gape. With the reassurance came a feeling of senses stretching out for several miles. Not a hint of malevolence touched them.

  “What is it?” Ancel asked, breaking her from the shock.

  “It … the zyphyl spoke to me.” She shook her head. “It says we’re safe for now.”

  “How does it know?” Trucida regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  Concentrating, Irmina allowed the zyphyl to show her. One instant she was standing with Ancel and the others, and the next she was part of the creature, a long sinuous, silver mass. The zyphyl eased from the Travelshaft’s mouth, a hundred foot long translucent snake that caused Ancel to grasp for his weapon. It paused for a moment, regarded them, and then climbed into the sky, its movements smooth and undulating. In moments it was one with the blue and wispy white, casting a Forge to mask its presence.

  Awed, Irmina took in the land far below her. For almost a year they’d travelled, first through the Sands of the Abandoned where they’d stopped for shelter during some of the worst winter storms she’d ever encountered, until they reached their current location at the edge of the Green Wastes. Ahead of them lay the part of the trek she hoped would be less arduous: the Cogal Drin Mountains. They loomed, shoulders white, much of the land before them covered in rime and ice. Winter might have relinquished its hold on the Wastes but it seemed to have no such intention for the mountains.

  The zyphyl guided her to the surrounding area. Moonlight cast a silvery glow on the Wastes’ inedible scrub and grasses. Hundreds of fires marked the refugee encampment.

  “We can feel any Forging of the shade’s within our range. And we can sense most of their creatures.”

  A chill like icy fingers playing down her back crept through Irmina. Without trying she knew it was an imitation of the warning the zyphyl would receive. She cast another glance toward the refugee camp before she receded from its mind.

  “Well?” Trucida was tapping her staff impatiently.

  Irmina shrugged. “It can feel them.”

  Trucida grunted, but accepted the response.

  “For once things appear to be working in our favor,” Ancel said. “I say we use our good fortune to take the final leg of our trip.”

  They all agreed and headed toward the encampment. Irmina was glad to be leaving Aldazhar.

  Chapter 7

  The return to the camp was uneventful, but Ancel couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble hovered on the horizon just out of sight. The blustery, cold wind didn’t help much considering the storms they’d experienced since entering Ostania. At least winter’s worst had passed. Perhaps he was paranoid, but experience over the past few years said to expect misfortune. Preparation was key to success, and maintaining his guard had kept him alive on many occasions.

  Soldiers on patrol along the avenue acknowledged them with hails and waved them on. Torches and fires lit the interiors of several buildings surrounding another of Aldazhar’s squares where they had pitched camp. Ancel would have preferred if everyone had chosen to occupy the structures, but it would have spread them out too far. Instead they had crowded the area with their tents after clearing it of the Green Waste’s poisonous plant life.

  The wind gusted again, carrying with it the reek of waste pits, the stench making him glad it was not summer. They were within a few hundred feet of the sprawling encampment’s tents when Charra released a low growl. A moment later Ancel heard it. Shouting. Father’s voice.

  “Trucida, send for Idnal and meet me at my father’s tent.” He broke into a jog, Charra padding along beside him.

  Everyone but Leukisa, Ordelia, Guthrie, and Devan knew to stay clear when Stefan was in one of his rages. The four were speaking to him now, imploring him to calm down. Father kept screaming about Thania and Galiana, blubbering obscenities directed toward the Shadowbearer. Not even Charra approached, choosing instead to sit just beyond the campfire around which Stefan paced. Since Stefan’s return the daggerpaw had kept his distance.

  It pained Ancel to see his father like this. Ever since the Iluminus this had become the norm, Stefan driven by his nightmares, by his past suffering. Although most of the time he was lucid, the periods spent at the edge of insanity had taken its toll, showed in his gaunt face and wild emerald eyes. It also reflected within people’s reactions. They trod carefully around him, making certain not to mention his ailment or the three people that drove his wrath.

  “I will make anyone pay who stands in my way,” Stefan yelled. “Flay them. Kill them all. They deserve no better than death. Thania … Galiana … why you? Anton, Celina, so much lost. Why? Dear gods, why?”

  “Gods? What gods?” Father’s voice changed, as if belonging to someone else. “They care nothing for us. If they did, why make us to suffer so? They deserve none of our worship. We should find new gods.”

  On and on the tirade continued, unabated. He would glare at Guthrie and Devan whenever they attempted to intervene. For the Exalted he saved his more murderous expressions. Ancel stayed out of sight behind a tent, knowing his presence would spark memories of Stefan’s other children, both of whom were supposed to be dead.

  Ancel knew different. Even if he couldn’t share his knowledge. Anton and Celina were alive. The thought brought an urge to tell Father, one quickly and forcefully suppressed. He waited until Trucida appeared with Idnal shuffling behind her before he allowed Stefan to see him. Father had re
fused to be tended by any mender but the old apothecary. To say Stefan’s trust was frayed was to put his reactions mildly. When he ate he always called over a Dagodin to sample his food before tasting it.

  Upon seeing Ancel and Idnal, the craze bled from Father’s face. “Safe. You’re safe. Thank Ilumni you’re safe,” he uttered.

  Whispering soothing words, Idnal approached Stefan. Within moments he had gotten Stefan to sit next to the campfire and sip from a cup containing one of Trucida’s potions. Father drifted into a sound sleep, head slumped forward.

  “So much pain,” the old apothecary said while laying Father on the furs next to the fire.

  Trucida grunted her agreement. “It’s to be expected after all he’s been through. One day he will be himself again.”

  She said it with such certainty Ancel almost believed her. Almost. In truth he doubted if Stefan would ever be the same. Father did have his moments where he seemed to be his normal self, but it would only be a matter of time before another outburst. Still, Father had assumed leadership once healthy enough to walk on his own again. Although the people followed Stefan, Ancel wondered if it was more from his past reputation and how far he’d brought them. Father did have the near fanatical support of the Dagodins, which counted for much. The mountain clansmen were similarly unflinching in their devotion.

  Ancel was ordering several Dagodins to carry Stefan to his tent when Mirza appeared, flame-colored ponytail and beard making for quite a sight. He was dressed in leather and furs and carried his favored scythe in one hand. His eyes showed the tight lines and strain of a man who hadn’t slept much. Two days had passed since he had taken a squad of four Dagodins and a tracker from the Seifer to locate the thieves.

  “He’s been at it again, I see,” Mirza said.

  “It comes and goes, but not as often as when he first woke.”

  That time, the gibbering, nightmares, and rages had been constant. Often followed with Father bursting into tears.