Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (23 page)

A stab of sadness poked at Galiana’s chest. It must have shown or her face, because Ryne frowned at her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Only three of the original Grays still live. The years of war with the White and Shadow have taken its toll. Only Sol Remus, Trucida Adler, and I are left.”

Ryne leaned back, face held to the sky, and shook his head. “Nothing is ever easy.” He looked at her once more. “Where are they?”

“Remus, you met already.”

“Let me guess … Jerem?”

She nodded. Even when he was younger, Thanairen had a knack for discovering the most intricate plots. “He is in Calisto, most likely. He has been working as much as he dared on this side of the Vallum and in Ostania. Trucida, last I heard, was somewhere in Everland. So you know, the Pathfinders belong to Jerem now.”

“The same Pathfinders who have been killing Matii? Depleting our numbers? Why hasn’t he reined them in?”

Galiana shrugged. “You can ask him when we get to Calisto.” She didn’t fully trust the man, and in ways, making them seem weaker than they were at present might work in her favor in case he had some treachery planned. What happened to the Setian under Nerian’s rule still gave her nightmares. That brought up another issue. How was she going to reveal this to Stefan?

“Well,” Ryne said, “Harval and Calisto it is then.”

“And afterward?”

“A land to reclaim.”

C
hapter 35

F
rom where he lay on the flattened grass, Ancel glared at the colossal sentient. The construct, had called itself Damal, Ryne’s brother and once a leader of the Eztezians. Supposedly the same Damal from legend, the one minstrel’s sang about, the one who according to the stories had sacrificed himself for Denestia, or destroyed Jenoah, depending on which telling you believed. Frustrated at yet another failure, Ancel punched the ground and got to his feet.

“Good, boy. I see fire in your eyes. It becomes you.” The sentient grinned, its mouth a yawning cavern.

Time had become a forgotten concept for Ancel. Days had bled into nights and into days again, each filled with near incessant training. Occasional rest and pauses to allow for a meal or a drink when Ryne, Galiana, or Mirza brought him food and kinai were the only breaks to the monotony. Beyond them asking after his well-being, Damal didn’t allow much conversation, cutting off any attempt at an extended talk. The kinai juice or fruit they brought was sweeter than any he had before, even his mother’s. Each time he partook, it more than simply invigorated him; the kinai drove away all fatigue, making him feel as if he could run a hundred miles, fight a dozen battles. Damal pushed him harder soon afterward.

And still, he’d learned nothing. Or at least that’s how he felt.

“I continue to tell you,” Damal’s mouth twitched into a smirk Ancel had grown to loathe, “these are not the essences outside that do your bidding simply by drawing on them. You must not only command Prima, but you must have absolute belief in what you do. Doubt yourself for one moment, one instant, and they will refuse your call.”

Easy for you to say. You’re not facing a three-storied house in the shape of a man.

“Succumbing to intimidation is weakness. Showing and reacting to fear are signs of doubt. Believe in Prima with the same fervor you would if you prayed for Ilumni’s help,” Damal commanded.

Ancel sighed. Regardless of how many times he tried, he found it difficult to apply the concepts. Belief in a god was one thing. Belief that the essences were his to command despite how they fought him was another. After witnessing what they could do, his fear was warranted. How could he forget he faced an Eztezian, a myth, a legend, here before him? Even though not of flesh and blood, Damal was no less real.

Sweat trickled down his brow as Ancel raised his sword once more. His last helping of kinai had been hours before, and both his legs and arms were beginning to feel like massive logs. Striated with both air and water essences, a transparent dome spread above and around them. The shield absorbed the impact of his body whenever he failed to block Damal’s Forgings. Its edges cushioned him as it bent, but never broke. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He refused to wipe at where it crawled from the corner of his lip and down into his bushy beard.

The beard reminded him yet again of how long he must have been inside the Entosis. At least three weeks by his count, but the growth said it had to be more.

He was still thinking when a soft whine made him glance up. A shaft of heat and light made solid by use of air slammed into his chest. The impact blew him backward. He flew at least twenty feet before he crashed into the barrier that this time wasn’t so forgiving.

Spots dancing before his eyes, he crawled to his feet. His head throbbed. Someone was speaking. Or at least he thought he heard words mixed in with the ringing in his head. His vision of Damal split into a dozen parts before becoming one again. A lopsided grin split its features, but its eyes weren’t smiling.

Enraged, Ancel charged Damal, sword out before him. He pulled on whatever essences he could, flinging Forgings at the sentient. All the skills he’d learned.

He sent fire blazing in a trail across the ground, leaving a swath of blackened grass in its wake. At the same time, he cast several balls of flame in a curving arc from the right and left. He connected with the skies above, finding particles of energy there, drawing on them to form lightning. Using the sun’s beams, he also whipped forth a spear of heat and light to strike at an angle above the blaze speeding toward Damal.

A single strike of lightning tore from the sky. The fire wave, the balls, and the spear struck at the same time. They dissipated before they hit Damal, not even leaving a concussion.

The sentient grinned even more broadly. “I told you such petty Forges will not work on one such as I.” He flung a hand out.

Ancel felt as if the hand snatched him and tossed him sideways. He tried to turn to soften his fall, or at least roll, but he landed in a heap. Pain shot up his side and arm.

“You are weak, boy. You will stop no one in your current state. Pitiful.”

Ancel’s ribs throbbed and his arm hung limp as he struggled up onto his feet. He would not give in. Even if he had to fight to his death. Attempting to will the hurt away, he drew in ragged breaths. This time, he approached Damal carefully, one slow step at a time, grimacing as pain lanced up his side. Ancel gauged the distance between them, searching for any revealing movement or shift in the essences to signify an attack. The sentient simply watched him with a bemused expression.

The self-satisfied smile irked Ancel more than his failure. Steeling himself, he brought his sword down and dashed in. When he drew on the essences, he used them to strengthen his blade and lend him speed. Sword in one hand, he struck with a series of attacks, using primarily the Streams, feeding his annoyance into the Stances.

He swept from slices to stabs, kicks and lunges, faster and faster, more random with each strike. The jarring impact of his relatively tiny sword against Damal’s oversized weapon vibrated through his arms. Not once did Damal move his feet, but he parried each blow. The sentient was so large that all it needed to do was slightly shift its weapon. Ancel growled under his breath at the apparent ease with which Damal defended.

Reinforcing his arms with the strength of earth, Ancel swung harder. With the Streams, he moved faster. In his mind’s eye, he was a blur of movement.

Yet none of it mattered.

One sweep of its other hand, and Damal sent him soaring back into the barrier once more. He landed hard, rolling through dirt and grass, shearing skin from his forearm. Unable to move, he lay there, panting. Numerous aches and burns scoured his body. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.

“I hope there are none you hold dear … a sister, a brother, a lover, a mother, a father … If there are, consider them dead. To stand against the Skadwaz, the shade, or any creature from beyond the Kassite is a fool’s dream for you. You may as well give up. Admit failure in this test.”

A piece of Ancel broke. Despair coiled inside him, threatening to choke him He’d wanted to become stronger to save his mother if she was still alive. Now, his father might also need his aid. With the chance in front of him here, all he’d managed was failure after failure. To add to it all, he’d finally reconciled with Irmina, only to have that snatched from him. And what of his people? Where were they now? Captured and imprisoned by the Tribunal? Or dead at the hands of a shadeling? On and on, voices and thoughts warred in his head.

A memory whispered in the back of his mind to seek the Eye. He did. Its confines did little to quench his heated emotions. A pull beyond its edges drew him. It was as if a light shone in the distance, beckoning him. Within all his fears lay something else.

It allowed him to stand after falling. Each time he thought he had no more, he’d found another reserve. He allowed his mind, body, and soul to drift to that light. When he touched it, he immediately recognized its caress.

His will. A simple refusal to lose.

Instead of picking out each individual feeling as they surged within him, Ancel took his will and with it, he thrust all his passion, fury, despair, all his aggression into the Streams represented by the Etchings on his arm and chest.

Damal would learn not to take him lightly.

Ancel no longer cared how long it took. He would be with Irmina again. He would save his father from imprisonment. He would help fulfill his father’s wish in bringing their people back together in Seti. He would find the black-armored man and defeat him. He would free Mother.

And I will pass this test.

“Light to balance shade. Light to show honor. Honor to show mercy,” he whispered.

Essences flooded him. He surrendered to them. White flashed through his vision. Light blinded him. Heat wilted his body. He screamed, expelling all that he was into the Etchings.

He felt more than he saw the being that burst forth. In an incandescent haze, it shot up into the air, taller, bigger, and more powerful than Damal. The construct was featureless, made of a blinding glow that made Ancel shield his eyes for a moment. As the light dimmed, it grew into the image of a stern-faced man wielding a sword of pure energy. From what he felt, Ancel knew he’d called forth a sentient.

The old voices of power stopped their gibbering even inside the Eye. He felt a connection between them and the essences he now held. The Entosis’ Mater uttered two words to them. They were tinged with scorn.

“Be gone.”

The malignant voices fled.

With eyes like sunlight, his sentient brought its attention to bear on Damal. The Eztezian gasped, and then bowed.

Chest heaving, Ancel could only stare. A noise next to him turned out to be Ryne, his expression one of awe.

“Your Prima construct,” Ryne intoned, “is one of Ilumni’s Battleguards. Praise Ilumni.” Reverence filled his voice.

Ancel’s gaze was riveted on the Battleguard. Somehow, he found his voice. “But-but they aren’t real. They’re stories.”
Stories to make men have something to believe in, to push faith.
“Aren’t they?”

“It was from the Battleguards that the gods created the original Eztezians,” Ryne said.

“Finally.” The sound came from the Battleguard. It was like a whisper on the wings of the wind. “One with righteous anger. My name is Etien. I am yours.”

A prickling sensation ran along Ancel’s arms, legs, and body. He held up his forearms. Etchings appeared, their artwork exquisite, displaying creatures, celestial bodies, what appeared to be moonlight, sunshine, and energy arcing through the air. Yet, as he looked he could tell they were incomplete. Still, he couldn’t help his shock.

“Once you have mastered one essence of an Etching, the rest of the power within it appears,” Etien declared. “Now, you must gain the others to complete the element of Streams and harness its full strength.”

Ancel trembled, but not from fear, from sheer pride, excitement, and the immense potency coursing through his Etchings.

C
hapter 36

A
lmost two weeks since he’d gained Etien, Ancel and the others trekked through the snowdrifts of the Red Ridge Mountains toward Harval. He’d felt him coming, and sure enough, Charra had arrived soon after his ordeal and stayed close to him, often licking his Etchings, his tongue like leather layered with sand. Ancel found it quite odd, Charra’s reaction. As odd as the other points, similar to his bonds, that he sensed way to the north. He wondered what they could be before his mind drifted to Ryne’s revelation that he’d spent nine months in the Entosis learning to summon Etien. It was equivalent to three months in Denestia’s time. He hoped the rest of his training would be easier.

According to Galiana, they were heading to Harval to use a Travelshaft. Ancel couldn’t help the excitement bubbling within him at the prospect. He’d once dreamed of using the tunnels built by the Svenzar connecting each city across Denestia.

Ryne spent most days teaching him one Forge or another but nothing too powerful. The classes ranged from those as mundane as drawing water from wet wood, then using air and heat to start a fire, to how to hide his Forges. That last actually required using more of the Flows and Forms, which he often found difficult to do, but once he grasped a sense of it, he saw how the air and earth intertwined to make what he did disappear. If he concentrated hard enough, he picked out a slight distortion, but he needed to be within a few feet.

While training in the Entosis, another notable ability had become a part of him. His skill to see auras had increased to where it existed for the majority of his waking hours. Most of the time, he used it unconsciously, identifying small facets within the colorful swirls of his companions’ auras that reflected their intentions.

In the days since they renewed their trek, his mind constantly drifted to his father, his mother, and Irmina. His mood grew dark every time. The safety of Eldanhill’s other refugees also weighed on him. His father had left their survival in his hands, and he’d dashed it all away to save Ryne. He could only hope he’d made the correct decision.

Since returning from the Entosis, the link he felt through the pendant resonated with increased strength. He could almost pinpoint its location. Somewhere to the north. As tempting as it was to go racing off to discover if she was alive, he knew better. Discovering more about his enemy and saving what remained of the Setian was the first priority.

“Mirza,” Shin Galiana said, with a quick glance at his friend. “You know a few of the folk in Harval, yes?” Mirza nodded. “I need you to control that excitement of yours. Do not speak to anyone concerning us. Ever. Should anyone ask a question of you, tell them to see me. You too, Ancel.”

“Yes, Shin Galiana,” they both replied.

The evening air was crisp and cold, but not the freezing temperature from the prior days. Ryne and Galiana appeared to have become friends, chatting between each other and laughing. Sometimes Ancel felt as if he was watching two old acquaintances. Mirza also seemed to have taken to them better than before. He asked so many questions of them both, and at night, Ryne had begun showing his friend how to use the scythe Mirza now favored. He’d picked up the weapon thinking it was a spear back in Eldanhill. His friend was becoming quite adept with the weapon.

When it came to Ancel, Mirza acted differently, almost reverential. It was as if Mirza saw a different person in him. Ancel often caught him staring, eyes wide with wonder, and sometimes with fear. His friend would offer a forced smile then or avert his eyes. Whenever Ancel spoke to him, their conversation drifted to home in Eldanhill, but like the smiles, their talks felt out of place, an avoidance of what troubled Mirza. Ancel missed their playful banter.

Since they left the Entosis, Ancel opened his Matersense regularly, acclimating himself to the difference between the essences. He came to realize his Etchings sifted them, storing a miniscule amount. The voices clamored to him more than ever, but with the Eye, he brushed them off. He was in command. They raged against him, but he simply shut them out.

As they walked, he prayed for his father’s well-being and tried not to think of his mother. Twice the nightmares of the black-armored man made him wake in cold sweats. Only once did he have another dream where he stood within Jenoah, protecting the city from the gods’ attack while yelling the sword’s name.

Antonjur
. At some point, he needed to question Ryne about it.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost failed to notice when the mining trail changed into a pass several hundred feet wide. He glanced up at the white, shimmering cliffs around them. The wind howled through the pass, a beast of icy fangs that snatched at his furs.

The first hint of a town came from muddy snow and travel-beaten ground beneath them, now stained red as if tinged with blood. It was a reflection of the sandy earth below that would become all too apparent in the long summer’s baking heat. The second hint came from Charra’s low growl and the three thick-furred dogs that appeared, barking excitedly. A solid looking man garbed in furs stepped out from one of the walls, chased away the dogs, and melted into the stone again.

Mirza tapped Ancel on the shoulder and pointed into the air ahead of them. Ancel had to look twice for his mind to conceive what his eyes witnessed.

Suspended in the air above them, stone bridges connected one wall of the pass to the other, stretching up as far as his eyes could see. Battlements lined the cliffs at varying levels, appearing to be natural phenomena. The sun glinted off translucent icicles hanging from the bridges’ underbellies like bejeweled death. Ancel lost count at thirty similar structures. Occasionally, a face would appear over the edge of a span, peering in their direction. Every crossing ended at an opening in the palisades that stretched to each side on the edge of the cliffs, hiding the paths beyond. The walls, cliffs, and bridges were carved from the same rock, as if a god chiseled it into shape.

The cliff faces sparkled with a fading, orange luminescence: reflections of the dying sunlight upon the many stones and metal contained within. Ancel stared in wonder as lights appeared in openings above the battlements and in the mountain itself. His mouth opened of its own volition.
Those are windows.

Subtle changes in the form of the cliffs turned out to be buildings, parts of them hidden by the walled paths or roads. Homes, he realized. Rounded and square roofs jutted out before becoming one with the stone from which they originated.

“Amazing right?” Mirza grinned next to him.

“When ...”

“I first came here with my father a few months before Danvir, you, and I left for Randane. I couldn’t believe my eyes either.” Mirza gestured around them. “All of this sitting here in the mountains. I tried to tell you about it, but you were still mooning over Irmina.” He pointed ahead of them. “Come let’s catch up to the others.”

Ancel shook himself and looked around. He had stopped to stare at his surroundings. Ahead of them, Shin Galiana and Ryne stood waiting. They spurred their horses and caught up.

Distant clangs in a familiar, constant rhythm echoed.
A smithy?
The sound repeated around him from dozens of directions. He was certain they were hammers. He discerned the shushing sounds of steam on hot metals, mixed in with other clanking noises. There must have been hundreds of blacksmiths. Where the chimneys for each were located, he could not tell. Occasionally, he noticed a low rumble of what he thought to be a cart’s wheels, and a loud, squeaking noise he did not recognize.

“There’s at least fifty smithies here.” Mirza paused and licked his lips, his apprehension obvious. Normally he would rattle off whatever it was he knew.

“Go on,” Ancel encouraged.

Mirza smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Harval also has a quarrying operation, and only Ilumni knows, how many carts going back and forth from the mines deep in these cliffs. The squeaking? The wheels of an ore tram. Someone needs to get to oiling. They usually have six or seven of them hitched together. You know,” a thoughtful expression pinched his face, “I can’t figure out how they get them to move or stop on those rails.”

“Earth and air essences,” Shin Galiana said. “Air to move and earth to stop.”

“They use Ashishin to run them?” Ancel’s brows climbed his forehead.

Shin Galiana gave him a look that said he should know better. “Do not be foolish. Almost all in Harval are Dagodin.”

Ancel had not expected to hear that either. “But shouldn’t they be off fighting …” His voice trailed off.

“Dagodin are good for other things besides weapons. Without the ones adept in using
divya
tools, we wouldn’t be able to build much of what we do. This town would not exist.” She gestured up at the cliffs. “Harval is an old town and produces most of the stone and metals used throughout Barham and Doster, the same as Eldanhill and the villages to the north provided for Sendeth. Much of the
divya
created here are for quarrying and mining.”

“Weapons too,” Mirza added.

Galiana inclined her head.

Ancel frowned. If they did produce that much, then Harval must have several dozen Imbuers. He always wanted to see how they worked their craft. The books considered them something of an enigma, more Dagodin than Ashishin. The Tribunal only recognized Matii who could use their Forges in battle as Ashishin.

By now, they stood directly under a vast majority of the stone bridges. With the amount of homes, Ancel would have expected there to be a pungent stench from drainage or refuse, but there was only a slight whiff. Curious, he searched for drains. He picked them out near the cliffs, each disappearing into the rocky foundation.

Shin Galiana led them into a gateway, several dozen feet wide and tall, carved into the cliff on their left. It opened into an impossibly large cavern, housing line after line of stables and pens. The smell of manure and livestock permeated the air along with a cacophony of animal cries. The cavern contained various domesticated animals, from horses to fowl.

On spindly legs, backs littered with small humps, several slainen ate from a trough. Their beady eyes ignored everything around them as they chewed contentedly. More than a quarter of the pens contained hibernating dartans. The creatures appeared as little more than large, mottled shells, their limbs withdrawn into their carapaces.

Ancel glanced from Mirza to Shin Galiana. Mirza had one of those silly grins on his face again. Curious, Ancel backed his horse up outside the door. The sounds died. He opened his mouth to ask how but stopped. A Forging.

He returned inside. Several young boys mucked out stables and pens. They washed them down with buckets of water into drains that ran along the back of each stall. A couple of dogs lazed about, barely raising their heads at the newcomers. One of them trotted over to Charra and sniffed at him. Charra growled. Head bowed, the dog slunk back to its original spot and lay down.

“Shin Galiana,” exclaimed a rotund, pock-faced old man, with short, straight hair and a bald spot on the crown of his head. “Pleasant surprise. It’s been the Ewald Stables’ blessing of late to be graced by this many Ashishin.” The man’s watery gaze drifted to Ryne several times. He shook his head.

Shin Galiana nodded to the man. “Nice to see you also, Master Ewald.”

He gestured behind him. “Been a busy week as you can see. Why, with rumors of troubles beyond the Vallum, and the recent clashes in Sendeth, business has increased tenfold.” His eyes darted from side to side; he took a breath and added, “I heard Eldanhill was involved. Something about the Setian returning.”

Master Ewald’s voice reminded Ancel of when he had a hoarse throat. A raspy mix of whispering and coughs. Shin Galiana had a barely noticeable frown on her face as she regarded the stable master.

“You should not believe everything you hear, Master Ewald,” Galiana’s expression gave away nothing. “Some things are not worth repeating. Others are … like the rumors of these troubles at the Vallum.”

The stable master nodded as if satisfied with Galiana’s answer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t mention you heard it from me, Shin Galiana, but some of the peddlers from Torandil have said war is brewing.”

Galiana gave the man a skeptical look. “But there is always war beyond the Vallum.”

Ewald peered around nervously. “Not like this. I heard there’s been more fighting than usual. Our armies have actually lost ground. But you did not hear any of that from me, Shin Galiana, no, you did not.”

“I will remember not to mention it.”

Master Ewald bowed to her. “Where’s my manners. Welcome, welcome back to Harval.” He gave Mirza a nod and a grin. “And you Master Faber, tell your father that Milnar is looking for him. He has some new ore and a new mine Devan may be interested in.”

Mirza returned the grin.

Ewald stroked the stubble on his chin. “And you must be ... wait don’t tell me,” he said, as Ancel opened his mouth. “I would know that face anywhere. Stefan Dorn’s boy. You’re welcome here too, lad.” He smiled at Ancel’s nod of affirmation. Finally, he gave Ryne another once over. “And,” he paused, “any friend of Shin Galiana’s is welcome here also.”

Ryne actually smiled and nodded to Ewald. “Call me Ryne.”

He held out one of his massive hands to the stable master, who stepped forward and took it tentatively. Ewald’s eyes widened, while he shook Ryne’s hand.

“Ah, my manners again,” said Ewald, with a shake of his head. “Dismount, the boys will take your horses.”

Ewald signaled to several of the stable hands who were gawking at Ryne.

“Master Ewald,” Shin Galiana said after they dismounted, “you mentioned that quite a few Ashishin visited Harval.”

The stable master nodded.

“Are they still here?”

“Why, yes. I think they may be at the town hall or the Stoneman’s, or both.” Ewald put a hand to his chin as he contemplated his answer.

“Hmm. Tell me, since it has been so busy, which of the inns do you think still has room?”

Ewald stroked his chin briefly before he answered. “Why, the Stoneman, of course. I’m sure Master Gebbert has space on the upper floors.” He eyed them for a moment. “And the warmest baths too.”