Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  “No need. There’s but a few months left before we abandon Eldanhill. I want you to ensure this next group reaches Torandil safely. We cannot have them falling into Giomar’s hands, or whomever it is that now holds Randane. Neither can we have them taken by the Tribunal’s armies. Also, both Jerem and I feel we need an older council member to take charge of our preparations in Torandil.”

  Jillian opened her mouth to speak, but Galiana cut her off. “There is no room for discussion in this.”

  For a brief moment, Jillian’s eyes flashed, and then her jaw relaxed. “As you wish. If there’s nothing else, I will join them now.”

  Galiana knew the reason for Jillian’s wish to stay on. According to Jerem, the Tribunal had discussed the possibility of sending Irmina to Eldanhill. Denying Jillian a chance to see her niece wasn’t her primary purpose, but Irmina would have enough hostility toward the Dorns without adding her aunt’s volatility.

  After taking a deep breath, Jillian clasped the chair’s arms and pushed to her feet. She tucked her helm under her arm, bowed to Galiana first, then to Jerem, turned on her heels, and strode from the room.

  “I still have my concerns about her.” Jerem stroked the long threads of his beard while watching the door.

  “She simply wants to protect what is left of her family.”

  “As do we all,” answered the old man. “As do we all.”

  “Anyway,” Galiana said, “how has the Tribunal taken the Heralds’ failure?”

  “Not well. The Assembly squabbled over their punishment. Some even suggested recalling them and stripping them of their ranks. Whispers around the Iluminus were that the Heralds suffered from the shade’s corruption.”

  Galiana felt her eyebrows climb her forehead. “Not a good rumor to start.”

  “You can imagine how that went. The Tribunal tested the Bastions themselves since then, using captured shadelings. They sensed the creatures and any strong Forging just fine. In the end, they decided to send inquisitors to interview each Herald. They also stationed several cohorts at each Bastion in fear they could be taken.”

  “No wonder they’ve thrown such numbers at Randane. What of Calisto?” Galiana asked, frowning. She doubted they would react the same to Jerem’s city.

  “Treated the same. The nerve of them,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t even worthy of them asking permission. They informed me an inquisitor would be on the way on the same day he arrived.”

  Galiana could see how much the insult angered Jerem. “I would have said they are panicking, but Randane proves their actions might be necessary.”

  “Possibly, which is why I suggest we plan for the worst. I would say sitting in Eldanhill is a bad idea, but you have protection here that you can be certain of. Amuni’s Children must act soon if they have shadeling armies across the Vallum other than the ones you defeated. The Tribunal siege on Randane also gives you time.”

  “I agree.” As much as Galiana wanted to be gone from Eldanhill, Ancel kept reassuring her that his mentor was coming. She did not bother to ask how he knew. All that mattered was how soon his teacher would reach Eldanhill. “In the meantime, we have gathered as many stragglers as we could and are training them. The response and the numbers have been good. One could almost think the gods are smiling on us. How has your own recruitment gone?”

  “Well enough. Better than I hoped.” Jerem grunted, a smile playing across his lips. The first one she had seen since he arrived. “They will certainly be a surprise for many.”

  The words provided some relief, however small. “Can we flee, take him there for safety?”

  “Oh no, not yet. He must accomplish his first task and bring the Setian together. Some parts of the world may hate him for it, but it must be done.” Jerem stared out the window. “He will need an army behind him. One unlike the world has ever seen.”

  “Still it might not be enough,” she said under her breath.

  “No, it might not.” Jerem’s voice was grim. “But at least he will give the people some belief, a place to turn. Despite what we have preached, there are no saviors, Galiana. The people, the world itself must carry the brunt of what is to come. All we can do is help in any way we can to lessen its impact.”

  Galiana couldn’t help but hunch in on herself at such a prospect. “What if he is killed like all the others before him?” It pained her to ask, but she needed to hear these answers, feel what was at stake from another mouth. One she trusted.

  “Then chances are we all die. And whoever remains standing will enslave those who survive.”

  Galiana pondered what Jerem said. This could not be the last chance. Out there, somewhere, someone else knew what was happening. Someone else was preparing a way to help Denestia. She had to believe that. If she did not, then her own hope would abandon her. “What word from the Iluminus?”

  “Quintess has set things in motion. She and a trusted few.”

  “Then I guess it is time for us to see this to the end.”

  “Agreed,” Jerem said, “but timing is delicate. Do not move until you are forced to do so.”

  Galiana nodded absently, her mind drifting off to consider how best to protect Ancel and what the future held if the world burned.

  Chapter 3

  The giant shape stepped into the light, the metallic glint of a sword in its hand.

  Stefan’s bowstring twanged.

  “No!” Ancel reached a hand out to the arrow in desperation as if he could draw it back.

  The arrow flew true. It pierced armor adorning an oak-trunk chest like a blade through silk. The most beautiful armor Ancel had ever seen.

  The giant was a man. Tangled black hair hid his features, more akin to Charra’s fur than a mustache and beard. The stranger’s eyes widened at the shaft jutting from his chest. A massive hand rose to snap the wood in two before he pitched forward. He landed face down with a resounding thud and a shower of snow.

  Stefan nocked another arrow, spurring his horse into a trot.

  “Da. Stop.” Frantic, Ancel ran toward the giant.

  “Come back,” Stefan yelled. “You don’t know who or what he is.”

  “Yes, I do.” Ancel continued his run without looking back but made sure to veer where he thought he could block the next arrow. “It’s him. He’s the one. I can feel him.” He stopped over the man.

  “What?” his father called from behind him.

  “The link,” Ancel stressed, trying to hide his excitement despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the giant. The bitter scent of the blood spattered amongst the bush and on the ground set his heart racing. More often than not, when his father shot, he did so to kill. Another odor emanated from the giant. Ancel cringed at the reek. The stranger stunk like death or worse, but the strength of the bond to him said he was alive. Barely. He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s the one I’m linked to … my teacher …” A thrill ran through him when he uttered the word.

  “Oh Ilumni.” Stefan slung his bow over his back and swung down from his saddle.

  Ancel resumed his inspection of the giant. Artwork in dizzying colors and vivid detail covered the back of the man’s form-fitting leather armor. There were depictions of landscapes, battles, unknown beasts, weapons, celestial bodies, and words in scripts. Ancel could not begin to fathom any of it despite his extensive studies. The drawings flowed from the short-sleeves of the giant’s chestpiece onto the skin of his muscular arms in one seamless design. Ancel sucked in a breath, gaze riveted on the artwork as he brushed the ones on his own right arm. These too were Etchings. He was sure of it.

  “We need to get him off the arrow shaft,” his father said, boots crunching in the icy grass. Stefan hawked and spat. “In Ilumni’s name, he stinks.”

  They worked in concert, trying to flip the huge man onto his back, but he was too heavy, his armor like chunks of ice. Even his massive rune-etched sword resisted their efforts to relinquish it from his grasp. With a whine, Charra trotted over. Head down, the dagge
rpaw pushed the body by the waist. Ancel placed himself near the thighs and Stefan at the chest. Together, they heaved and rolled the giant over.

  An awful stench wafted from the man like stepping onto a corpse-laden field days after a battle. Body convulsing, Ancel retched, covering his mouth and nose at the same time.

  Long scars marred the left side of the giant’s face. Discoloration seeped across the exposed portions of his skin. The parts of the man’s hands not covered in tattoos were a bluish black. So were his fingers where they gripped his sword’s hilt. A similar tint showed from his neck up. The areas not affected by frostbite were tanned a deeper brown than Stefan’s skin. His chest rose and fell, slow and uneven. A liquid gurgle escaped his lips. The arrow must have punctured a lung.

  A sense of relief washed through Ancel at his father having missed the heart. He’d seen men survive an arrow to a lung, but he’d also seen some die.

  “This work on the armor and skin …” Stefan said. A frown on his face, he circled the giant. “I’ve seen this before.”

  “Well … yes, on me.”

  “No, not yours. Even when I first saw your Etchings I thought they were familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. Now, with these …” Stefan trailed off.

  “Where? On who?”

  “A long time ago, back in Seti. It was on a-never mind. We need to get him to Eldanhill immediately.”

  Intrigued, Ancel opened his mouth to press the issue.

  “Forget it. Now isn’t the time or place,” his father said.

  Ancel snapped his mouth shut and nodded. He took a moment to consider the giant’s size and weight. “How are we going to move him?”

  “We’ll build a large litter.”

  As doubtful as he was, Ancel was willing to try, but he also had other concerns. “What about the wolves, Da?” Squinting, he peered into the woods. “They could return at any moment.”

  “No, they won’t. They’ll regroup first, most likely find another pack to bring this way. We still have time if we hurry. Charra can stand guard. Let’s go.” Unsheathing his sword, Stefan headed into the trees.

  Ancel followed, staying close, eyes scanning the shadows. The sun’s glimmer showed higher in the sky, but the overcast conditions fought against its light. Among the woods, the hardier cedars were still green. Burnt-red oak leaves dotted branches covered in hoarfrost. Dead foliage peeked through piled snow. Ancel kept a wary eye on those mounds.

  The sound of hacking drew his attention to where his father chopped at a sapling. After one more uneasy glance at the piled foliage, Ancel followed suit.

  Time passed at a torturously slow pace as they worked. Bird song and the chatter of winter animals feathered the air. On occasion, Ancel stopped to mop his brow and take a sip from his other waterskin. When hunger gnawed at his belly, he chewed on pieces of dry rabbit and crusty bread. His scarf now rested around his neck, and although tempted, he resisted the urge to remove his cloak. Often, his father flicked a hand to his own forehead to wipe away perspiration. Between the two of them, they had a growing collection of branches from which to choose.

  While they worked, Ancel kept an eye on the giant from time to time. Unlike before, he breathed evenly and slowly as if in a deep slumber. How could someone be in his state of frostbite and still live? Where was the man from? Men almost as large lived among the Nema and Seifer clans in the Kelvore Mountains, but like most northern Granadians, they were a paler skin tone. If the stories were true, the Sven and Harnan were as big, if not bigger, but the latter were in Ostania. Ancel pursed his lips. That might explain the giant’s mahogany complexion.

  The man’s wound troubled him. Ever since he received his Etchings, his arm and chest in the same area were much stronger. Unbelievably so. He’d taken to testing it. One day, rather than use his sword, he raised his hand to block a blow while sparring with Mirza. He never told, but besides a slight sting, the strike, which should have broken a rib, hadn’t done much. Later the same night, he took a knife and tried to scour the Etchings. Again the twinge, but not once did the blade pierce his skin. Then, today. The wolf’s teeth should have pierced his fur and armor and crushed his arm but hadn’t come close. So how did Da’s arrow go through armor and flesh covered in an Etching?

  “I think we have enough,” his father said.

  Ancel looked around, surprised to see how many saplings they’d cut down. A swath of clear forest occupied by larger trees and deep snow surrounded them. He put away his sword, grabbed a branch in each hand, and dragged them toward the clearing.

  Morning grew into afternoon. His father left the branches to him while using rope from his saddlebags to tie the wood together near an old stump. Stefan dug out a patch of snow into which he placed the litter angled up toward the tree’s remains. Ancel was almost finished with the branches when the first howl echoed from the north.

  “Hurry,” his father implored.

  Without a backward glance, Ancel dragged the last two pieces of wood to the clearing. He held them in place while his father secured them to the others.

  Another howl. This time closer.

  Charra grunted.

  “Go. Protect us,” Ancel ordered.

  The daggerpaw, dried blood a dull brown against its fur and bone hackles, bounded off into the trees. Charra soon disappeared from view.

  “Da,” Ancel said.

  “Yes,” his father answered without glancing up from the litter.

  “There’s no way Charra holds them all off. We won’t make it through the trees with this litter before they catch us.”

  Stefan nodded.

  Ancel waited for more, but his father said nothing.

  When Stefan finished, he stood. He walked over to the giant with a few pieces of rope he’d braided together and bent over the man.

  Brows furrowed, Ancel watched.

  His father worked the rope up the giant’s arms and over his shoulders to form a type of harness. He brought his horse closer, looped the rope’s ends over the animal’s head and onto its shoulders, and then wrapped the remainder around the pommel. The mount’s eyes rolled, and it snorted several times. Stefan guided the horse in the direction of the stump and gave it a light tap on the rump. The horse pulled, and the rope snapped taut. Muscles straining, the horse took one step forward, then another. The giant’s body shifted an inch or two before it began to slide toward the litter.

  A few more paces and the horse dragged the unconscious man up onto the makeshift contraption. Stefan stopped his mount, untied the ropes, and used them to secure the giant to the wood. Then he looped the remaining loose ends around the strongest saplings. He directed his horse to one side to drag the litter away from the stump. When the entire process was completed, he nodded in satisfaction.

  The first yowls, snarls, grunting barks and growls of daggerpaw fighting wolf echoed through the gloomy trees.

  Stefan strode over to where he’d left his bow and picked it up. “I’ll send Charra to you to help clear a path.”

  Ancel shook his head, his words easing out in a disbelieving whisper, “No, you mustn’t.”

  “Yes, I must and I will.”

  “Da, there’s no way you can hold them off. Please, don’t do this.”

  “Alone, I probably wouldn’t be able to, but we’ll do our best.” He nodded toward the south, the direction of Eldanhill.

  There, appearing from the tree line like a spirit dressed in the dark-colored britches and tunic she favored, a short cloak whipping around her, jogged Kachien. Two sheaths stood out on her hips, each containing a black-handled dagger.

  “How?”

  “I told her if we weren’t back by noon to come find us.”

  “Why not Shin Galiana?”

  “She had more pressing issues with the possibility of Pathfinders coming to Eldanhill since we declared ourselves.”

  Ancel cringed with the thought of the men and women tasked with capturing those who Forged without the proper control, used Mater to commit crimes, o
r stood against the Tribunal. Not only was he guilty of the first and the last but so was much of Eldanhill. To the Pathfinders, they’d also done the second.

  In the distance, the fight between Charra and the wolves grew more pronounced. A howl resonated to the northeast. A different wolf pack.

  “There’s no time to waste,” Stefan commanded. “Mount up.”

  After a slight hesitation and a pained look to both his father and the woman he’d grown to love, who he still cared for to a great extent, Ancel climbed atop Stefan’s horse.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t look back until you reach Eldanhill.”

  As his father was saying those words, Kachien drew even with them. Ancel opened his mouth to acknowledge her at the same time that she glanced down at the giant. She sniffed, rubbing a thumb across her nose. Then her head jutted forward a bit, her eyes narrowed, and her hands slid imperceptibly closer to the handles of her daggers.

  Before Ancel contemplated her reaction, his father slapped the rump of his mount and sent him on his way.

  Chapter 4

  Head held high in defiance, Irmina Nagel regarded the Tribunal Assembly’s members arrayed before her. Tiered alabaster steps formed a semicircle like an amphitheater of old. Spaced along every stone stair were chairs of the finest mahogany behind matching balustrades. Upon each chair sat the Tribunal High Seats, the twelve colored stripes on their sleeves unmistakable.

  Depicted on the walls behind them was Denestia’s creation by the Annendin, taking his lifeblood to produce Mater. He separated it into the three elements and made the worlds. He further broke down the elements into the essences and bestowed them onto the gods. Other murals showed the gods passing their essences down to the Eztezians. Mixed in were the wars with the netherlings, the shadelings, and men with black boiling from their bodies-supposedly, the Skadwaz after the god Amuni changed them. Thinking back to Ryne’s story of the man he faced near the Vallum of Light and their battle in Castere’s Keep, she averted her eyes from that specific section.