Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  A force pushed against her mind, conjuring images of the day Sakari had touched her in a similar fashion. Eyes narrowing, she took in the bared fangs and snarling features of countless animals. She concentrated, slamming her will against the presence. Not one of the beasts reacted.

  Charra whined.

  Shocked, she lost a hold on her focus. When Charra’s consciousness slipped into her head, she gasped.

  Intermezzo 2

  Queen Celina was of a mind to order one of her Deathbringers to take Commander Giomar’s head. On bended knee a few steps below her throne, head bowed, he had attempted to defend his erroneous ways. Now, he awaited her judgment. To his credit, after his return from Granadia, he had seen fit to present himself to her properly groomed and in the formal sky blue uniform his station required. He even smelled of rich perfume, the scent doing well to chase away the Cardian Isle’s salty air. If he died today he would do so with some semblance of honor and tradition. She appreciated the gesture.

  Lips pursed, she eyed Deathbringer Kudric. Large and swarthy for an Alzari, a reflection of the clansman’s mixed breeding with the Harnan in the Nevermore Heights, he was the last of her original guard. Stoic, as was his wont, he casually rested his hand on the hilt of one of his black-hafted swords. None of the madness that gave the Bringers their name showed in his amber eyes.

  “So, Giomar, you would have me believe that you failed to secure my parents’ safety because you were somehow influenced by the shade?” she asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness, it is as I said, Sendeth and Randane were rife with its touch and its creatures. They walk the streets of cities and towns. They are a part of the military, wearing illusions of human flesh like the days of old. Their touch taints the very land, and as they’re known to do, they cast their Forges on the minds of men.”

  Giomar might be boastful, a bit arrogant, but he was not a liar. Men who lied to her did not keep their heads.

  “And your Pathfinder, Velin, what of him? He was sent with you to prevent exactly that from happening.”

  “He died to an assassin.”

  She frowned. “One of the shade’s?”

  “No.” For the first time, Giomar raised his head slightly to regard Kudric. “I only caught a glimpse of her, but she was Alzari, in possession of twin daggers such as the Deathbringers wield.”

  “Who hired her?”

  “Apparently she was helping your father’s son, Ancel, escape the clutches of Amuni’s Children.”

  It took Celina a moment to realize her mouth was open. She snapped it shut.

  Ancel. Ancel. Unbidden, the name repeated itself in her head.

  Stefan and Thania had another child. She had a brother. Named after Anton and her. Had Sakari known? He must have. The man, whatever he was, had been good at keeping secrets. One of his greatest as Nerian’s bodyguard, Kahar, had been to whisk her and Anton away, leaving the Shadowbearer to believe they were both dead.

  Much began to make sense now: the additional bond that had bloomed far northwest, the recent release of Prima Materium to match the power she felt the night the bond first appeared, and the Eztezian Guardian who had traveled across Ostania into Granadia. That last must have been to train the boy. All of it pointed to the thing for which she had supposedly been born.

  The Aegis of the Gods.

  Perhaps she would finally learn what being part of the Aegis meant.

  “Have you seen this brother of mine?”

  “Yes.” Giomar met her gaze, eyes steady. “He resembles his father.”

  She recalled Stefan as she last remembered him: tall, hair like midnight, eyes so emerald they seemed to stare into one’s spirit, brave, willing to sacrifice himself so she and Anton might live. With the memory came a brief rush of deeper emotions, no longer smoldering, but simmering inside her. How she wished she had been able to exact revenge on the Shadowbearer. But those days were gone … Nerian, long dead.

  Celina touched the pendant around her neck. It sparkled with the bond of life. After so many years of it being dull metal, a keepsake, the power within it had bloomed. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact location if a map was thrust in front of her, but the general area would be northwest beyond the Vallum of Light. Was it her mother, her father, or both? Not that either mattered. Whatever it took she would see them live out the remainder of their days without fear, not in exile or in hiding. There was another similar to it, moving closer, this one on the Ostanian side of the great barrier.

  She pushed them both to the back of her mind. Giomar’s fate was first.

  If even half the reports received held truth, then war was coming on a scale not seen since the Shadowbearer War. The barrier the Kassite provided between the worlds had grown weaker. Rifts had opened at random places, allowing weaker shadelings to cross. The creatures gathered in large masses, most of them heading north as if they had some great purpose. Attempting to banish them back into the Nether or Hydae had proven pointless. They continued to pour through into Denestia. Her armies killed as many as they could manage to stem the tide, but the stream seemed endless. Of late, many of the creatures had been disappearing. One moment several thousand would be in a valley, ripe for massacre, and by the time her forces were ready, the shadelings would be gone. A few Generals said it was a good thing, but the disappearances reeked of something stronger whisking away the beasts. She had dispatched Matii to each town, but who knew what massed in the darker regions, the deep forests, the caves and mines, the places where the shade called home? For what was to come she required a great commander’s service.

  “Bringer Kudric, your opinion?”

  “He speaks the truth, my Queen.” Kudric’s hand fell away from his hilt as he addressed her. “With Velin dead, Commander Giomar would be susceptible to the shade, more so if they were the same ones responsible for events in Castere and what has been felt from within Granadia. I’m proof. So are the new Deathbringers I was able to train from the Alzari we rescued.”

  With those words he relinquished control of his aura, allowing her to see. It encompassed his body in varying hues like a rainbow, laying bare his dedication, love, and commitment to her. More importantly, it showed that the madness, which at one point was a breath away from consuming him, had been pushed to the very corners of his psyche. She remembered the years he spent with Sakari learning how to keep it at bay. It made her wonder even more about her missing savior. What or who was the man?

  “It came with the release of Prima,” he said.

  She nodded. When the primordial essences that drove the world had been released, the other lesser elements of Mater that resided in Denestia—the volatile, unstable ones affected by man’s fears, dreams, nightmares and emotions—had been pushed aside. At least for Forgers powerful enough to draw on Prima Materium. Unlike Mater, Prima did not exist in great amounts yet, and she did not know if its presence would continue to grow, but Forging it was the difference between being thrust head first into murky depths and then being brought out into sweet, tantalizing fresh air. Whatever the beings that inhabited Mater, their voices were no longer strong enough to overwhelm her.

  Prior to the release she would have needed to travel to the closest Entosis to regain the Prima she used. An idea she no longer relished. Not with Astoca under control of this King Rosival and the Banai siding with him. Or with the sudden attacks by Amuni’s Children and the shade that had spread her forces thin from here in Toval, the jeweled crown of the Cardian Isles, all the way north to the city of Venvar, the Misted Cliffs, and even to the edges of Astocan territory. Every turn spoke of a need for her best officers. Of late Prima crept into her in amounts that given enough time she could replenish herself. It would have to do.

  Keeping her face smooth, she regarded Giomar. Defiance and pride shone in his eyes. He held himself more erect, not an ounce of malice radiating from his aura. It was a steady wave of silver hues around him like an extra layer of skin. She sensed hurt for his failure, a bruised ego, perhaps, and deeper stil
l, the loathing at having been subjected to the shade’s taint. He expected death for his mistakes. Under normal circumstances she should have ordered his execution. But these were far from normal times. Showing weakness could kill. Losing an accomplished war leader would kill.

  Learn. Adjust. Survive.

  The Disciplines echoed in her head. With them came memories of her father reading the rules and theories on war set forth by the strategist Henden although Stefan must have already known the books’ contents by heart.

  She stood. “Commander Wendel Giomar, by the order of Queen Lina the Everlasting, Ruler of all Cardia, Right Hand of Aeoli, Left Hand of Hyzenki, you are hereby pardoned.”

  Giomar’s entire body deflated, a plaintive sigh escaping his lips. Then he was grinning. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice choked, eyes watery.

  “Enough of the tears and joy,” Celina said. “We have borders to defend, and if what I feel is true, then my brother, Ancel, has crossed into Ostania as this High Shin Jerem said, and he means to head for Benez’s ruins. Once the news reaches the Felani and Astocans, they will move against him. With the Tribunal forces massed at the Vallum we may not be able to stop the Felani, but we can give the Astocans quite a bit to consider. It’s past time we dealt with this Rosival of theirs anyway. Oh, and one more thing, find a representative to take word of our plans to Benez, preferably Lord Traushen.”

  Commander Giomar turned to one of the servants without missing a beat. “Send for my generals. We have a war to plan.”

  Chapter 19

  Castere’s ruins reopened the hole filled with grief in Ryne’s chest, one he’d tried and failed to completely patch. It rekindled a fire also. As well as the darkness he’d suppressed. Perhaps for too long.

  The Orchid Plains had reclaimed much of the village, vines, creepers, and bush enveloping the burned out ruins of homes he once frequented. He paused at the village square. Blue and red flowers sprouted where he’d cremated the villagers’ remains, the blooms filling the air with sweet scents. At least something of beauty had sprouted from the massacre.

  Images of Vana, Vera, Hagan, Lara and the others flashed through his head. Kahkon’s mother was the worst of them. He could only imagine what the Skadwaz who had taken the boy’s form had done to Lara’s real son. And to her. Head bent, he said a prayer to Ilumni, urging the god to keep the innocent from a similar fate.

  Dizziness swept through him for the briefest of moments. This time, instead of worrying, he smiled at the effect. When he finished paying his respects, he Materialized to the Sang Reaches at the edge of Astocan territory and into crisp, cold air. The distant sound of rumbling thunder drew his attention. He glanced up, expecting to see one of Ostania’s frequent and sudden storms appearing, but the sky stretched clear and blue with the occasional white fluff like some artist’s delicate strokes. Eyes narrowing, he followed the sound.

  Dust billowed in the distance along the snaking roads and expansive plains that led to Castere from the south. Light flashed upon the twin lakes of Venica and Benica between which sat the Astocan capital. Ryne cocked his head to one side. Straining, he made out a rhythmic beat. Drums.

  He put them together: the sound, the dust, and the lights. Rosival had cast out the Iluminus’ forces and proclaimed himself as king. An army marched on Castere. But whose?

  He thought to ignore it and head to his main objective, but that was in close proximity. If he spent Prima here he could easily replenish it. Sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, he called on one of the Etchings on his left arm, where the elements of Forms and Flows resided, specifically earth and air essences. He imagined the eagle drawn there. In his mind, it became real.

  When he opened his eyes the construct of the eagle, drawn from the Etching, floated up from his arm. Shrieking, its form radiating with the power imbued into it, the bird shot into the sky. He felt the ruffle of air on feathers, the heat from air thermals used to soar higher and higher. The ground’s features became specks, yet were still recognizable through birds acute vision. The connection was exhilarating.

  Within moments he was soaring above the attacking army. The force had to number several hundred thousand, its ranks arrayed in organized cohorts of dartan cavalry, foot, archers, and rank after rank of Matii, both Forgers and Dagodins. Above the Matii flew two flags. One bore the Namazzi Waterwall standard, identical to those over Castere. The other depicted a maelstrom surrounded by islands.

  Cardians.

  The situation began to make sense. For centuries the Astocans and Cardians battled and feuded, but each would back the other against common foes. With the Cardians having been defeated during Stefan’s campaigns and enslaved by the Setian Empire, the subsequent Astocan fall had been inevitable. Some time later, while the world was mired in the Shadowbearer War, the Astocans took the chance to assume control of much of Cardia. They had still failed to conquer the Cardian Isles however. Now, the Cardians were taking back what they felt belonged to them. He had no doubt that Jerem somehow played a part in this, convincing Queen Lina into this course of action.

  The thought of Stefan’s daughter brought a stab of pain. Wondering what she looked like now, he let the eagle roam until he found a host of men in light leather armor, many of them bearing two swords or daggers. The Alzari Deathbringers would ever be close to the Queen.

  There. He picked her out in their midst dressed in blue armor. With age she’d taken on more of her mother’s features. He considered heading to her before he scolded himself. What could you possibly say to a woman you tried to kill when she was a child? She hates you. He chided himself for almost making the mistake. With the deaths of Henden and Lestere, she would now possess her power in its entirety. Seeing through his guise would not be a problem.

  He was contemplating his next course of action when half the soldiers in a cohort exploded outward, a shower of blood, bones, flesh, and armor. The process repeated in several other places among the legions. Chaos ensued. When the phenomenon occurred again, it sent a chill through him.

  A portal opened in the midst of a Cardian cohort. A woman dressed in flowing robes stepped through. Before a single soldier responded, she spread her arms, and burst apart. Her blood became spears and daggers. They ripped through the men. At the same time a concussion of air blew back those closest. In areas where the blood was still liquid, men and armor melted when it touched them. Screams and wails echoed above the thump of drums.

  He understood what he was seeing. The Cardians didn’t know this territory. If they did, the fight would have been easy for Celina with her power. She could have Materialized into the city and brought her forces with her. But there were limits to what even she could accomplish.

  Instead, the Astocan Forgers were doing exactly what she couldn’t, and employing a tactic from the Battle of Blood fought ages ago against the Alzari. They knew the land. They were bringing their blood to a boil, hardening some of it, making weapons of themselves, and then Materializing into the enemy ranks. For the cost of one Astocan Matii, hundreds of Cardians were dying. He’d seen the Astocan Namazzi. They numbered well into the thousands.

  Another portal opened, this one bigger. Arrows were already flying toward it. The soldiers around it scattered. Several dozen Matii turned to focus on the opening. But a person didn’t step out.

  Instead, a massive wall of water slammed into the Cardians. It swept through the cohort, taking flailing soldiers with it. The Astocans had brought in part of the twin lakes.

  A crackling sounded. The water began to turn to ice, murky green becoming white. The ice encased armored men and women in position, limbs crusted over. Their cries made Ryne want to cover his ears.

  The ice shattered.

  So did everything contained within it.

  The Cardian Matii finally responded after the initial shock. When the next portal opened they made their own in front of it. If water poured forth it swept through into the new one. If a person appeared, a bubble of air enveloped them, shielding
everyone on the outside.

  However, the Astocan attacks were still successful in some other areas. Carnage abounded. Ryne found a great respect for the Cardian soldiers who still stood strong despite the decimation.

  Gritting his teeth, he let go of his Forging. The eagle swooped through air and receded into his arm.

  Celina might win this battle, but he knew her. She was a woman with a conscience and would not be willing to destroy the whole of Castere. It would be a war of attrition. He wasn’t certain she could afford one. If Jerem was relying on these forces to help Ancel, then something needed to change. Her army hadn’t reached Castere yet and their losses were mounting. The siege might be worse with constant ambushes launched from the city’s safe confines.

  Ryne considered his last visit to Castere, recalling when he’d sat outside by the colonnade. It offered an astounding view of all the surrounding territory.

  With a thought, he tore the fabric of Mater, and stepped from the Sang Reaches onto the wide colonnade located in front of Castere Keep.

  Row upon row of Matii waited. Arrows shot toward him. More Forges than he could count sprang forth from the Namazzi.

  Without slowing, he picked out Rosival, pale-faced, the slits on the side of his neck working as he took in Ryne. Surrounded by advisors and men in uniform, Rosival was standing on an expansive message map.

  Ryne called on his Etchings. They responded, conjuring the opposites to the attacks surging toward him. Earth to absorb water and throw up stony shields against projectiles. His body became as metal, refusing to be budged by the storm gales and spears of wind loosed by the Namazzi. The attacks shattered against his defenses, throwing up smoke and dust, wood and metal clattering to the ground. He strode through the aftermath, glaring at the Matii, daring them to strike again.

  “You!” Rosival pointed at him, features marred in a sneer. “Kill him!” The man turned and ran for the keep’s main stairs.