“I just realized,” he said, glancing down to Ancel, “it’s been a long time since I ate.”
Ancel beamed, the expression making the stubble on his chin appear out of place. “Follow me.”
They continued down Learner’s Row before turning off onto one of the smaller streets and into a crowded open market. Criers and people haggling prices with vendors filled the plaza with the song of life. Sweaty bodies, perfumes, cooked foods, raw meats, and fruits created a melange of odors. After his lonely months’ long trek from southern Granadia to this far north, Ryne reveled in the sweet music of the populace. Even the stench from nearby drains was almost enjoyable. Most townsfolk cleared a way for his giant form, some gracing him with everything from curious glances to open-mouthed stares. He smiled.
“Ryne,” Ancel said, “how did you find me?”
“Through the link. When a person receives their first Etching, every Eztezian senses his pull. Some more than others. Whether we choose to answer is another story. For some of us, there’s no choice.”
“Why?”
“The bond is that strong. In the Chronicle of Time, one of the others wrote that denying the call is like resisting the water in the ocean. You can only hold out for so long before the current sweeps you under. The power you used when you summoned the netherling saved me.” Ryne shuddered as he thought about his encounter with Voliny. “Even if I didn’t want to come, the power drove me. I chased where it led, through snows and storms, letting nothing stand in my way, killing if I had to. I went weeks on end without eating. When I reached you in the woods, the call ceased.”
“I understand feeling the link, but Da said you already knew my name. How?”
“Let’s just say a voice told me.”
“The essences?” Ancel asked.
“Maybe.” Ryne shrugged. He still wasn’t certain about the voice, or rather, the sense deep inside his mind that pointed to Ancel and revealed his name. When the connection to the swath of Mater occurred in Castere, he immediately understood it originated from the young man. The urgency driving him afterwards may have been his own consciousness or it may have been Mater.
From the market, Ancel led them onto an even wider road lined with brick and sandstone buildings, their tiled roofs either peaking up or sloping down. The avenue lacked the crush of shoppers and traders, but travelers still crowded the thoroughfare, huddled in everything from thick furs, leathers, layered swaths of cloth, and cloaks. Those who didn’t walk rode horses. Covered wagons and animal-drawn coaches trundled along, wheels kicking up muddy water along a street too busy for the snow to accumulate. A few men kept a ten-mule team on course as they hauled a cart carrying large blocks of quarried stone. Among the crowds marched a few Dagodin, often on the heels of big-boned, bushy-faced men in lighter leathers or furs with daggerpaws or wolves at their sides. The pets eyed the people as an eagle might a rabbit.
While the majority of people were paler complexioned Granadians, Ryne noted what he’d picked up on in the market. Many here were of Ostanian descent. Thick-shoulders and sandy-hair were Harnan traits. Add a tad more color, square jaws, and blue eyes, and several of the taller folk would fit right in among the Felani. Sprinklings of red, flame, or jet-black hair marked those with Setian heritage. Bald heads with bushy beards and moustaches belonged to the Banai. None of them dressed like their distant relatives, but the resemblances existed nonetheless.
The wild men and soldiers in blue and gold held his attention. They bore subtle or sometimes stark differences in size, but the auras about them told him they were of the same lineage. A race he thought he’d all but eliminated as Nerian the Shadowbearer during the war that sealed Stefan Dorn’s rebellion against him. These men were all Erastonians, among some of the deadliest warriors next to the Setian Alzari.
The memory of Stefan made him feel at odds with himself again. Here he was, now the mentor of a young man whose father hated him above no other. A secret he needed to maintain if he hoped to complete his task. When Irmina arrived as she promised, he planned to plead with her not to reveal his identity.
“The voice that came to you,” Ancel said, breaking their silence, “could it be the gods themselves touching the world?” He nodded toward the Streamean temple and its soaring clock tower dominating the town’s center.
“Who knows?” Ryne stared off into the distance. “Personally, I’ve seen too much not to believe in divine interference.”
“Do you think they hear our prayers?”
Ryne shrugged. “I have my suspicions, but that’s all they are.”
“I think they do,” Ancel said.
“Why?” Ryne asked, genuinely interested. He wondered if this young man had arrived at the same conclusions in his short time of ascension as he had over years mired by the fog of lost memories.
Ancel glanced around furtively. “I get dizzy sometimes when I pray.” His is voice lowered. “Ever since this power began to manifest. I experimented, but I can’t pin down the reason. I’m convinced it isn’t random. I think somehow my prayers are … answered.”
Surprised, Ryne arched his eyebrow. He suspected the same, but more than that, Ancel’s inquisitiveness and hunger for learning reminded him of Kahkon. A brief pang of regret for his inability to save Kahkon swept through him. It had been much the same with his own children. Unlike with Kahkon though, he’d put his own to the sword. Some in their youth and others when they’d lived a full life. Each one had been driven mad by the power they inherited. No matter how hard he beeged the gods, it made no difference. He often felt being an Eztezian was more a curse than a gift. Stripping themselves of the ability to bring children into the world had been the best choice they’d made.
“I’m uncertain what to think,” Ancel said, “but the people who I prayed for the hardest always seem to find a way to safety.”
“Coincidence?”
“I–I don’t know. Is it still coincidence if it happens several times?”
“Well, it’s possible,” Ryne said, “but concrete proof is like chasing the wind. We know it’s there but we can’t capture it.”
“Why are you smiling like that?”
Ryne chuckled. He hadn’t realized he was smiling. “You remind me of a boy I knew, that’s all. He was younger than you but always full of questions.” Memories of Kahkon flooded him. He held on to the good ones and pushed the painful ones away.
“You miss him?”
“More so now than I ever realized,” Ryne admitted. Stomach grumbling in earnest, he added. “How much farther is this place? I could eat a horse.” He glanced longingly at one of the beasts.
When he noticed Ancel had stopped, he turned back. The boy’s wide-eyed expression changed to a grimace.
“What?”
Ancel shook his head. “I always thought Ostanians eating horsemeat was a rumor.”
“You don’t?”
“No. It’s … it’s …”
“It tastes like deer,” Ryne insisted. He couldn’t help his smile when Ancel’s face paled. “Some things taste disgusting. Horseflesh isn’t one them, but I’ll remember to keep those thoughts to myself when I’m here.”
“You should be glad my friend Danvir isn’t around,” Ancel said. “He would’ve tried to gut you.”
Ryne chuckled.
“We’re here.” Ancel stopped at a five-storied building with a sign displaying a gigantic waterfall. The Whitewater Inn, the sign declared.
Six stern-faced Dagodin stood outside. Gazes locked on the greatsword at his hip, their hands drifted to their weapons. Ryne ignored them but kept his hand away from his weapon.
“Master Dorn, the Council is still meeting inside.” This from a Dagodin bearing the signet of a double set of crossed swords over a shield on the upper arm of his uniform. “We can’t allow anyone in.”
“Already I’m at a disadvantage,” Ancel said. “You know my name, and I don’t have a clue who you are. I make it my business to know every soldier’s name from officer on do
wn.”
“I’m Knight Captain Steyn.” The man stood more erect, chest puffed out in an upper body hewn from stone.
“Hmm.” Ancel frowned then tapped a finger to his lips. He stopped as recognition crossed his face. “You lead the new Dagodin cohort from Calisto.”
The Knight Captain arched an eyebrow then nodded.
“Well, I understand your orders, Knight Captain Steyn, but the fact that the dining room is empty is exactly why I’m here. Not only am I starving, but could you picture me taking him,” Ancel gestured to Ryne with a smile, “into one of the more crowded establishments?”
“I see your point,” The Knight Captain looked Ryne up and down, “but orders are orders. You’re going to have to eat elsewhere.”
“Knight Captain,” the smile disappeared from Ancel’s face, “this was my mother’s favorite place. I always eat here in her memory.”
“Sorry to hear that, son.” The Knight Captain’s eyes appeared sympathetic for a moment before they hardened. “But people die all the time. If I listened to every sap who came to me with a sob story, no disrespect intended to my commander’s son or his wife, I’d be stripped of my position and drawn and quartered.”
Ancel’s face became blank. Darkness flashed across his aura for a moment. His Etchings gave a telltale shift.
Ryne reached a hand out to restrain him. Too late.
Time slowed. Everything happened at once.
A door to the side opened. Several people streamed out. Hand stretching to Ancel, Ryne picked out Irmina among them. Openmouthed, she stared from him to Ancel and then to something behind them.
Ancel’s right hand shot up in a blur, striking the Knight Commander in the chest. The blow’s force flung Steyn from his feet. He crashed into the inn’s wide oak door and fell in a heap of armor.
A snarl twisting her features, Irmina reached for her sword, eyes focused on whatever was beyond Ryne.
Ryne whirled.
A few dozen feet away stood a slim, golden-haired woman. Her aura bloomed with a peculiar mix of light, shade, and earth essences. An aura he knew well. She’d been present when he found Kahkon, broken, bloody, and barely alive.
Beside her stood a creature bigger than the average horse. It appeared to be a daggerpaw, but its lack of an aura said the beast was not of this world.
A netherling.
The normal tingle of battle energy became a rushing torrent. Ryne snatched for his greatsword and charged.
Chapter 15
Stunned by the sight of Ryne and Ancel, but even more so by the golden-haired Ostanian woman, Irmina drew in Mater to Forge.
Humongous sword in hand, Ryne was loping down the Eldan Road in those ground-eating strides of his. Ancel stared slack-jawed at her.
The Ostanian woman stood with two black Alzari daggers bared. The weapons brought the pain of the attack by Jaecar, his wife, and their shadelings screaming into Irmina’s memory. In front of the Ostanian, bone hackles raised into knives, Charra snarled.
“Stop!” Shin Galiana yelled.
Reluctantly, Irmina released the strands of her Forging. Along the road, people were scattering in every direction. Soldiers among them had unsheathed their weapons. The Dagodin at the door surrounded Ancel. Their Knight Captain lay in a boneless heap.
From behind Irmina, steel rasped on leather. Stefan bulled his way next to her and Galiana. He opened his mouth to speak.
“In Ilumni’s name. I. Said. STOP!” Galiana’s voice boomed unnaturally. The sound became a howling gale that flapped cloaks and rattled shutters and wind vanes.
Stefan’s mouth snapped shut. The soldiers froze.
Ryne kept going. He leapt into the air, sword swinging down toward the Ostanian woman.
Charra roared.
A seething mass of blue-tinged Mater shot up between Ryne and the daggerpaw.
Ryne’s body slammed into the elements with a resounding thud as if he struck a steel wall. For a moment, the surface dimmed, bent in on itself, and then rebounded. The effect blasted him back through the air, but instead of falling, Ryne twisted in a somersault. He landed lightly on his feet like some acrobatic dancer. Sword held crossways before him, muscles straining, face a livid mask, he stared at Charra.
Irmina spun on Galiana. “Why would you use that much power here? You could have hurt …” Her voice trailed off at Galiana’s shocked expression. Irmina’s gaze immediately shifted to the daggerpaw. Charra? Her mouth hung open before she remembered to close it.
A moment passed that seemed to last forever before Galiana finally shook her head as if waking from a trance. “What, in the pits of Hydae, is going on here?” She strode out into the road until she stood between Ryne and the daggerpaw.
Irmina followed and spoke up as she tried her best not to glance at Charra. “It’s her.” She nodded toward the golden-haired woman.
“You know Kachien, Shin Irmina?” Galiana asked.
Irmina avoided looking at Ancel at the mention of her title. “Yes, from a village in Ostania. Carnas, Ryne’s home before the shade massacred its people. She’s a killer, possibly an assassin.”
Several Dagodin reacted, placing themselves around the council members. A few started toward the woman.
“Of course she is,” Galiana said. “She’s also one of Jerem’s.”
Irmina noted how Ryne’s hand clenched his sword’s hilt even tighter.
“She’s also the one who saved Ancel’s life,” Galiana added.
An expression of grudging respect passed across Ryne’s face. He nodded to Kachien. Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword.
Irmina glanced from Ancel to Kachien. This woman was not only an agent of High Shin Jerem’s, but she’d saved Ancel’s life? A glint flashed in Kachien’s eyes, and Irmina frowned. Ancel hung his head for a moment before straightening his back. A tickle of something familiar about Kachien tugged at her. Her lips parted. Kachien reminded her of herself: the lithe frame, the honey-colored eyes, the attitude. All but the hair. Irmina faced Ancel. He met her gaze, eyes unwavering. Abruptly, she understood. He and Kachien had been intimate. Jealousy flashed through her in a hot wave.
“Are we still going to eat?” Ryne said in Ancel’s direction before she managed a word.
Ancel nodded. He inclined his head to Kachien, grimaced at Irmina, and then he stepped around the groaning Knight Captain into the inn.
Following not far behind, Ryne stopped at the doorway. He gave one long look at Kachien, bowed to Charra, and ducked inside.
Irmina still stared toward the door where they had disappeared.
“You two,” Galiana said, pointing to her and Kachien, “we need to talk.”
Kachien dipped her head. Irmina regarded the Ostanian with a frosty expression before finally doing the same.
“I’m going to make sure my son is well,” Stefan said.
“No.” Galiana waved him off. “What happened here is out of your hands. Please escort the elders to the barracks and wait for me.”
Stefan’s eyes took on a stubborn set for a moment. “Fine.” He sighed before he stalked off with the rest of the council in tow.
For a moment, Irmina wondered how much Stefan knew of his son’s relationship. Earlier, when he first entered the meeting, it had taken all her power not to strike at him. Even within the Eye her rage and craving for revenge had warred with her control. She had to remind herself of what Galiana had said and her talk with Jerem. If the chance existed that she was wrong about the Dorns, and she still killed them, it would make her no different to what she thought of them.
Galiana bent to examine the Knight Captain. “His ego is more hurt than anything. Follow the council and see to it he gets some rest.”
The Dagodin bowed, gathered their officer, and marched off in the same direction as Stefan and the others.
With a last curious glance at Charra, Galiana said, “Shall we go inside?” She didn’t wait for their answer.
Irmina glanced over to where Kachien was speaking to the
daggerpaw. She couldn’t make out the words, but the animal appeared to nod, before loping toward the back of the inn. Charra’s tongue lolled, teeth showing as he passed by her. Recognition glinted in those golden eyes. She almost reached out as she once did to touch the beast’s mind but recoiled at the thought. Unless she was mistaken, the animal had just Forged. Years ago, Charra had resisted her. What would he do now? Instinctively, she drew her cloak around her while keeping an eye on the daggerpaw until it disappeared behind the inn. Trying her best not to tense as Kachien passed her and strode inside, Irmina followed.
By the time she reached the dining hall, Shin Galiana was sitting across from Ancel. They’d drawn two tables together. Ryne sat on the polished wood floors with his legs crossed, the chair next to him looking like a plaything. Rolt was nodding to Ancel as he took his order.
No matter how she tried, Irmina was unable keep her eyes off Ancel. He was a man now, not the boy she remembered. Taller, his back straighter, shoulders broader, and the dark hair she loved so much well-oiled and tied with a leather cord, he was a picture of perfection. His eyes were a deeper emerald than before, similar to Ryne’s, but darker. They were also harder. The contempt and anger written on his face amplified when their gazes met.
“What’s she doing here?” Ancel said, voice deeper and more grating than she recalled. “She ran off to become an Ashishin. Shouldn’t she be across the Vallum somewhere or at the Iluminus? No one needs or wants her here.”
She stiffened her shoulders against the pain of his words and took a seat next to Galiana. Kachien worked her way to Ancel’s side of the table, even the simple act of walking somehow reeking of seduction, and sat next to him, her face expressionless.
“She is here because we do need her. You need her,” Galiana said.
Irmina frowned at the statement but said nothing.
“I don’t need her. I have all I need at my side.”
The words made Irmina flinch as if struck by an open palm.
“No, boy,” Galiana began.
“I’m no longer a boy.”
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