Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  Her mind shifted to her pet where it flew somewhere above the Cogal Drin. The lack of resonance from it said another of its kind wasn’t in the city. At some point she would check the Travelshaft to be certain.

  Before that, she needed to attend to the Eldanhill folk. Steyn and other officers were directing them through several portals into Benez. Leukisa and Ordelia were busy organizing the Matii, except for the Pathfinders. Cantor commanded the full-plate-wearing warriors. The Seifer and Nema leaders had already chosen a part of the city where the refugees would call home, and had set up a perimeter patrolling with their pets. Several retired Ashishin who’d taken the jobs as Teachers helped with the elderly or infirm. All things considered, the transition appeared to be a smooth one. Everyone seemed grateful they had been saved from several more days at the mountain’s mercy.

  As she watched them prepare to bed down for the night in and around the dilapidated structures, she noticed a few things. The Granadian refugees cast furtive glances in the direction of the Setian. The Dosteri soldiers kept their hands on their weapons, and the big-boned clansmen made no effort to hide the focus of themselves and their pets, often snapping commands to the animals. In turn, the Benez’s Setian warriors, particularly the ones who possessed daggerpaws, patrolled between the two groups. Already it was as if an imaginary line had been drawn.

  Grimacing, she recognized the potential issues. The exiled Setian had reclaimed their home, and now it was already being encroached upon, supposedly by people the same as them but who hadn’t suffered with them. After being bandits for years, hidden within Felan’s Barrier Mountains, their natural distrust would be hard to shake. For the refugees’ part, their ordeal had been terrifying. And they’d done most of it flying banners of a people that most of them didn’t recognize as their own even if many among them were Setian descendants. For the Dosteri who had learned their true history, not only did they have to accept the Seifer and Nema as part of them, and in turn that they were all descended from the once feared Erastonians, but their future relied on the very same race that defeated them.

  If the tension among the mix of races grew any more volatile, it would boil over. She wished Jerem were there to offer reassurances to the Setian he’d helped collect. As she considered her options, she realized there might be another way.

  “You notice it too,” Quintess said. “The slightest mistake by anyone, and this will go badly.”

  “Yes.” Irmina signaled to a young Dagodin. The man hurried over. “Send for Pathfinder Cantor, please.” The man bowed and left.

  “Hmmm.” Quintess made a steeple of her fingers. “I don’t know if I agree with this. Utilizing the Pathfinders may cause more fear.”

  “Because that’s who we see them as,” Irmina said. “But these people are accustomed to the Pathfinders delivering other Matii here instead of to the Iluminus’ dungeons. Some of those freed Matii were from Sendeth and Doster. Cantor and his men should know which ones.”

  “How does that help with this situation?”

  “We reunite them with their families. Having already found a place here in Benez, it will make it easier for the others to become accepted.”

  Quintess arched a thin brow. “It might work. I always said you were among the brightest students we had.”

  Irmina smiled at the compliment. When she first met Quintess, the woman had been the fear-inspiring leader of the Raijin, the Tribunal’s most elite assassins. When the Tribunal had summoned her, and she’d faced Quintess, Irmina expected nothing but bad things. As it turned out, Quintess had been testing her. She’d not just passed, but had earned the High Jin’s trust.

  “How do you think it’s going inside?” Irmina dipped her head in the direction of the gray-walled castle.

  “Truthfully, I cannot say. Both Ryne and Ancel have proved to be formidable. Although Stefan was once their leader, he’s not the same man now as he was then.” Quintess cleared her throat. “And then there’s the idea of being free, independent. These remnants have been that way for decades. Will they actually accept the coming change? Perhaps if Jerem were here, there would be no question. He’s a constant they recognize, like the Pathfinders. Hardly anyone remembers Trucida, even if she has a stare that could crack rocks. I would say everything hinges on Stefan’s ability to rein in his need for immediate revenge, to not lose his sanity completely.”

  “Do you believe he’s that far gone?”

  Quintess shrugged. “A man can only bend so much before he breaks. Stefan has carried the weight of our people for centuries.”

  “Let’s hope he’s still flexible then,” Irmina said. “If he fully breaks we might lose Ancel.” She couldn’t fathom that happening. The thought hurt.

  The Dagodin reappeared with Cantor striding beside him. Unlike the other Pathfinders, their leader seldom wore his full plate helm. His eyes carried the golden highlights that spoke of years spent Forging. They stood out in his dark-skinned, pockmarked face. Cantor said a few words to the Dagodin who then returned to his post.

  When Cantor reached them he gave a slight nod. “Jin Irmina—”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t call me that.”

  “Understood.” He dipped his head in apology. “Just Irmina, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Cantor smiled and turned to Quintess. “Same for you?”

  “If you please,” Quintess said.

  “I understand your feelings.” Cantor came to stand next to them, surveying the last of the refuges passing through the portals. “Being what you were carries the stigma of the Tribunal’s lies or at least the Nine’s. However, for us Pathfinders, we’ve always been above such issues. To us, Matii are Matii. Anyway, why did you summon me?”

  “How is everything going?” Irmina gestured in the direction of the portals as they closed. Dagodins carrying torches guided the last refugees down an avenue.

  “As well as can be. Berenil, Leukisa, and Ordelia have things in hand. The other High Shins are following their lead and their instructions.”

  Irmina scowled. “I don’t trust those two.”

  “The Exalted?” Cantor asked.

  “Yes,” Irmina said. “After Buneri was exposed as a netherling I tend to think all of them have either been corrupted or are the same as he.”

  “Wouldn’t Ryne or Ancel be able to tell?” Quintess asked.

  “I’m not so certain,” Irmina admitted. “When I first met Ryne, his personal bodyguard was Sakari, who turned out to be a netherling. I don’t think Ryne ever knew until I exposed the creature. The one saving grace so far is the netherling pact with the gods that prevents them from attacking anyone or anything except in self defense.”

  “Not being able to tell which of them might be the enemy could be catastrophic,” Quintess said.

  “Possibly, except for a few things,” Cantor said. “Ryne re-attuned the Vallum of Light to prevent anything of the shade or of the Nether from crossing into Ostania. And if those two were the enemy, why didn’t they simply have someone kill or capture Ancel in Randane?”

  “I gave that some thought.” Irmina felt a sense of relief as the last portal closed. “I think they wanted him to destroy the other Chainin or at least stop the Skadwaz from using it. We know the Nine sees the shade as an enemy. I think they’ve been using Ancel and us. What better way to rid yourself of a potential threat than to pit your enemy against them?”

  “But by destroying it, he broke another one of the Kassite’s seals.” Cantor grimaced.

  “Which doesn’t make sense,” Irmina said. “Doesn’t breaking the seals not only free the gods, but also opens the Kassite completely, allowing passage between Hydae, the Nether, and Denestia?”

  The two High Shins nodded.

  “Perhaps to replace the gods, the Nine need to fight them first?” Cantor suggested.

  “Except that the Nine are netherlings, and the gods are imprisoned in the Nether. Why not kill the gods there?”

  “Something must be preventing them
from doing so.” Cantor lips formed a tight line. It—“

  “I can confirm that the Nine intended to have the seals broken,” Quintess said.

  Irmina froze. She slowly faced the older woman.

  “For years I was a Listener for the Gray Council, by Amelie’s command.” Quintess was frowning now. “I infiltrated the Light Council and attended several meetings in a dream realm the Nine used to communicate. A place much the same as what we see when we Materialize, dark and featureless. It’s how I attained much of the information on the loyalties of many within the Iluminus.

  “Their instructions in the final meeting were to allow Ancel to be taught. They mentioned the unsealing, ascension, and something about his siblings. And some place that exists between worlds, an Entosis. One of their netherlings reported to them that it posed a threat, but the Nine were unconcerned.”

  “Does Ancel know of this? Why haven’t you told anyone?” Irmina asked, voice low.

  “I reported to Jerem and Amelie as per my orders. I can only assume one of them told him of me.”

  “So, Leukisa and Ordelia could possibly be the enemy,” Cantor said. “They had no reason to stop Ancel. He was already doing what they wanted.”

  “Knowing what we do, why would Ancel destroy the Chainins?” Quintess was again watching her with those assessing eyes.

  “I felt the power Ancel released from the Chainin that first night. We all did.” Irmina looked from one High Shin to the next. They both nodded. “The same with when two of the divyas were destroyed. When I asked him about them, he said the Tribunal was trying to use the one in Eldanhill, and Mensa was siphoning power from the one in Randane. He feels he couldn’t afford to allow either party to grow stronger while we were still weak.”

  “But at the risk of releasing the gods?” Cantor shook his head. “It never made sense to me, but who am I to question an Eztezian. I’m a Pathfinder. I was born to serve him.”

  Irmina took a moment to think. “The Chainins aren’t the only seals, according to Ancel. The Eztezians themselves are seals.” Her mind drifted to the conversation she had with Herald Bodo. Much of what the man had said turned out to be true, and more appeared likely. If, as he claimed, the gods were created from the bodies of netherlings, then that could answer why the Nine felt they had the right to ascend. Bodo had known about the seals, the netherling plot, and that Ryne was an Eztezian. By his account, his information came from Jerem. Who was Jerem, really? How much information had died with Galiana? And then there was Trucida. Why did she feel as if they were all being misled? Again.

  “If that is the case, it makes sense in a way.” Cantor grunted. “They plan to destroy the other Chainins, negating whatever power the Nine and the shade can muster, gather the other living Eztezians and fight on their own terms.”

  “And what if they die?” Quintess hugged her arms.

  Cantor shrugged. “Then it’s the end.”

  Irmina’s mind was still whirling. And then it stopped. “Quintess, you mentioned something about Ancel’s siblings. What do you know of them?”

  “They were supposed to be dead, killed by the Shadowbearer, but the Nine made it seem as if they were not.”

  Grunting at the distant possibility, the audacity of it, Irmina said, “If they live, then they are Eztezians also.”

  “Should we seek out the truth?” Quintess asked.

  “No. I would think it best they remain hidden if they’re alive.” Cantor stroked his chin. “The way Jerem plots, they could be crucial to some plan he hasn’t shared. I think our best course, our only course, is to rely on him, Ryne, and Ancel. And that means my Pathfinders and I must ensure Ancel lives as is our mandate. I would say to allow Stefan to continue to lead us, but keep an eye on his condition.”

  Irmina agreed. At least for the moment. “Well, then we deal with the issues we can, which is why I summoned you.” Mind still working, she regarded Cantor. “I need you to pass out a list of the Matii your Pathfinders brought here over the years. Give it to the Dagodins. Have them gather those people up. Quintess, you do the same with the Shins and heads of the Mysteras to discover the families that had their loved ones taken. Reuniting them should solve some of the tension here.”

  “What will you be doing in the meantime,” Quintess asked.

  “I think I may know a way to expose the intentions of any hidden netherlings,” Irmina answered.

  Chapter 16

  Ryne strode through Benez’s halls, its walls empty of the rich trappings they once held. Ahead of him Stefan walked with his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly as he listened to Garon. Mirza, Devan, and Guthrie were a step behind those two. When they’d first entered the castle Stefan had paused to say a brief prayer for his children. Seeing the fresh tears roll down the elder Dorn’s face had been more painful than Ryne expected. Frowning, he regarded Stefan’s aura. As it was of late, it flitted through a number of chaotic changes caused by his mental instability. Much like the city Stefan was a sliver of the man he remembered.

  With each echoing footstep Ryne’s memories crashed like the waves in the Sea of Swirls as they slammed into the cliffs along the Barrier Mountains. He recalled when he ruled this place, when people thronged to see him, praised his name, called him the Lightbearer. In those same recollections he saw the opposite, the revulsion, the fear that made men hurry along the streets, glance over their shoulders, made mother’s sing to their babes at night in hopes of dispelling the monsters that stalked the darkness. In the latter memories he’d almost killed Stefan’s children, Stefan himself, waged war after war, and brought much of Ostania to ruin. In a world where people once thought him a god, the legacy he left behind might ever be one of decimation, a tapestry of suffering and sorrow drawn in blood.

  All because of Kahkon.

  He ground his jaw as the need to kill the creature the man had become gnawed at him. Ryne remembered when the Skadwaz were his, Matii who did his bidding, as did so much of the shade. The balance to their counterparts of light, the Ashishin and the Toscali. Now, they’d been transformed into something grotesque.

  So much had changed since he lost himself to Mater and the power the beings that inhabited it bestowed. Much of the world had been laid waste by men and women like himself whose mandates were to protect, uphold the sanctity of the gods, and preserve the lives of the people the gods created. He still didn’t quite know exactly what led the first Eztezians to turn against their creators, to accept the power given to them by the netherlings.

  Tales from before his time claimed the reason was due to the gods being corrupted by their own power much like the Eztezians, battling among themselves for supremacy, breaking the world. But some part of those stories didn’t ring true.

  The gods wielded Prima Materium and that lacked the malevolence that inhabited Mater. It shouldn’t have affected the gods in such a way.

  The other stories rang with more truth, the ones that claimed the netherlings were angry with the gods for using them during their wars to create shadelings. Those tales gave credence to why the Nine wanted to replace the gods, reshape the world. They also made it more plausible that the netherlings had misled the Eztezians into attacking the gods with their newfound power.

  “The older you have grown, the less you speak.” Trucida’s raspy voice carried a hint of amusement.

  “I was never fond of wasting words,” Ryne said.

  “True. Your sword spoke for you more often than not.” Trucida leaned closer to him. “This place must hold a number of unsavory memories for you,” she added low enough so only he heard.

  Ryne took a deep breath, pushing back against his recollections. “It does, but it also has its share of good. In the end, all that will matter is if Denestia survives.”

  “If it doesn’t?”

  “Then you, I, and all the others who struggled toward the same goal will have wasted a lot of lives for nothing.”

  “To speak the truth, I doubted we would reach this point. So m
any years spent slogging through mistake after mistake, unraveling the lies that shrouded facts.” She nodded toward the group ahead. “They make me believe it’s worth it.”

  Ryne eyed the men. He agreed with Trucida’s sentiments. From the first time he’d been given his charge to help protect the human races, he harbored more than a few misgivings. Humans were weak, were fodder for the monsters of the world. Why had the gods chosen to preserve them? After witnessing many a sacrifice over the millennia, some by the same men here, he had begun to change his opinion. When they seemed to be at the edge of decimation, they somehow found a way. Through wavering beliefs, in the face of insurmountable odds, against powers well beyond them, they had persevered. Their survival to this point gave him hope. Even if it was a small hope, it was enough.

  “Soon we will be in unheralded territory,” Trucida said.

  “May the gods help us then,” Ryne uttered.

  “Indeed.”

  They approached the door to one of the main dining halls. Ryne was glad they’d chosen to avoid the throne room. Not that he expected it to be of much use after his confrontation with the Tribunal and its warriors so many years ago, but the memories it held would have been overwhelming. As much as he prided himself on always being in control, there were some things he was not willing to confront.

  Garon pushed open the door, and they followed. Torches set into sconces on the pillars lit the interior, a few firelamps among them, the glass imbued to cast light without heat. One or two of them held lightstones, each one giving off a soft, white luminance. A message map occupied one half of the floor. The sweet aroma of food drifted from the dishes occupying one of several long tables around the room. The scents set Ryne’s stomach grumbling. He wasn’t the only one eyeing the food.

  At the table, near a cushioned armchair, stood Edsel Stonewilled, face scarred, lacking one ear, and bearing a black leather patch over his left eye. He spread his arms wide. “All these years, I hoped, but I never thought I’d see the day. I heard about the attacks on Eldanhill, and I prayed, I prayed … Stefan … Lord Dorn, it’s, it’s so good to see you again.”