Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  Relieved yet fearful of leaving him behind, she stepped closer and hugged him. He held her tight, and she allowed the smell and feel of him to be all that mattered. When she let go, she gazed up into his eyes, so much like the sea. Hardened resolve looked back at her, but somewhere at the edge was a touch of sadness. She knew the true turmoil inside him, and the sorrow. For too many years she had experienced the same. After a final squeeze she let go of him and strode toward the waiting ships. Unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. Someone had to cry for him if he wouldn’t for himself.

  Chapter 40

  On an island surrounded by a lake of fire within the heart of the Flaming Reaches, Ancel stood beside Delesden’s towering form. The air smelled burnt and would have cooked flesh. A familiar silver divya sprouted from the earth in the middle of the sliver of land.

  “You did as you promised,” Delesden said. “You saved my people.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “I know.”

  “You can always come with me,” Ancel said. He wanted to beg the Eztezian, but the set of Delesden’s eyes said he would not relent.

  “Not while those who I brought with me fight to the last.” Delesden reached down past the island’s edge, touched the lava, and shivered. “They gave themselves to help in this, to save a dying world, to fashion new kingdoms, to rekindle the embers of broken thrones into new fires. I will not abandon them.”

  “So what now?”

  “One test is left.” Delesden straightened to his full height of some forty feet. “For you to prove you’re worthy of becoming heat’s guardian. Failing that, the true Tenet will return to a netherling’s care.”

  Ancel called forth light’s Tenet. A flash of light, a blast of wind, and Etien appeared, his height bypassing Delesden, head almost touching the chamber’s roof.

  A relieved sigh escaped Delesden. He bowed. “Hail, Battleguard Etien.”

  “Hail, Guardian Delesden,” Etien replied.

  “You know what must be done next.” Delesden turned to gaze at Ancel. “Only you or the one who holds shade can accomplish it.”

  “Even if it means destroying another seal to the Nether, releasing the gods, or more of the Nine unto the world?” Ancel countered.

  Delesden’s mouth became downturned, his sadness almost palpable. “Once the first seal was broken, the first Chainin destroyed, that fate was decided. All you can do now is fight to stem the tide. Besides, the gods’ prison isn’t what you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Delesden looked up at Etien. “You never told him?”

  “I was forbidden by my master.” Etien’s glowing white form shrugged.

  “Your master?” Ancel asked. “Isn’t that me?”

  “In ways, yes, but not fully,” Etien said. “Until the Eztezian who passed me to you dies, you still lack some of my power. It’s why your sister is stronger than you. The Materwardens of the Flows perished.”

  “Who was your previous master? Who gave light’s guardianship to me?”

  “You already know,” Etien said, “all you need to do is let yourself see.”

  Confused, Ancel wracked his brain for answers. The same ones surfaced. He had even considered Kachien, but he had begun to see auras long before he met her. That left his mother and Galiana, the only people he considered powerful enough to have held a Tenet. Thinking of them lit a fire in him, and with it came the memory of the sudden and undeniable bloom of the link to his father when he’d been speaking with Celina. He allowed the flames of his rage to simmer.

  A rumble shook the chamber. Debris fell from the ceiling. It splashed into the liquid fire and melted.

  “Menistille is here,” Delesden announced. “We have no more time.”

  “Who’s that?” Ancel looked to both the Svenzar and Etien.

  “The archdaemon leader. A Battleguard like myself, but for Skadwaz such as the one who leads this army.”

  “A Battleguard controlled by a Skadwaz?” Ancel’s voice trailed off.

  “Only by the strongest among them, as it is with your kind,” Etien said.

  “But—”

  “I know your thoughts. We do not control who calls us forth or how we are used.”

  A question nagged at Ancel. “Which god owned Menistille?”

  “Entopi.”

  “The god of life and death?” Ancel frowned.

  “Gods, plural,” Delesden intoned, voice grim. He lowered an earthen hand to Ancel, palm up, the skin of which shifted to reveal a leather satchel. “The Chronicles. All of them but Undeath. They will explain much. Some of it truth, some speculation.”

  Ancel took it reverently. After a moment to contemplate the enormity of what he held, he slung the bag over his shoulder by its strap. The issue with Menistille still bothered him. “This,” he paused a moment, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was asking, “archdaemon you say is a Battleguard, does that mean his master is also a Materwarden?”

  “Yes,” Etien said, “he holds Tenets to several essences, two major and one minor. The minor being Menistille, who is of fire.”

  “You should not face him. Let that task fall to another, someone more experienced.” Delesden’s body grew until he rivaled Etien’s size. “Prepare yourself.”

  Head first, another change took place, flowing down to Delesden’s feet. Etchings appeared. The stone and metal of his form glowed in red and orange hues. The light built to incandescence, heat washing across the island. Delesden’s entire body became like the sun.

  Ancel was certain if not for his Etchings’ protection, his skin would have melted. He had to will himself not to shy away but still had to shade his eyes.

  “Heat to balance cold. Heat to evoke passion. Passion is unrelenting,” Delesden said, voice a song that sent a thrill through Ancel. “I give you Ferezen.”

  From the lake, fire rose in snakes. A dozen or more of them. They waved in the air, living things with a sentience of their own. In a sudden jerk of motion, they zipped toward Ancel.

  When they struck him, he screamed, expecting to be burned to cinder or to at least feel extreme heat. Instead, he might as well have been out for a stroll on a normal day. Amazed, he gazed at his body. It glowed like Delesden’s.

  A tapestry of colors shot through his vision. They encompassed everything. Ecstasy filled him. Once again he saw the world through a new light, a new filter, this one with brighter reds, yellows, oranges, everything that represented the major essence of heat.

  “What was mine is now yours.” Delesden’s body returned to its stone and metal countenance.

  The light around Ancel subsided and then disappeared altogether. On his body, intertwined with his Etchings of light, creating new images, many depicting flames in different colors, even one group in black, were his Etchings of heat.

  The chamber shook, this time with more intent. The thud came again. Insistent. Earth and stone fell from one wall in particular.

  “They come,” Delesden said. “It is time I face them.”

  “Etien and I could help you.”

  “No, you have another calling, more yet to do. Destroy the Chainin. Once you do, it will break the wards I set over the Broken Lands.” Ancel made to protest, but Delesden was already striding into the lava. “Do not worry, the Chainins are not what you think.”

  A crack appeared along the chamber’s wall. A gigantic clawed fist punched through.

  Turning away, Ancel reinforced his link to Etien. He drew his sword. The construct repeated the motion. Ancel swung, and watched as Etien’s colossal blade sheared the Chainin in half. With one last glance at Delesden and the crumbling wall where numerous shadelings and Menistille’s winged form appeared, he Materialized.

  Chapter 41

  “Are they completely within your control,” Anton asked.

  From the window atop the easternmost Sanctum of Shelter, Ryne took in the black sinuous forms of the numerous vasumbrals above the Great Divide. They screeched as they whipped and spi
raled, while some lay dormant, floating in place. He searched along his link to the shade to feel if any of the creatures resisted his rule. It was good to be within the Sanctums protection where he no longer needed to wonder if anyone stole his thoughts.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Good.” Anton heaved a sigh.

  Ryne didn’t let his own worry show. Vasumbrals were often unstable, a reflection of their emotional temperament.

  “And the others?”

  “They are mine also.”

  The remnants of the shadeling army milled about near the Great Divide. Darkwraiths and daemons stalked among them, ordering formations as Ryne had commanded. A legion of Stoneguard and Sven led away the two cohorts of Amuni’s Children discovered among Teoden’s army.

  “What of the remainder spread throughout Denestia?” Anton asked.

  “No, only the ones here. The others either have Skadwaz or archdaemons leading them.”

  “Ah. So now, we wait?”

  “For your brother and sister, yes.” Ryne turned from the window and headed toward a table laden with food, the scent of spices and kinai fruit lingering in the air. Next to the table a message map encompassed the remainder of the floor. Three stone towers along the Vallum of Light’s northernmost section glowed, the last located at the Cogal Drin Mountains’ foothills. “The Nine are well into their assault on the Bastions. Only ten still stand, three in Granadia, the rest in Ostania. The Heralds are defending them as best they can with Remus’ help. I must do what I can to hinder the Nine from here, but the outlook is bleak. I never expected them to gather such a massive force, at least not this soon, not with Barson and the other kingdoms that Sakari and I had already aligned against the Tribunal.”

  “Meanwhile, our numbers dwindle,” Anton’s attention was still focused outdoors.

  Ryne too had felt Delesden’s death. While he mourned the passing of an old friend, he also had a sense of relief. His connection to Ancel swelled with new power.

  After a period of silence Anton made his way to the far corner of the room. He drew back the curtain that hid a bed. Thania’s frail form lay under a blanket, her skin dark gray, veins black.

  “How is she?” Ryne asked.

  “Not much better.” Anton slid the curtain back into place and faced Ryne, eyes watery. “Is there nothing we can do to mend her?”

  “Until one of her kind reaches us from Ancel’s group, there isn’t much we can do but wait.”

  Anton’s hands folded into fists.

  Ryne looked past him to Thania once more. So much made sense now.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter,” Ryne called.

  Kalvor strode in, his form that of an average man, his features more soft flesh than stone. Worry creased his forehead. “Bad news.”

  “What is it?” Ryne asked.

  “Apparently someone managed to subvert the wards imbued within the Kelvore and Everlast mountains. The shadelings that escaped us here crossed into Granadia. The Nine have been gathering them.”

  Ryne’s head snapped up. “Impossible. They would never serve … nothing of Amuni’s would serve netherlings.”

  “Not even when pushed toward defeat such as was inflicted today?” Anton raised a skeptical brow.

  “What happened in the Broken Lands suggests Amuni’s Children are far from defeated.” Ryne shook his head. “Delesden fell, but the majority of the enemy’s armies still stand. Not to mention their leader who appears to be a Skadwaz at least as strong as Teoden, if not stronger.”

  “Then why would the others follow the Nine?” Kalvor now stood near the message map, looking it over.

  “I wish I knew, but I doubt we would find any answers without venturing to Antonjur.”

  “And that we cannot do until my brother holds both cold and shade,” Anton concluded. “So we wait.” He let out a sigh.

  “Could we manage some surprise attack into Granadia?” Kalvor pointed to the mountains on the map. “From here we could have the Sven and the Stoneguard infiltrate, pass through any similar gathering of the Forms, and strike first.”

  “Too great a risk,” Ryne said. “The Nine’s minions already pose a threat in Benez. And it appears they have also have an Eztezian.” Now that he was once more within the Vallum and inside his ward, he could sense the presence to the south. Barely.

  “Serving them or prisoner?”

  “Anton thinks a prisoner, and I’m inclined to believe him. But we could be wrong.”

  “Who is he?” Kalvor frowned as he pondered the mystery. “When Ancel activated your power at the first Chainin, it should have sparked the connection between us all.”

  “I believe it did,” Ryne answered, “but one of us still remained dormant, his power resealed.”

  Kalvor paced around the message map. “Well, we must discover who it is. With Delesden gone, every one of us will be required to play a part.”

  “My, my father is the one,” Anton said.

  “Your father?” Kalvor stopped, shock clear in his tone and written on the rocky crags of his face. “Stefan Dorn?” He glanced to Ryne for confirmation.

  Ryne nodded. “I first discovered his presence by chance when I went to see Varick. When I passed through the Vallum and linked with the Sanctums I felt him. I retrieved a list of all the Eztezians, and he was on it. I was uncertain whether Teoden still had access to my thoughts and memories outside the Sanctum’s safety, so I buried them. If the list wasn’t confirmation enough, little oddities about the impostor in Benez confirmed it, actions, events, sayings I doubted the true Stefan would have lost even if his mind was a little addled. Even his swordwork bothered me. As great as he was, Stefan would never waste his time fighting ten men. This impostor was trying too hard.”

  “Then the question is when do we free him,” Kalvor said.

  “He is being held at the Iluminus,” Ryne said.

  “If my mother were awake …” Anton’s voice dwindled to silence at a glance from Ryne.

  “We will do what we can, which begins with both of you taking the remainder of the Stoneguard and the Sven to the Cogal Drin. Ancel will have need of you.” Not once did Ryne consider telling them that he thought Ancel would go after Stefan. He knew Ancel had surely felt his father during Ryne’s attack on the Great Divide. By now the young Eztezian would sense his mother’s safety and would not allow his father to be imprisoned for much longer. The others might be inclined to interfere, which would jeopardize Ancel.

  “So we go to war against the Tribunal’s forces gathered near Benez when one of our own is in enemy hands at the Iluminus?” Kalvor rumbled. “I do not agree with this choice.”

  “Your purpose isn’t to battle this time,” Ryne said, striding over to stand near the Svenzar on the message map, “but to keep them there. I believe the soldiers the Nine sent to Benez were the ones who showed any hint of disloyalty. They hope to cull a potential issue by having them and the Setian forces destroy each other.”

  “A neat trap.” The Svenzar king nodded.

  “Indeed.”

  “If we’re not going to engage them, then what how do we ensure they don’t leave and that they don’t attack the Setian?” Anton joined them.

  “There’s a young lady that holds your brother’s heart. Her name is Irmina. Allow her to approach Knight Commander Varick and tell him what awaits in Benez.”

  “What will you be doing,” Anton asked.

  “Creating havoc for the Tribunal at different Bastions.”

  After Anton and Kalvor left, Ryne strode over to Thania’s bedside. “Are you awake?”

  Her lids fluttered open. Golden irises stared back at him before they changed color to emerald, and then silver.

  “All this time and it was you. Now, I don’t feel so bad that you were able to best me.”

  “It was a close thing.” Her voice was like dry paper.

  “I cannot have back what you took, can I?”

  “No.”

  Ryne’s che
st deflated. A stab of sorrow made him take a protracted breath. “It will be hard on him.”

  “As it must, no one should take to such darkness easily. It’s the point of the test of balance.” Her face contorted. “H-How long until they all come.”

  “A few weeks by my estimates.”

  “Then I must rest.” She closed her eyes and did not utter another word.

  Chapter 42

  At the foothills where the Riven Reaches began in Everland, Ancel parted ways with Halvor. A wind gusted, one that should have been frigid to him, but he felt little if any of the biting cold that penetrated his leather armor and turned his breath into misty spools. Only out of habit did he pull his hood over his head. Cloud banks spanned above them, lightning flickers radiating in hues of emerald and indigo. Blares of angry thunder muttered in discord.

  Next to him, Irmina hunkered down within the folds of fur and thick clothing. Trucida did the same. In ways he felt bare without Charra to guard his back, but leaving him behind had been a necessity. With the Netherwood king’s death in the Broken Lands, another one of the animals would need to assert themselves as leader. Until then, someone needed to be in the Netherwood lest the beasts attacked Varick’s forces.

  “Trucida, if you will?” He gestured ahead to the white sea before them.

  Without a word the wizened Exalted Forged a portal. She stepped through first, and they followed.

  They arrived in a hollow amid rolling hills. Quiet caressed the land, the calm in a storm. The sky was clear and blue in a circle above them, encompassing the hollow. A charcoal blanket began outside the circle. Even the wind did little more than moan and kick up swirls of snow. A windowless white-blue spire with a strange mix of other colors was the sole building to break the landscape’s monotony.

  A glint among the dark clouds drew Ancel’s eye. The long snake of a zyphyl appeared, two smaller versions of the beasts in escort. A low croon filled the air. The beasts hovered for a moment before returning to the clouds.

  “You two should wait here,” Ancel said. He could feel the pull of the Eztezian within the structure. It made what he once felt from Ryne pale in comparison.