Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  Blushing, she made to punch him on the arm.

  Mirza shifted so she missed and let out a chortle, his gray eyes twinkling with mischief. “And here I was thinking you were all innocence.”

  “That died long ago,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, seeing as you’re dodging my question, how’s your father? And Guthrie?”

  “A lot better, thank you. They’re grumbling at each other worse than before, which usually means they’re as right as an Ostanian dancing girl. You would think they’re enemies and not best friends. And my Da has taken to swinging that hammer of his, practicing more the closer we come to Benez. Whatever memories they have of this place, they aren’t good.”

  “All things considered it seems about right. They must feel as if they’re reliving the same nightmare once again.” She could relate. If they encountered anything like what she and Ryne faced in Castere, or the creatures they fought a month ago, their skills would need to be honed to their sharpest edge.

  “It doesn’t help that my father has made no secret of Edwin’s deceit.”

  “Or that he’ll take his head should he see him again,” she said.

  “Sounds like someone else I know.” Mirza regarded her from the corner of his eye.

  She shrugged. “Edwin is mine.”

  “Alys and her family aren’t taking any of it well. And now that she’s bedding Danvir, it’s even worse.”

  She could care less how Edwin’s little tramp of a daughter felt. The girl had waited until she’d left to bed Ancel. The thought of them together made her want to wring the girl’s neck.

  “Danvir blames Galiana, Stefan, and the entire council for what’s happened,” Mirza continued. “Never mind the attacks on Eldanhill. He already voiced his intention to ride down to the Vallum’s entrance in Felan as soon as he can, join up with the Tribunal’s armies. As if all these red-cloaked Ashishins and silver-armored Pathfinders with us didn’t at one time belong to the same place.”

  “What’s Guthrie had to say about it?”

  “Not a whole lot. Says it’s Danvir’s choice, but warned him that if he took the Tribunal’s’ side, there would be no return. He’d disown him. They haven’t spoken since.”

  “Has Leukisa and Ordelia spoken to Danvir?” The two Exalted had remained at Jerem’s request, and had given up the illusions of humans so ancient they seemed almost mummified. In their natural states she found it hard to guess their ages. She didn’t trust them, but their names were among those who could be relied upon according to the book provided by High Jin Quintess.

  “They tried, but Dan will have none of it.”

  Irmina took in the mass of people between the lines of Dosteri and Eldanhill Dagodins. How many of them blamed Stefan and the others? How many still sided with or feared the Tribunal? Stefan’s hanging of deserters hadn’t helped much. The whispered complaints she overhead said more would follow suit.

  “You know, you speak of how Ancel treats you but you’re no different when it comes to him.”

  She frowned.

  “You don’t say much to him about taking on every fight, but the expression on your face when he leaves, the worry …”

  For a moment she considered denying Mirza’s words. Instead, she shrugged. “I can’t help myself. He’s all I have left.”

  “Ancel can take care of himself.”

  “You think I don’t know this?” she said, a bit harsher than she intended. “It doesn’t make me worry any less, and besides, he’s not immortal. What Ryne said about the vasumbral proved that. He may be harder to kill now, but he can die to a blade the same as you and I.”

  Mirza snorted. “The way he flits around from place to place I seriously doubt he’s anything like you or I.” With a glance up toward the ledge where Ancel and Ryne stood watch, Mirza shook his head. “And besides,” he said, bringing his attention back to her, “he’s not all you have left. You have us.” He gestured to the refugees.

  She felt her chest swell. Mirza had made his dislike clear for how she’d treated Ancel in the past. He was always there to defend his best friend, ready to draw blood if needed. Although they’d taken to scouting together at times and had their friendly or not so friendly wagers, she felt it was all an act for Mirza to keep an eye on her. Hearing the sincerity in his words meant a lot.

  “Don’t get all soft on me now.” Mirza grinned.

  “I won’t. I promise.” She allowed herself a smile.

  “Good. Ancel needs a hard woman to keep him in line. He—”

  Up ahead, a horse kicked up snow and slush as it charged toward them. Captain Steyn, one of the Dagodins who had survived Randane with Ancel, whipped at the mount’s flanks. Irmina tensed as he drew near.

  Cloak flapping behind him, Steyn pulled up short and brushed his dark locks from his face. He placed his right fist over his heart in salute. “Lieutenant Faber, Miss Irmina, Lord General Dorn has sent for you both.”

  Irmina frowned. “Trouble?”

  The Captain nodded. “The Seifer and Nema scouts spotted sentries and at least one cohort. Claimed they have Matii of some kind with them.”

  Mirza signaled to a Dagodin in furs who followed along behind a wagon where four reserve horses were tethered. The soldier brought over two of the animals, bowed, passed the reins, and quickly returned to his post. Steyn waited patiently for them to mount.

  “Did Lord General Dorn send word to Ancel and Ryne as yet?” Irmina asked.

  “I think they already know.” Mirza nodded toward the slopes and crags.

  Ancel and Ryne were making inhumanly long leaps from one outcrop to another across the mountainside. Each time they flew into the air, they drifted some hundred feet or more before floating down like weightless fluff. They blended well with the backdrop of snow, ice, and gray rock.

  “Lead the way, Captain.” Irmina tugged on her reins to follow the soldier.

  As they rode, she watched Ancel and Ryne’s progress. It didn’t take long before the two of them were kneeling at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a valley and the pass to which the refugees headed.

  Covering several thousand feet in a short span, Irmina, Mirza, and Steyn bypassed the convoy as it slowed to a crawl. In the distance ahead, Lord General Dorn and Generals Guthrie Bemelle and Devan Faber waited. Several Forgers, a mix of both those still garbed in the crimson of the Tribunal’s Ashishin and Setian forest green, stood at the ready. Near them waited a dozen Pathfinders, their features hidden behind full plate helms. Irmina wondered which one among them was the netherling that helped to suppress Mater’s effects.

  Half as many scouts from the mountain clans took up flanking positions, snarling daggerpaws and wolves beside them. Leukisa and Ordelia stood off to one side, covered in long fur coats with the hoods pulled back to reveal pale faces and golden eyes.

  Wearing a scowl, Stefan strode over, eyes bearing the wild look of a troubled man. “Miss Irmina,” he said in formal tone, “you mentioned meeting the Setian on one of your missions.”

  “Yes, sir, I did.” She swung down from the saddle.

  “Good. I need you to see if these may be them.”

  “What do you wish of me, sir?” Mirza asked.

  “Take a detachment of Dagodins and be ready should we need you.”

  “Yes, Lord General.” Mirza struck fist to heart and led Steyn away toward a cohort of armored men.

  “Follow me,” Stefan commanded.

  As she took her first step after the Lord General, a warning flashed from her zyphyl. Someone was Forging. Before she could shout a warning, a horizontal slash appeared several thousand feet from where they stood. A sound like a blade cutting the air followed. The slash twisted to vertical, opening into a gaping hole at least fifty feet across and twice a man’s height. Armored men marched through the portal.

  Chapter 13

  Ryne held out a hand to stop Ancel even as the young man gathered the essences and Shimmered. Ancel reappeared in the open space between Stefan and the soldiers streami
ng from the portal.

  A luminous haze formed around Ancel’s fist. The effect expanded, the Etchings along his arm lighting up like glowing embers. He swept his fist out before him. Ice and snow melted with a hiss, throwing out a cover of steamy mist. Humanoid shapes appeared around him. First a dozen, two dozen, and then three times that number. They kept flickering into existence until an army in white and gold, each soldier the twin of his counterpart, stood at Ancel’s back in a long, single formation. Each man bore a shining spear and armor covered in runes and glyphs.

  Ryne gasped. He had heard the Dagodins boast of Ancel’s constructs after the battle against the vasumbral, but this was not what he expected. He’d seen these warriors before, along the streets of the Entosis’ great mountain city, Antonjur, the old home of the gods, a place reached only by travelling between realms. Had becoming the guardian for light’s Tenet allowed Ancel to call forth the Toscali?

  Knowing Ancel’s recent habit of not waiting to strike, particularly since the slew of attacks, Ryne Shimmered down to him. He placed a hand on his ward’s shoulder.

  “Wait.” Ryne felt Ancel’s body strain under his fingers. “This isn’t the enemy. They’re friends.” The young man’s arm didn’t relax.

  The soldiers continued to pour forth, quickly spreading into formations outside the mist Ancel had created. Under thick overcoats they wore hard leather, dyed green. Full helmets hid their faces. Spiked bracers stood out along their arms and fists. Armed with short, double-edged axes, they were pictures of silent discipline.

  The last group to come through bore long-hafted scythes. There were a dozen of them, and they remained in front the opening. A lone man followed, garbed the same as the others before him, except he had no helmet.

  Garon’s golden aura was unmistakable. So was his long, dark braid, tossed over his shoulder and hanging almost to his waist.

  “They are what you came to find, Ancel. These are the Setian remnants,” Ryne said. “Your people.”

  “Are they now?” Stefan strode up beside them, boots crunching through snow.

  “It’s true,” Irmina said as she joined them. “The one standing at the portal is Garon, Edsel Stonewilled’s son.”

  “Ah.” Stefan squinted. “Now that you mention it, he does resemble Kasimir.”

  Under his fingers Ryne finally felt the tightness ease from Ancel’s shoulders. The Toscali warrior constructs disappeared one by one, but the mist remained.

  “Considering who’s with us I would say it’s best if I approach Garon first.” Ryne removed his hand from Ancel’s shoulder and turned to Stefan. “With your permission, of course.” He looked past the elder Dorn to Leukisa and Ordelia. Quintess and several High Ashishins had joined them. They spoke to each other quietly while their attention remained on the Setian. None of the auras around them spoke of a threat.

  After a moment’s contemplation, Stefan nodded. “Speak with him and then we will plan accordingly.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Ancel said.

  “So am I—” Irmina began.

  “You certainly are not.” Ryne faced Irmina. “They know who you once represented, and although I had you under my protection last time, there’s no telling how Garon may react without his father present.” He made to say the same to Ancel, but the young man was already striding across the snow-covered space. Blowing out a resigned breath, Ryne followed.

  When he caught up to Ancel, he said, “Allow me to do the talking.”

  Ancel nodded once.

  “By the way,” Ryne said, “how long now have you been calling forth the Toscali?”

  “A few months. I use them to practice. Who were they?”

  “The twin to the Ashishins, serving light and order, legendary in their fighting prowess. They disappeared even before the gods fell. My ancestors thought they still lived and hoped to lure them out of hiding with the Iluminus’ creation. But the Toscali never reappeared. A good thing, too. Too many religious and philosophical differences doomed the Tribunal’s efforts to ally all the races.”

  “And the armor they wear; it’s like yours.” This time Ancel glanced over. “I can see how the Etchings imbued into it completes that extra protective aura that keeps out every outside influence except Mater. How can I get my own?”

  Ryne understood Ancel’s need. With the way his life had changed, the young man had to seek every advantage. “I wish I knew for certain. Years of searching have proven fruitless. The last clue I had led to the Desorin in the Broken Lands.”

  “Did you ever seek them out?”

  “I tried but found no proof in the first cities. When I attempted to venture deeper into their land, I was warned off by their Matii.”

  “And you gave in?”

  “Better that than to have sparked a war with the Eztezian who calls the place his home,” Ryne said.

  “So how did you happen upon yours?”

  “It was provided by Sakari, my old netherling guard. He’s dead and gone now, and never revealed where or how he obtained it. Not even the greatest Imbuers I know can replicate the feat.” Ryne missed his guardian a great deal. They’d become more than master and protector over the years. Thinking of Sakari made some of his other fears surface anew. Foremost among them was what the netherling meant when he said the Skadwaz had stolen minor essences from Eztezians. Siphoning Mater was nothing new, but Sakari’s warning meant something greater, as Kahkon’s ability to wrest control of the Great Divide from Ryne had proven.

  “Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” Ancel said, breaking the momentary silence. “From his aura, I see Garon is strong. And their fighters seem to be at least on par with the Tribunal’s Dagodins. What of the Forgers they possess.”

  “I told you, as direct descendants of the original Alzari, the Setian were among the strongest Matii, primarily wielding the Forms.”

  Ancel frowned. “None of them mastered the Streams like me?”

  “That came later, once they ceded to the Tribunal. Before that, they were Formist, worshipping Humelen, Liganen, or Kinzanen.”

  “If they were so strong, why give in to the Tribunal?”

  “Long before the Shadowbearer, there was the Luminance War,” Ryne said. “Some call it the War of Radiance. It was one of Amuni’s Children’s first major attacks on Denestia. It began when a group of them managed to free some shadelings from their prisons in the Great Divide. The beasts swept across Ostania, many of them far stronger than the ones you have encountered so far. The Setian were able to hold fast, using the very mountains and forests as protection. Thwarted for the moment, Amuni’s Children diverted their attack to Felan. They used the Travelshafts to get a few shadelings across the Vallum of Light. Desperate, and thinking the shade had done what was said to be impossible by breaching the Vallum, the Felani signed a treaty with the Tribunal, pledging their loyalty in exchange for assistance. Shins and High Shins swept through the Felani cities , destroying the shade incursion. Then they took to the Vallum. But not once did they leave its protection.

  “The Setian now found themselves surrounded by the shade and Amuni’s Children. Their generals, your father included, had seen the way the Ashishin would cut down Amuni’s followers in the name of Ilumni’s light. It proved to be the path to victory at that time. They too joined the Tribunal’s cause.” He recalled another version of himself fighting in those battles. His victories gained him the Setian throne. All a ploy.

  “And they’ve now returned to their old ways?”

  “From what I saw when I was among them, some have. Others are free to worship who they wish.”

  “Except for Amuni.”

  “Except for him, yes.”

  “Hmmm. I think our people should do the same,” Ancel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Freedom of choice. I’ve given thought to what you’ve said about balance. I think it applies to our religious beliefs too. Even if it means some people will worship Amuni,” Ancel said. “Irmina claimed the Tribunal doe
s the same in secret. Outside of the Nine’s influence, it seems to have worked to keep unity.”

  Ryne pursed his lips. “I would be careful as to whom I voiced that last sentiment, but in ways, I agree. As Materwarden for the shade, I’m somewhat proof of your idea, but considering the damage the shade has done to the world, you would find yourself at war with almost everyone.”

  “Materwarden?”

  “It’s what we called those who had full guardianship of a Tenet, who could summon a Battleguard.”

  “So how do we work to change the way people see things? Influence minds across the land like the Nine did with the Iluminus, its Tribunal, and the Devout?”

  “They had millennia to accomplish that, Ancel.” Ryne wanted to add that he doubted such time was left, but he reconsidered.

  “I know.”

  Despite the obvious, near impossible scope of Ancel’s suggestion, his face spoke of determination. Ryne took it as a good sign even if he felt his ward’s pursuits were not only lofty, but also likely to create more turmoil.

  “I guess we might have lost if we attacked.” Ancel gestured with his head toward the cliffs behind the gathered Setian.

  Small caves pockmarked the walls. Within them Ryne made out the auras of men and women. Each one of them was a Forger at least as strong as a High Shin. They numbered in the hundreds. Ryne smiled. Jerem and Jenoah Amelie had produced an impressive collection of Matii.

  “Remember,” Ryne said as they drew closer, “allow me to speak, and do not show any hostility.”

  Garon hadn’t moved. The Dagodins that Ryne guessed must be his personal guard shifted a few feet to create a path.

  Together, they strode between the guards. Garon kept his focus on Ancel, and so did the majority of the others. At times like these, Ryne missed Sakari. With his power to appear as a trustworthy native he had been worth his weight in coin. After a few tense moments, an expression of either acceptance or dismissal crossed Garon’s face.

  “So, Ryne the Lightbringer. I’m glad to have you among us again.” Garon bowed.