Ryne stopped a few feet from the man and gave him a curt nod. Ancel repeated the gesture.
Angular jaw firm, Garon studied Ancel with golden eyes that caught the sun’s reflection. He flicked his intricate black braid over his shoulder before seemingly dismissing the young Dorn. “We thought you might have perished or somehow fallen to the mercenaries said to be roaming through Granadia to capture renegade Matii.”
“Chaos sows itself in Granadia for the moment,” Ryne said, “partially due to us, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Garon nodded. “As always, our people owe much to you.”
“I’m glad I could be of service to old friends.”
“Friends, indeed.” Garon gazed past them. “But one must wonder why a friend approaches with an army rife with enemies.”
“Enemies no longer.”
“Oh?”
“They fight for your cause,” Ryne said. “And the majority of them are your own people, led by a man your father holds in the highest esteem. Stefan Dorn.”
“The Stefan Dorn?” Garon’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.
“Yes. This is his son, Ancel.”
“Pleased to meet you, Garon,” Ancel said.
“Likewise.” Garon dipped his head to Ancel, a new respect in his expression, and then turned to Ryne. “We collected quite a few refugees from the other Mysteras before the Tribunal’s forces stopped us. We—Never mind. Why didn’t Lord Dorn accompany you?”
“He’s not quite himself as yet,” Ryne said. “He was held prisoner by the Tribunal.”
“Ah. I’m sorry.” Genuine sadness crossed Garon’s face.
The last time they met, Ryne retold the torture he suffered at the hands of the Tribunal’s Matii. He was certain the tale was running through Garon’s mind.
“Well,” Garon said, “if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like for you two and Lord Dorn to accompany me to my father. He’d be pleased to see his old commander. After all, we have survived because of Stefan’s foresight. Our people will see to the rest of yours. However, be warned, we will keep the former Ashishin under guard until my father says different.”
“Sounds fair,” Ryne said. “If you will excuse us?”
Garon nodded.
As they made their way back to Stefan and the others, Ryne asked, “So, what do you think?”
The corner of Ancel’s mouth creased with the hint of a smile. “For the first time in a long time I don’t feel as if I’m walking on a razor’s edge.”
Chapter 14
Ancel followed his father and their contingent through the portal and into Benez. He stopped and stared. Books and stories told of the marvels men could achieve with Mater. He’d experienced a few himself when he called on its power. The Iluminus with its towers disappearing into the sky and its interior that prevented any shadow from forming was one such. When he visited Harval, he’d seen firelamps—glass imbued with the essence of heat providing light but without visible flames. During the height of its existence Benez must have been a spectacle to behold.
Level upon terraced level stretched down from where he stood. The city had been built upon the southern face of the Cogal Drin’s steep incline, all from stone, metal, and wood strengthened through imbuement. Although anything solid was already of the Forms, he could tell that Prima Materium itself had been used in Benez’s construction. The pure individual essences glowed from almost every surface. He wondered if anyone but himself and Ryne could see this version of the citadel.
Sunset bled across the structures, the hues spearing the tops of a forest that stretched as far as his eyes could see at the city’s base. Vast walls, at least two hundred feet tall by his estimate, choked with creepers and vines, gray and ancient, but somehow still standing, ringed Benez. The city could have swallowed Eldanhill, Randane, and Torandil together several times over.
As much as the sight was a splendor to behold, the ruins below him were the opposite. They were crumbling caricatures of themselves, their skeletons exposed, jutting into the sky as if begging Ilumni for relief. Most were blackened from whatever fire had razed the city. Lichen, brush, and small trees poked through windows and doorways and from any exposed earth, worming their way between cobbles and flagstones. The massive gates were broken, one of them leaning to one side as if some giant fist had slammed it open. Vines crept across the structures and choked the crumbling walls of a vast amphitheater.
Beyond the city loomed trees as tall or taller than Benez’s bulwark, giants clothed in dark green, black, and shadow, invaders marching on the city to capture it as they had the land for miles in almost every direction. Ancel had heard a few of the Ostanians they picked up along the way whisper of the Netherwood. They claimed it was unnatural, a place no man in his right mind would step foot, home to twisted beasts.
“Nothing like it once was,” Ryne said from beside him, tone heavy with regret.
Ancel turned to gaze up the wide, flagstoned avenue. Several such roads shot off into the city, disappearing around dark corners. The shadows lurking among the buildings made him feel as if someone or something watched him. Above him, the structures were of a much richer construction, palaces and villas with great pillars and gardens grown into miniature forests. Spires stretched up into the sky and mist that boiled along the Cogal Drin’s shoulders.
Massive statues in front of a group of four temples drew his attention. Of the four, only one appeared to have suffered the wrath of whatever power or battle had destroyed Benez. He recognized three of the statues. Humelen, in the form of a mountain his head the peak and his shoulders its slopes; Kinzanen, a gigantic tree, branches sprouting from his body; Ilumni, a warrior dressed in silver armor now tarnished by the city’s decline. The last statue, carved from obsidian, was also a warrior, but lacked a head and arms.
“Who’s the broken one?” Ancel pointed.
“Amuni.”
“They built a temple to the shade?”
“During his rise as the Shadowbearer, Nerian had a temple to his patron god erected. Some called it blasphemy, but he argued as you did: that if the Iluminus paid homage to Amuni in secret, why should he not be able to do the same openly.”
Ancel took one last look at the effigy. Perhaps he needed to give his idea more thought. The last thing he wanted was to be compared to the Shadowbearer in any fashion. He loathed the thought.
Farther up, past the temples, an enormous stronghold spread its walls out like vast stone arms to embrace the city. Its towers vanished into the dizzying heights. The castle itself had been carved from the mountain’s bedrock.
For the first time, he noticed the people. Each one was armed. Even the children. The adults wore armor similar to the soldiers he met moments ago. They eyed him and the others, suspicion plain on their faces. More than a few edged their hands closer to their weapons. They congregated or strode among the homes and buildings closest to the palace, many of the edifices showing signs of new repairs. Between the inhabited structures were tents and other temporary construction. More than one overgrown garden housed a variety of farm animals, the odor of their droppings soiling the air.
As he overcame his initial awe, Ancel noted the clang of smithies at work, the murmur of voices, the calls of animals, and the more ordered noises of soldiers at practice with some Drillmaster shouting commands. Fires were springing up along various streets to herald the onset of night.
“Well, not what I expected,” Mirza said, “but still impressive.”
“That’s being a bit modest,” Ancel said.
Ahead of them, the rest of their party was walking toward the castle in the company of Garon’s scythe-wielding guards. Two of them had stayed back.
“Come,” Ryne said as he made to follow, “it might be frowned upon if we were left behind.”
Ancel took in the hostile expressions and unfriendly eyes around him and wondered whether the two guards were there to defend against him or to protect him from the Setian. He guessed at the former.
&nbs
p; “Makes me glad Charra decided to stay on the other side of the portal,” Mirza said.
Ancel nodded. He’d found Charra’s reaction to entering the city strange, but the daggerpaw had never failed in protecting him. Whatever reason Charra had for remaining behind had to be a good one.
“So what do you think?” he asked Mirza as they made their way to the castle gate and portcullis.
“Of what?”
“The army. My father and Ryne have been teaching you the ways of command and soldiering. What do you make of all this?” He gestured around them.
“Unless we get help from elsewhere, this will be one short revival,” Mirza said dryly.
“What if I told you that of the several thousand here, at least half of them can Forge?” Ancel sensed the essences as well as picked out the telltale auras around the city’s inhabitants, many powerful enough to challenge the High Shins.
“It might change my outlook somewhat,” Mirza said, “but I saw what we faced in Randane, what Mensa had become. And there was that thing, that netherling at the Iluminus. It killed Galiana, and there’s supposed to be eight more of them at least as strong. Not to mention whatever else they call up from the Nether. Should I bother to mention the armies of Amuni’s Children, shadelings, vasumbrals, and only the gods know how many other kingdoms that will seek our heads? No?” He shook his head. “I don’t see how we defeat them all. We could win a battle here or there before they band together, but once that happens, we’re done.”
“If what Ryne says holds true, we won’t need to worry about the netherling from the Iluminus right away.” He didn’t want to tell Mirza a chance existed that the others were already in Denestia, possibly in Ostania. One problem at a time. Patience wins wars. “Also, Amuni’s Children and the shadelings, at least those shut out from Ostania by what Ryne did with Vallum of Light, are preoccupied with the Svenzar forces. The small incursions we had to deal with say as much. Most likely they invaded other kingdoms also, which buys us time.”
“And the vasumbrals?”
“We know Dagodins can defeat them. What we need is time to train ours.”
“I’ll give you that, but we might not have the time. These other kingdoms are certain to blame this new shadeling infestation on the Setian reappearance,” Mirza said.
“True.” That bit concerned Ancel. “I hope High Shin Jerem has convinced this queen of our good intentions. That could be one more ally to go along with the Svenzar.” Ancel recalled the way the gigantic stone creatures had fought at Randane. One of them was worth an entire Dagodin cohort.
“Don’t forget the Tribunal’s armies already massed at the Vallum, possibly imprisoning what reinforcements we might have expected from the other Mysteras,” Mirza said. “Undoubtedly, their commanders have already gained information from those refugees. If I were them I wouldn’t be waiting for us to … strengthen our forces.”
“You sure know how to make a man feel as if there’s a chance,” Ancel said, pushing down his annoyance at the negativity.
“I’m simply being a realist,” Mirza said. “Look, there’s no denying the strength of you and Ryne. You defeated Mensa and burned down a whole city and got a lot of our people to safety. He helped defeat the shadelings during the War of Remnants and did the same at Castere. We saw what he did at Eldanhill. Someone could argue that the Eztezians like you two once banished the gods to the Nether. But there were thousands of you at the time if the books tell it true. Now, there are what? Five? Six? Two of whom might be mad or might see us as the enemy.” Mirza tapped his skull. “Ryne himself isn’t all there. I see that vacant look in his eyes at times. If we’re to survive, we need help. Lots of it.”
Ancel chuckled. “See, this is why I need you. You aren’t afraid to tell the truth, no matter how bleak it might be. Tell me, what do you think of my father’s plan?”
Mirza walked on for a while, stroking his red beard. “To tell the truth, it’s a good one. Striking first to bring the Astocans or Banai under Setian banners seems the best choice. Surprise is our friend for now.”
“When surrounded by enemies, choose a path no one expects,” Ancel quoted from the Disciplines.
Mirza grinned. “Stefan’s plan is bold, that’s for sure. As daring as anything they taught me.” His expression became somber. “What worries me is if your father is sane enough to achieve it.”
“It worries me too.” Ancel grew somber with the thought.
A way existed to get his father out of his current depression, a way to make those who now doubted him to see his mind was as quick as ever. If only he could discover it. His mother would’ve been able to do so easily. He reached under his coat and squeezed the pendant. The slight throb from her presence vibrated in his palm. North. It kept trying to draw him there. He did everything in his power to resist. If not for the twin pull from his father’s charm he might have left already.
“Did you do as I asked?” Mirza’s voice became tentative. “Inquire about my mother? She’s supposed to be here … somewhere.” He gazed at the tents and rebuilt houses.
“Cantor said most of the people the Pathfinders took from Granadia stuck together,” Ancel said. “He’ll take us to them.”
“It’s been so long.” Mirza exhaled, long and slow, breath misting. Tears brimmed before he wiped them away and stiffened his shoulders.
Ancel could relate to his friend’s pain. It must have been difficult for Mirz to adjust even if he seldom spoke of the situation. Here he was among the Pathfinders who had taken his mother when he was a boy. From young they’d been taught that Matii driven insane either by using one too many Forges or by the gradual deterioration that occurred once they became adept, were taken to dungeons under the Iluminus for the world’s safety. But the tale hadn’t been completely true, like so much else. By High Shin Jerem’s command, the Pathfinders brought a select number of those troubled Matii here. Few knew of the plot. Even less knew of the Pathfinders true main roles or what hid among them.
“Do you think she’ll remember me?” Mirza asked.
“Mothers never forget.”
“I’ve had this recurring dream of her wandering around with a crazed look in her eyes, not knowing who she is or who I am. It hurts every time I think of her.”
“How’s your father taking it?”
“He hasn’t mentioned it much, but at night he has his own nightmares still. More so now than before. Some nights he wakes sweating, calling her name. I pretend I’m asleep so he doesn’t see me.”
Ancel reached a gloved hand out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You will be reconciled soon. One happy family.” He wished he could say the same for himself.
Chapter 15
The twin moons hung low in the night sky amid an army of stars, providing enough light for Irmina to see. She huddled in her cloak outside the house previously owned by her family. Once a villa, the building was now rundown, towers crumbling, gardens overgrown with shrubs and trees, their blooms staining the air. Vines snaked up the pillars, clung to the walls before weaving their way into windows like shadowy entrails.
“I still remember Garrick,” Quintess said from beside her. “Like you, strong and willful, and a formidable warrior. Did you know the Astocans tortured him to give up Stefan and his army? As adept as they were in the art of pain, he didn’t break.”
Irmina drew a mental image of her ancestor, a man as large as her father, clad in armor and ready for war. “What of my parents?”
“Merisse and Arshan, two great Beasttamers,” Quintess said. The woman had regained a bit of her weight since her ordeal. Her eyes were still piercing, golden pinpoints. “Although the trait ran in your family line, not everyone had the gift for it. Garrick never did. There were others like you though, not just in Seti, but also in other places around the world. Slowly they were culled before we even realized. One of your parents’ greatest virtues was their loyalty to family. They could also keep secrets. Many still believe they all turned to the shade.”
“The people who would know of those notes are either staunch Tribunal supporters or dead,” Quintess said. “The fact is some of your family did serve the shade, and that knowledge was used to taint them all. You cannot blame Stefan for what happened.”
“They were my parents. I …” Irmina’s voice trailed off.
“Yes, as Jillian was your aunt, and look what she did.”
At the mention of Jillian, Irmina stiffened, rage clouding her vision. Knowing Jillian’s treachery, having seen the destruction shadelings wrought, she might have killed her own parents, if they had indeed turned. The days when they’d fled to Felan during the War of Remnants were like a dream. Why had they decided to send her on to Eldanhill? What had they hoped to gain? Were they protecting her, hoping that one day she’d take revenge on the Tribunal? So many questions, so few answers.
“How did you know I’d be able to tame a zyphyl?” She changed the subject before her emotions got the better of her. “There’s so little written anywhere about people like me, with my skills. Suppose I had failed?” It was as if Beasttamers had been stripped from the world in a similar fashion as much of the writings that chronicled the Setian or the Shadowbearer.
“More a hope than anything else. A prayer, if you will.” Quintess shrugged. “Almost every creature of the shade has an opposite. The same holds true for all the other essences. Through research, many of us concluded the zyphyls to be the equals or nemesis of the vasumbrals. If you had failed, we wouldn’t be here to speak on it.”
Irmina shuddered at the mention of the vasumbrals, conjuring images of the gigantic worm-like beasts that burrowed underground and devoured Mater to add to their strength in the same way the zyphyls multiplied or suppressed the essences. There had been dozen of vasumbrals at Eldanhill. She wondered about their present location and the training it would require for the Dagodins to defeat them.
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