He pushed to his knees, paused to gather himself, and then he stood. “I’ll be fine for now. It will be a while before the elements in this area are stable enough for the Tribunal to Materialize here again. Unless they use some other location, that buys us maybe a day. Regardless, if they’re smart, they will come here first to see what happened to the Chainin and who controls it.”
“They’ll be able to see it’s gone if they come from anywhere north of here,” Mirza said.
Ryne glanced toward the Kelvore’s jagged fangs where they disappeared into the clouds and mists. The young man was right. Unless.
He linked with Ancel, this time not simply to communicate, but the full connection.
Ancel’s eyes shot open.
“Don’t panic,” Ryne said in Ancel’s head. “Relax. Seek the Eye.” He saw through his ward’s eyes. In turn, Ancel could do the same. “Your Etching is mainly heat and light, but there’s a bit of the Forms within it. Most Etchings contain a part of the Forms as that helps to shape everything.”
Features smoothing, Ancel nodded.
“Good. Now, from the Eye choose the emotions that correspond to your Etchings, to the Streams.” He felt Ancel tap into his passion, his aggression, his despair, his love.
Ancel’s face contorted with strain, but he did not give up.
“Eaaaasy, allow the Eye to do its work. Let the essences feed on your sela as they need.” He waited a moment until Ancel’s features relaxed. “Now, dip into the Forms.”
Ancel drew on his stubbornness, his steadfastness. The boy had that to spare in droves to go along with his will.
Ryne smiled at the way Ancel grasped the concepts so easily. The continual practice had paid off. “In your mind, picture the Chainin. Exactly how it looked. Delve into what’s left. Connect to the Forms that created the divya, and those of the earth beneath it.”
Eyes closed, Ancel’s brow furrowed tightly.
“Excellent. Remember, for any Forging to work, there must be a base, a model of sorts for the essences to draw upon. A source of heat for fire or cold for ice. Once you have a model, you then add or subtract, using the essences to create the Forge you want. Now, holding the image, tell your Etching to construct what you see.”
Moments passed and nothing happened. Then, the ground rumbled.
A smooth-sided earthen spire rose up from beneath the melted metal. The silversteel toppled to one side with a resounding crash. When the construct reached the appropriate height, it stopped.
Ryne smiled. Ancel was better than he dreamed.
“The metal is malleable. Think of what you saw before and cover your construct’s surface.”
Screeching and bending, the noise grating against his ears, the metal rose and wrapped around the earthen spire. It became identical to the real divya.
Ryne broke his link. His vision receded to only his once more.
Sweat pouring down his brow, Ancel panted heavily.
Kachien and Mirza gawked at the new structure, their gazes shifting from Ancel to Ryne.
“Perfect.” Ryne beamed. “Congratulations. You have created your first construct and completed your first major class in Materforging using your Etchings.”
Chapter 22
Darkness came early to Whitewater Falls and Eldanhill as it often did this time of year. The sky bled orange and pink. Shadows lengthened and prowled the land. Through the looking glass, Shin Galiana watched the changes from where she stood before the half-open, stained glass window on the Streamean Temple’s topmost floor. Next to her, Irmina wrung her hands, her expectant gaze locked on the northeast.
Any Matii with enough power felt the elements unleashed earlier. The Forges originated from two locations Galiana knew well. One was from the glen Stefan and his cohort marched off to that morning. The other came from the direction of Stefan’s old home. The latter had been far more powerful. Ryne’s request for kinai made sense now. He’d gone, most likely taking Ancel with him, to the divya at the winery.
Did he use the boy to activate the Chainin once again? If so, for what purpose? She dismissed any need for him to lengthen his life. Being an Eztezian negated such a possibility. Who he was should have lent her comfort, but instead she couldn’t help the uneasiness prickling at her thoughts. His race had broken much of the world before. What would he do with such power as the Chainin held?
One problem at a time, she reminded herself. Deal with the issues you can handle.
Her thoughts swung to Stefan, his Dagodin cohort, and the dozen men and women with him powerful enough to be Ashishin. A few of them once were. In fact, some among those had been Alzari and after that, Setian. She sighed. Her people had lost so much. What had once been a title of honor was now no more than a handful of assassins and fighters who wielded a fraction of their former power and were exiled to ravaged clanholds. The Tribunal had altered the Alzari’s true history in all the Iluminus’ records. Outside in the world, the Devout spread the same teaching. Now, the name Alzari referred to the outcasts, the half-breeds like Kachien. The Setian might be alive, but little existed of their proud heritage.
Yet, here in Granadia, they found a new life in the Mysteras. With Stefan once again leading, there might still be hope. So why did she feel this knot in her gut? The crawling fear that told her something was horribly wrong?
Both parties should have returned already. To make matters worse, the eagles she sent out to the glen had not come back either. None of this boded well, so she had prepared.
Dagodin lined Eldanhill’s walls, interspersed with any other Matii strong enough to Forge. Torches highlighted their forms, set every few feet for easy access to the archers. Several bonfires illuminated the Seifer, Nema and other soldiers waiting inside the ramparts. Even from where she stood, the odor of burning pitch was strong. The remainder of the folk not related to the Setian were well on their way to Old Paltz. They would continue on to Descane and take a ferry across to Dosteri lands. Their exodus gave her a sense of relief.
The shadows continued to lengthen, the colors in the sky giving way to ghostly hues with the rising of Denestia’s twin moons.
AWOOOOOOO! The sudden wail of a horn jarred her.
Two more short reports followed, then another longer bray. Eldanhill’s Dagodin were returning.
Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat as she waited. Another short blast meant they had been victorious.
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
She hissed. The men were in trouble.
From below rose shouted commands and barked orders. Galiana strained her eyes in the direction of the horns. They blared again, two more long notes, somewhere northwest within the Greenleaf, not far from its edge.
Several flaming arrows lit up the dark sky. Aided by Forges, they flew farther and faster than any bow could manage. At the perimeter of the forest, they bloomed, lighting the trees and the fields.
Dagodin galloped from among the ice-covered woods. Galiana began to count, but stopped as she realized how few they were. Many of the mounts carried two soldiers. Another group on foot ran from the tree line.
Stefan Dorn brought up their rear. He stopped and the men on foot with him. Each one wielded a bow.
A keening wail echoed from the woods. Howls quickly followed. Galiana’s mouth dried. An ear-splitting shriek made her cover her ears. What in Ilumni’s name…?
Stefan and those on foot formed a line. Wielding a gigantic longbow as tall as himself, he drew fletching to ear and loosed. The other archers did the same, firing in concert.
Galiana let her gaze follow the flight of arrows by the power imbued into them. They shot among the trees and disappeared.
Hollow booms resonated moments later. The forest lit up as miniature explosions toppled trees and kicked up bursts of snow.
A gasp escaped her lips.
Blackness boiled within the woods. Shadelings by the thousands advanced, their bodies rippling like an undulating, obsidian serpent.
Another volley from
the archers. Another series of explosions. Then they turned and ran for Eldanhill’s walls.
“They won’t make it if we don’t do something,” Irmina cried.
“We will. Link with me.”
Galiana felt the power Irmina already held reach out and touch hers. The essences caressed, then became one.
Through the link, Galiana led Irmina to what she wanted. The other woman responded as if she’d done it a thousand times. Galiana shrugged off her initial surprise and continued.
Within the stones of the Streamean Temple, she and Thania Dorn had worked for years to store light essences, imbuing them into the rock as the workers constructed the building. Now, she called on that power. Mater flooded up into her in an incandescent torrent. When she gazed over at Irmina, the younger woman’s eyes glowed.
Galiana directed the Streams across town to its counterpart: Eldanhill’s ramparts. From there she reached farther, to the next connection: the pillars that appeared to be simple supports for an unfinished wall or fence encircling Eldanhill. The builders had hewn the bricks from stone that belonged to the same quarry.
Irmina sucked in a breath. “You recreated the Forging used in message maps for the Heralds.”
“Yes. A twist, just like so, and it becomes a defensive weapon.”
The first shadelings crossed the tree line. Wraithwolves put their snouts to the air and howled. Back and forth in front of them, the smoky forms of darkwraiths sped, holding the beasts in check. Shadowy forms alighted from the sky, followed by piercing wails. Several dozen daemons landed on spindly legs, insect-like wings flitting so rapidly they were a blur. Their tentacles uncoiled from around their heads like a mass of black ropes.
An ear-rending screech pealed once more.
The shadelings charged.
The Dagodin archers along the walls fired. Arrows rose in an arc, before falling among the shadelings. Explosions rocked the ground, sending up snow and earth, bodies and blood.
Undaunted, the wraithwolves and their nebulous counterparts stretched onward in a black wave, washing over the fields. They howled and screeched as some fell, but their charge did not so much as pause. The daemons watched. Galiana refused to think on the reason they waited.
The fleeing Dagodin looked back, desperately trying to reach the walls. Most of those on horseback had already made it to the gates.
Galiana triggered the Forging.
Eldanhill’s walls lit up. A blue luminance flew from them straight out to the pillars like the metal spokes of a wagon-wheel, the town at its center. For thousands of feet around Eldanhill, the ethereal glow bathed the ground and air.
Stefan and his archers retreated inside the pillars.
“Release,” Galiana said.
The light thrummed, shot out from the Streamean Temple, into the walls, then from there, into the pillars. With a great whoosh, the luminescence ricocheted into the sky from the pillars in a steady bar, joining each spoke. When the circle closed, a glowing wall surrounded Eldanhill, stretching up to cast its glare into the clouds.
When the first shadelings struck the barrier, they disintegrated.
The soldiers along the ramparts cheered. Fists and weapons pumped into the air.
The earlier scream pierced their triumphant cries. This time, the shadelings stopped, many loping back and forth near the barrier before they fled to the Greenleaf Forest.
“Come,” Galiana said, breathing labored, shoulders and feet heavy. “There will be plenty who need mending.”
Irmina took one last look toward the northeast before she nodded.
As they made their way down the stairs, Galiana asked, “So do you care to explain how you knew where Ancel went?”
Irmina hesitated for a moment before answering, “Ever since the night in Castere when I tapped into a Matersurge to help Ryne defeat the shade, I’ve had this pinprick in my mind that comes and goes. It’s similar to how I identify a beast I’ve tamed, yet different. Somehow it felt familiar, but …” She paused. “I always suspected, but it wasn’t until … until after last night when I spent time with him again that I knew for certain what I had felt was him.”
Galiana’s breath caught in her throat. She’d read about this affinity in Stefan’s Chronicle of Undeath, but not once in all her years did she encounter anyone who could corroborate the telling.
“Now, it’s stronger,” Irmina said. “Not constant but I sense him more often.”
“Do you think he can feel you?”
“I–I don’t know.”
They gained the second landing with its massive archway and continued their descent. Pictures carved into the walls depicted the gods of the Streams-Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni, and Rituni, all engaged in different battles. Galiana wondered how long it would be before what was happening now culminated with the breaching of the Nether’s seals and these same gods crossing the Planes into the worlds once more. The thought brought a chill to her old bones. She pulled her cloak around her and leaned on her staff.
“At least you know he lives,” Galiana said.
Irmina nodded, but the tight lines about her face didn’t lessen.
They proceeded the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the area before the walls, Ashishin were already tending to the wounded. Galiana’s heart fell. Of the full cohort, four hundred strong, maybe only forty had survived.
Face haggard, his armor ripped in several places, Stefan approached. “They were waiting for us.”
“Did you make it into the glen?” Galiana asked.
“No. Wraithwolves guarded the entrance from this side.” He took a deep breath. “We would have taken them too … if not for the man.”
Galiana frowned. “Not the same one from-”
“No, not the one who took Thania. This man was different. He stood near the entrance also. I could’ve sworn he was looking directly at where we hid. The strangest thing about him was that each Dagodin reported as seeing a different person. He seemed inconsequential, friendly almost, like a person you would immediately take to. I snuck closer and fired my bow when he wasn’t looking. H-He turned to the arrow and … and a black tentacle snatched it out of the air.”
Irmina made a choked sound.
“You know him?” Galiana asked.
Irmina nodded numbly. “I believe so. If he’s who I think, he should be dead. I killed him at Castere.”
The Streamean Temple’s bell tolled.
“More shadelings?” Stefan shouted to the tower above him.
“Riders, sir!” yelled a Dagodin. “Coming from the northeast along the Eldan Road. Also a daggerpaw and the giant on foot.”
“It’s them,” Irmina exclaimed.
Stefan snarled. “Tell me that’s not Ancel.”
“It is,” Galiana replied.
He rushed toward the gates.
Galiana ran to the nearest tower, climbed in the wooden basket and yelled for the Dagodin above to haul her up. Rocking back and forth, the contraption ascended until it passed through the hole in the tower’s floor. Galiana scrambled out and stared across the field.
There, riding hard for Eldanhill, hooves kicking up water and snow were three figures. Behind them, Ryne’s gigantic form and Charra’s whitish blur were unmistakable. Several mountain men on draught horses were pursuing.
Galiana frowned. Why-? A scream from below cut off her question.
The ring of clashing steel and the pained cries of men and beasts echoed. Below the walls, clansmen were attacking Ashishin, striking down a few before they realized what happened. In some spots, mountain men battled each other.
The entire area seethed as Dagodin and soldiers joined the fray. The twang of bowstrings brought Galiana’s attention back to the archers next to her and their targets beyond the wall. Several clansmen were sprinting toward the newly Forged barrier and the pillars that gave it life.
Chapter 23
Irmina parried the Nema’s attack. The impact of his axe vibrated up her arms. She didn’t dare Forge. In quart
ers this close, the risk of hurting one of the defenders was too great.
She shifted slightly, making her body a smaller target. The clansman swung his axe in a wide arc. A quick duck under the blow allowed her to ram her sword up into his throat. The point tore up through his mouth. She yanked the blade out. Gurgling blood, he collapsed.
Spinning, she sought another victim, but most of the mountain men were already down or engaged with other soldiers. The twang of bowstrings drew her attention to the towers. Archers were firing beyond the wall. At the gate, Stefan’s bow work was a blur as he nocked and fired in quick succession, hardly pausing in between.
The familiar sense of a mind mired in fear and worry, yet remaining calm, touched hers. Ancel. She rushed to the gate and out.
Across the fields, members of both Nema and Seifer clans ran toward the barrier. Arrows struck some, and a few among them fell. Those not dead struggled to their feet to stagger on.
His face a mask of concentration, Stefan continued to shoot, each arrow flying true. Each of his targets dropped, never to rise again.
But the hail of arrows from Stefan and the Dagodin weren’t enough. The clansmen and their pets steadily gained on the barrier and pillars.
In desperation, Irmina reached her mind out to the closest animal. A daggerpaw. Focused as it was on its current task, she met little resistance as she slid into its mind. The beast issued a confused snarl before she waded through its heightened senses and primal emotions. Sifting through the murk of its thoughts, she located the leaders for both the daggerpaws and the wolves by their musty reek.
Weary from the earlier Forging, she took a deep breath, stiffened her back, and spread her senses out to the other animals. When she found the ones she sought, she eased from the daggerpaw’s awareness, split her thoughts in two, and forced her consciousness into theirs. She found where the clansmen overrode the will of their pets and ripped control from them. Her commands spilled forth in a series of images.
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