Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (8 page)

C
hapter 11

D
oubt seeped into Irmina with the thought of the Exalted’s orders to kill Ryne and his mentor. Although she knew it meant Ancel, she prayed she might be mistaken. In her mind, she imagined Ryne visiting Eldanhill only to find he was wrong about the person he thought he’d felt that day in Castere. It helped a little. What didn’t help was picturing Ancel and her when they were younger, flirting, playing together. They would engage in their favorite game of taking a chunk of glass and watching as it reflected rainbow-like colors on the Whitewater Inn’s walls. She gritted her teeth against the memory.

To make the situation even worse was the sinking suspicion that the tiny knot inside her head was Ancel. This close to Eldanhill, she found it incredibly difficult to ignore. And it had grown.

At the Iluminus, her goal seemed so clear. Now, when she considered Ryne’s power and Jerem’s words she wondered how she would be able to complete her mission. She harbored no illusions of defeating Ryne in a fair battle, maybe not even in an unfair one, but she was willing to try. Ryne had said he was going to Eldanhill for Ancel, to help him, and that he needed her too.
What can you possibly know of Ancel or me, for that matter?

Hunched into her horse’s saddle, she fidgeted with her clothes, smoothing the front of her thick woolen tunic. The pants fit a bit snug, showing off her shape, but served the purpose of allowing her to tuck the ends inside her boots. She buttoned her fur-lined overcoat once again.

Denestia’s twin moons cast their silvery glow across the land, bathing the snowdrifts and mounds along the plains north of Eldanhill in a ghostly sheen. Even from where she and Jerem stood, the distant roar of the great Whitewater Falls reached them. Silence draped their immediate vicinity in a cold sheet. Directly ahead, the walls around Eldanhill rose like some black monolith, stark against the ground’s white. Beyond it shone the orange luminescence from torches within the town. A town that had grown to the size of a small city in her absence.

“Nervous?” Jerem asked from beside her.

“Not particularly,” she lied even as her stomach fluttered as if she was about to receive Ancel’s first kiss.

Jerem chuckled. “A word of warning,” he said, becoming serious. “Whatever you do, do not let anyone know you’re in the Tribunal’s employ. If you do, they will tread lightly around you.”

“You don’t have to tell me about my own people. Besides, Ryne already knows who and what I am. I’d be more worried about Jillian’s reaction. For years she tried to warn me about the Dorns.”

“Well, Jillian isn’t there. She’s been sent away on another task. As for Ryne, no one must know his true identity. You need to understand that as grievous as your scars are, for some in Eldanhill, theirs are worse when it comes to the man he once was. Those painful memories are another reason I advise against revealing yourself also.”

“Fine, I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

“Well then, I leave the rest to you. Remember, as soon as you move, the guards will see you.”

“You aren’t worried that I carry out the Exalted’s orders?” Irmina avoided looking in Jerem’s direction.

“You will do what is necessary.” With those words, a horizontal slit appeared in front of Jerem, accompanied by a sound akin to a blade slicing empty air. The slash opened into a shape much like an eye before twisting into a vertical position. Beyond was darkness. He stepped through the portal. It snapped shut behind him.

Irmina was abruptly cold and alone. In the silence around her, the thumping of her heart resounded. She was returning to Eldanhill, the only place she ever called home, and she felt like an utter stranger. Why did the task ahead wear on her so? By no means was this her first mission. She’d been on countless such jobs. She’d deceived, manipulated, coddled, cajoled, and killed, all in the name of her profession and the Tribunal. So why did this feel different?

The ties she cut should have left her emotions free, not jumbled. The thought of the Dorns or the Council on a whole upset her stomach like spoiled food. Her craving for revenge boiled inside her until it seethed, but something, no, someone else made her nervous, gave her second thoughts about what she needed to do.

Ancel.
A sigh escaped her lips.
What will you do when I meet you? How will I react?
She drew her cloak tighter around her.

The bell at the top of Eldanhill’s Streamean tower tolled in a long gong as if announcing the dead. Torches brightened the towers along the wall’s length. Voices shouted orders. Several fireballs arched into the air, their flames crackling and hissing as they met the night sky’s cold and moisture.

Cursing to herself as she realized her mistake, Irmina made to flap her reins. Whispers of movement froze her in her tracks. She eased her hand down to her sword hilt and waited.

The snow around her shifted and came alive. In over a dozen places, the white fluff stood in the shapes of men and canines. A few of the animal forms were too huge to be dogs. As if synchronized, they shook, similar to a dog shaking water from its fur. The snow fell away to reveal several large men dressed in furs and animal hides. A torch in one of their hands sparked to life, lighting up the area in orange hues. Beside each man was a daggerpaw or a wolf, teeth bared, tongues lolling in wicked grins.

Slowly, Irmina regarded each. The Seifer and Nema mountain clans were working together.

“After you, little lady,” a gruff voice said.

Someone snickered.

“And nuffing funny. Our babies can run down de fastest horse.” The big rawboned man nearest her reached out and patted his daggerpaw. “Not dat your horse can run very fast in dis.” He nodded to the snow. “But in case you were tinking you could …”

Irmina smiled at hearing those dialects again. Not only did the man leave off the ‘th’ in certain words, but others he converted to a ‘d’ so ‘that’ became ‘dat’ and ‘this’ turned into ‘dis’. Some letters changed to an ‘f’.

“I’ve no intention to be doing anything funny,” she said. “Although, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a good guiser’s play. You know, for a moment there I actually thought you men were dressed the part, disguised as sheep.”

A low growl in his throat, the man stepped next to her. “Dere aren’t any sheep here, lil miss, only mountain lions. I can show you what it’s like to fuck one.” He wiggled his waist, the shaggy fur on the front of his pants bouncing with the movement. His fellows guffawed at his joke.

Irmina glanced from Rawbone to his daggerpaw. Cropped short, the man’s hair reminded her of the tuft on a donkey’s head, and he had a face below it to match. What was worse, his tone sounded much like a bray. She gave him a slow smile. “I’d rather your daggerpaw fuck me than to lay with a mule of a man.”

Several clansmen chuckled. Even in the moonlight, Irmina picked out the angry glimmer in his eyes and the clenching of his hands near the axe on his hip.

Rawbone shifted closer, reaching out and grabbing her reins. “Look here, lil miss. I’ll have none of your lip. Now, move it or lose it.”

“Lose it.” Irmina drew her sword and relieved the man of the hand still holding her reins.

Blood painted the silvery snow red, its warmth throwing up steam. The severed hand, now in a half-closed fist, fell to the ground. The man yowled and snatched at his stump.

Snarling, its bone hackles snapping up into knife sharp edges, his daggerpaw launched itself at her.

Irmina opened her Matersense, seized essences of air, and stopped the animal in mid flight. The daggerpaw hung suspended in the cushiony strands she Forged. A wave of her hand sent the creature flying fifteen feet into a snowy mound.

Her sword point was at Rawbone’s throat before he managed to move. “Call off your pet.” She nodded toward where the daggerpaw was clambering to its feet.

Squeezing his arm above the wrist, the man said a few guttural words. The daggerpaw shrank back, but its gaze glowed with vehemence.

Irmina gave a nod of satisfaction then surveyed the clansmen arrayed around her. As she expected none of them had attempted to help or interfere in a one on one fight. Not yet. But the scowls and hands tightening around weapons said any one of them might wish to challenge her on their own. After all, she was a weak lowlander and a woman. Why would one of the mountain men need assistance to teach her a lesson? Pride could be anyone’s undoing. “I don’t take kindly to threats. Now, any of you move, and I’ll give him another mouth to yap out of.”

The men remained still. None uttered a word, but their eyes and the weapons in their hands spoke in volumes of violence. Irmina’s horse snorted.

“That includes you,” Irmina said to a man trying to sneak from her blind side.

The whisper of his feet on snow ceased.

“Now,” she said, “until over a year and a half ago, Eldanhill used to be home. It never had a wall, and your kind stuck to the mountains. Why are the Nema and Seifer not only here in the lowlands but working together?”

No one spoke. The wounded man moaned.

“You can answer now.”

“T-Tings have ch-changed, miss,” Rawbone said between clenched teeth.

“Oh?”

“D-Dey can tell you what h-happen w-when dey get here.” Rawbone nodded toward Eldanhill’s wall.

A sally gate opened to reveal several forms illuminated by the backdrop of torchlight. One of them mounted, pulled a hood over their head, and kicked the horse into a trot.

“P-please, miss.” Rawbone tried his best not to sag onto her sword point. “Let dem h-help me. I swear no one w-will a-attack you.” Eyes wide, he licked his lips.

Nodding, Irmina eased her blade from his throat. “Help him.”

With a moan, Rawbone collapsed to one knee and stuck the end of his stump into the snow. Uncertain glances passed between the clansmen before several of them rushed to his side and began fussing over him.

Irmina kept her gaze between the approaching rider and the remainder of the men. Those who weren’t assisting Rawbone stood watch. Their daggerpaws and wolves crouched, heads down, muscles tense, held back only by handfuls of fur in straining hands.

As the rider drew closer, the wind picked up, whipping powdery residue sideways, but Irmina resisted the urge to pull her cloak tighter around her. She held her sword casually to one side, wondering which of Eldanhill’s Council had been sent out. She pictured the surprise on their face when they recognized her.

The cloaked rider reached within a few feet, and Irmina frowned. The person was smaller than any Council member she remembered, even shorter than she was.

The clansmen dropped to one knee and bowed.

Brow puckered, Irmina glanced from the clansmen to the newcomer. The person slowed to a walk, handling the horse’s reins expertly. The form stopped and threw back the cloak’s hood.

“Teacher Galiana Calestis?” Irmina exclaimed.

Face haggard, the woman appeared frail compared to the vibrant person she remembered. “I have been expecting you, Ashishin Irmina.” The wind fluttered Galiana’s cloak out behind her.

Irmina gasped at the uniform she saw below the cloak and the insignia glinting on Galiana’s breast. The green colors and the Setian Quaking Forest. Her grip on her sword tightened until her hand trembled.

C
hapter 12

B
ack bent as she rode, Shin Galiana noted Irmina’s reactions to the soldiers. Irmina’s eyes merely narrowed at the Dosteri troops, but at the sight of the Setian colors, her hand drifted to her sword. When she realized, she fidgeted with her reins and quickly shifted her hand while glancing in Galiana’s direction. Galiana pretended not to notice.

“I heard rumors of this within the Iluminus, of Sendeth having risen against the Tribunal.” Irmina stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the patrolling soldiers as their boots squished along the slush-filled and torchlit roads. “I must say, I’m surprised. I thought Eldanhill would remain loyal if for no other reason than the Mystera’s influence.”

“We are loyal.”

“To who?”

“Our heritage,” said Galiana, her voice soft as she kept a hand on her staff. “Loyal to who we are. To what was taken away from us.”

Irmina flinched at those words, color rising in her cheeks. “What of the things the Setian took from others? The countless lives …”

“Everyone has lost someone at some point.” Galiana meant her words as reassurance, but Irmina squeezed her eyes shut. “Some more than others. Our reactions in the face of extremes, of grief, of terror, of rage, of elation are what shape us.”

A deep breath escaped Irmina. “Indeed. I’m sure Aunt Jillian would agree. Where is she anyway?” Her eyes were as cold as the icicles hanging from the eaves or stony corners of parapets on the buildings around them.

Galiana heaved a sigh, and in spite of her furs, she shivered. “She went off to escort some of our own to safety.”

“By the orders of the Dorns, no doubt.” The bitterness in her tone was clear. “Wait, I forgot, there’s only one Dorn left now.”

A hair from telling her that Ancel was a Dorn despite how she felt, Galiana kept quiet instead. Whether her Aunt Jillian told Irmina or if she discovered the Dorns’ identities on her own made no difference. Irmina knew. Why she had left so abruptly and why High Shin Jerem insisted on her traveling to Ostania made sense now. Time to heal, to decide, to make allegiances. But on whose side was she? From all reports, Irmina belonged to the Tribunal and in turn to the Exalted. What game was Jerem playing at? Irmina should have the Setian cause at heart regardless. The Dorns had no choice when they destroyed her family. The blame for what happened to the Nagels fell on Nerian’s shoulders and their own for turning to the shade.

Added to all this was the stranger, Ryne. A self-proclaimed Eztezian. How much of what the man had said could she believe? For most of her life, she’d researched and followed the Chronicles, using their prophecies and recordings as a guide to hopefully see a better future. Not everything within them had come to pass, but enough happened for her to believe some semblance of truth, of an ability to foretell, existed within those pages and the men and women who wrote them. Discerning what was worth pursuing was indeed the hard part. Not only were the words within them open to interpretation, but the Chronicles she read laid out conflicting paths.

According to her experience, dating back to when the original Iluminus split only to reform under the Ashishin, the events foretold by the Chroniclers bore a near uncanny resemblance to what transpired. At times, they did not. However, this only led her to believe in the different threads of destiny, altered fates, some of which were beyond prediction. If only she had managed to obtain every one of the Tomes. She let out a sigh. A million questions ran through her mind to ask Ryne, but she wondered just how much truth would be in his answers.

Despite all she had seen and the many changes she achieved due to the information deciphered from their pages, there was one thing Jerem always said that stuck in her mind.
‘No man’s fate is decided beforehand. People and paths change and destiny is nothing more than a choice here or there and a chance for some philosopher to say I told you so.’
However, his own words did not deter him from using the very same Chronicles.

Too much was happening too fast, but no way existed to slow time’s progress. She would deal with each new issue as she thought best.

“There is much I need to tell you,” Galiana said at last when they approached the entrance to the Whitewater Inn.

“Would any of it make a difference?”

“Sometimes the truth we see is not the truth but what we want to see.”

A stableman helped Galiana down from her mount. He passed her staff, and she took it gratefully. The promised warmth within the inn beckoned to her as Irmina dismounted with ease and led the way. Back bent, Galiana followed.

Irmina pushed open the door, and held it long enough for Galiana to enter. The inn’s interior was a welcome respite to the frigid temperature outside. Lamps lit the foyer in reddish hues, the effect from painted shades covering each. Two tables and a long bench sat against one wall and directly across from it was the service desk. The tinkle of music and laughter drifted in from the closed doors across the hall.

Guthrie Bemelle’s head rose from the table where he wolfed down a meal. His eyes widened, and his round jaws and hanging jowls stopped working. He pushed away from the table, his protruding belly bumping against its edge as he stood. “I-Irmina Nagel?” he sputtered, food showing in his mouth.

“Master Bemelle,” Irmina said with a slight nod.

“It’s Shin Irmina or Shin Nagel now,” Galiana corrected. “According to which she prefers.” A tightening of Irmina’s hand brought a slight twitch to Galiana’s lips.

“Shin Irmina will do.”

The way the young woman covered her surprise with a smooth answer made Galiana tip her head. Well trained as she expected.

“I-I’m sorry,” Guthrie said, smoothing his dirty apron. “Shin Irmina.” He swallowed. “I’m guessing you’re in need of a room?”

“Yes, unless someone wishes to take me to Jillian’s home until she returns.”

Guthrie glanced at Galiana then made a show of collecting his dish and cup from the table.

“Well?” Irmina’s gaze shifted from Galiana to Guthrie.

“Your aunt will not be coming back,” Galiana said. She’d wanted to wait to reveal this.

“So she finally had enough of your deceit then,” Irmina said under her breath.

Guthrie’s head snapped up. His glass clattered to the floor. In order to retrieve it, he needed to get down on his knees. Keeping the half-full plate in his hand made this even more difficult, but finally he managed to pick up the glass. He bowed several times to the two of them then waddled over to his desk and placed his dishes down. The next few moments he spent flipping through the pages of his log book, presumably looking for a room in which to place Irmina. Sweat beaded his forehead.

“In answer to what you said, and since you asked after her again …” Galiana shed her cloak and fur jacket and hung them on a rack near the door. “No. She volunteered to escort the children, the elderly, and those who did not wish to be here, to safety in Torandil.”

“I doubt that’ll be far enough for any of you,” Irmina said.

“One moment, Shin Galiana, Shin Irmina,” Guthrie said. “Rolt!” he yelled.

Galiana noted the lack of Irmina’s reaction to Guthrie referring to her as an Ashishin instead of a Teacher.

A muffled answer issued from somewhere past the wide door beyond the foyer.

“Get in here. Now!”

Guthrie’s interruption to call for his nighttime helper broke some of the tension. Galiana nodded her gratitude to the innkeeper, and he responded in kind.

The interior door opened and Rolt shuffled in. He hurried over to them, dipping his head continuously as he took Irmina’s fur-lined overcoat and hung it on the rack.

“Take them to the suite,” Guthrie said. “Also, don’t forget to clean up the mess from their boots when you’re done. Then head to … Master Rowan’s stables?” Galiana nodded and he continued, “To collect her things from her horse. Oh, and tell Selise to prepare the dinner special. I’m sure Shin Irmina must be hungry.”

Rolt’s head bobbed even harder to the pronouncement of Irmina’s title. “This way Shin Irmina, Shin Galiana.” He led them across the polished wood floors and into the next room.

They entered the serving hall. Several heads shifted in their direction. Within moments, the laughter and music within drifted to silence. Chairs scraped as the patrons stood. Bows and the murmurs of Blessed Shin followed. This time, Irmina’s eyebrow arched, but she said nothing.

Rolt shuffled over in his bent back walk and made his way to a pretty, blond serving girl. He whispered in her ear. With each word, her eyes grew wider and wider. When he finished, she hurried over to Miss Carina, the cook, and passed on instructions. Miss Carina’s reaction was to look at Irmina, shake her head in disapproval, and walk toward the kitchen.

When Rolt returned, he led them up the four flights of stairs to the suite on the top floor. Below them, the music and laughter resumed. Rolt treated them as if they’d never been in the Whitewater Inn before, showing them the large bed, the sitting room, and the enamel bath tub, all the while mentioning the softness and warmth of the carpet beneath their feet in comparison to the cold, hardness of the polished wood floors. Lastly, he pointed out the windows and the sweeping view of Eldanhill’s eastern side, the Kelvore River, its namesake mountains and the mists that hid the towering Whitewater Falls.

Galiana thanked Rolt and escorted him out. She turned from the closed door, to find Irmina staring at her, jaws grinding.

“How could you have allowed it all to happen?”

Shoulders sagging, Galiana sighed. Only one topic could cause the combination of pain and anger written on Irmina’s face. “We did what we could to stop Nerian.”

“No,” Irmina said, “no excuses. Yes, Nerian gave the original orders to kill my family, but the Dorns didn’t have to carry out the command. Why did they still continue even years after Nerian was gone? Why take my parents from me? Why?” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Mouth agape, Galiana forgot to lean on her staff. She stood straight and stiff and the gnarled wood fell from her fingers.

Irmina’s eyes became flinty pinpoints and a sneer twisted her otherwise beautiful features. “Yes,” she hissed. “I know all about them and you. You did nothing to help. Neither did the other council members.” Her voice rose. “You,” she pointed, “are as guilty as Nerian for the lives he took.” Her body trembled with those last words. A tear trickled down one cheek. “To make it worse, you let the Dorns take me in,” she whispered, “raise me as their own while I grieved for my parents. The very ones who had them killed. I-I grew to love them as I once loved my own mother and father. Then they had Ancel, and … and …”

Galiana wanted to go to her, to console her, hug her.
Poor child, how you must have suffered, losing not one love but three.

“You were supposed to be an Ashishin.” Irmina wiped the tears away, and her face grew blank. She spoke with a level tone, emotionless as a brick. “A guiding light out from the darkness, a servant to those in need, but you spread as much or more evil and death as Nerian. You allowed the Dorns to take all from me that ever mattered. How many years have you led people down your own path, used Manipulation on them? Centuries?

“Yes. I’m aware of that too. Your Forging with the kinai. How the council extends their lives so they can continue to live while my family and countless others have perished. How you use the wine and the juice especially at Soltide to infuse people across the land with sela essences. Then you leech that power from them. I’ve tapped into it once, felt it ripple through me. The Streamean temple is more than a temple isn’t it? The same as the Mysteras are more than schools. They are the focal points for your Forge. Great
divya
from which you tap into the pool of life within sela essences to extend your own existence.”

Galiana stumbled to the bed and sat. By the gods, Irmina knew so much, but from her accusing eyes, she lacked what she needed: the true reasons behind the council’s decisions.

Shin Irmina continued. “Now, you should also know the Tribunal is aware of your actions.” A mirthless smile split her lips.

“Poor child,” Galiana said gently. “The Tribunal has always known, Raijin Irmina.” The young woman sucked in a breath. “It’s why we still live. Why they allowed the Setian to live. They placed us here in Eldanhill. They allowed us to open all the other Mysteras.”

“Y-You lie.”

Galiana didn’t know if to laugh, feel pity or be angry at her. “No need for me to lie now. We tried as best we could to save you and many of the others from all this. Myself, the council, and the Dorns, chose to bear the brunt of what had to be done for our people survive. As an Ashishin, you’ve impersonated a Devout, spread the word of Streamean worship with promises of safe haven and prosperity in Granadia. All the while you scouted those villages and sent back word to the Tribunal.”

Shock still written on her face, Irmina nodded numbly.

“Those towns and villages in Ostania were plundered for the wealth of sela available there. The Ashishin and Devout were the spearheads of the Tribunal’s raids against Ostania. Oh, the actual attackers would be bandits, slavers, or members of one kingdom attacking another, but they served one purpose. To kill. In each instance, Tribunal leaders and the Exalted were there to reap the benefits of the deaths. To take sela and use it to extend their own lives.”

“That cannot be,” Irmina whispered, but from the look in her eyes, Galiana suspected the woman realized the truth of her words.

“The Setian people were one such, but we had more than sela. We possessed the Forging using kinai you mentioned. We did not need to take lives to extend our own. One among us had a Gift. As your Gift is being a beasttamer, Thania Dorn’s Gift was to be one of the few Matii able to Forge sela itself.”

“Thania? Forging sela? But that’s supposed to be near impossible. One would have to be as strong as one of the Exalted to …” Her eyes shot open as she understood her implication.

“Yes. She is or was. And it seems much of her power passed to her son.”

“Ancel?”