Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (12 page)

Double chin jiggling, Hagan’s head snapped around from giving instructions to his serving women. Vana and Vera went off to do his bidding.

“Please, don’t do anything rash,” begged Hagan, his heavy brow furrowed as he took in Ryne’s scowl. The innkeeper sat at an oak table, his stubby, sausage fingers dwarfing his pipe.

A few feet away, Mayor Bertram sat, the expression on his face perking up at Ryne’s statement.

“Rash would’ve been to kill her the day she showed.” Ryne strode to the table, the stained wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. He slung the leather strap connected to his scabbard over his head, placed his sheathed greatsword on the table, and eased into the only chair in Hagan’s Inn made to accommodate his eight-foot frame.

On any other night, the establishment would already be crowded with villagers, even more so with the unusually dry weather the past few days. There would be singing and dancing with many taking turns on the small stage to recite poetry while Miss Lara would play her ivory flute. Not now. Tonight, the pall and gloom of the day’s events dimmed even the lamps that hung from braziers and cast their flickering light about the serving hall, and made the moonlight filtering through curtains inconsequential. The tables and chairs spread throughout the room and set against the inn’s sandstone walls were empty. The guards at the inn’s entrance made sure they stayed that way. No glasses clinked, no laughter roared, and there was no buzz of conversations. The silence whispered ill tidings.

“You could’ve saved some lives if you killed Mariel that first day. The boy wouldn’t be hurt right now.” Single eye glinting, the mayor’s scarred face puckered with the accusation. “How’s he doing?”

“He may yet live,” Ryne answered. He continued as Bertram muttered a thankful prayer, “And to be honest, Bertram. I think we’ve saved more lives by not killing her.”

The mayor grunted his disagreement. “I’m telling you, those murders, and now this. She’s responsible.”

The innkeeper’s potbelly threatened to burst from his sweat-stained shirt as he leaned forward. “For all we know, them bodies could be the work of lapras. Or this other golden-haired woman Ryne saw. Or the Alzari mercenaries. They be more ruthless than any.” Holding up his pipe to the lamp, he used the meaty thumb on his other hand to knead giana leaves into the bowl.

“Or they could be her work,” Bertram retorted. “You shouldn’t be so willing to rule her out.”

“And you shouldn’t be so willing to condemn her,” Hagan admonished. “Not without proof.” Lighting a tinder stick in the oil lamp on the table with one over-sized hand, he stuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth with the other.

“Because what Forian said isn’t proof enough?” Bertram’s eyebrow arched.

“You put him up to that nonsense,” Hagan scoffed, touching the tinder stick to the giana leaves and puffing.

“I may have done many things, but that wasn’t one of them. People do have a mind of their own. Her preaching that Streamean puke doesn’t help much. How many of them worship Ilumni’s light will always be tainted by those who sacrifice bawling babes and animals to appease Amuni’s black heart. I wonder how many within their own Tribunal partake in that blasphemy.”

“There you go again.” Hagan rolled his eyes. “It be shit like that makes our people act the way they do. You say what you want and refuse to think of the consequences. What if it is that golden-haired woman and not Mariel?”

Bertram grunted. “The golden-haired woman that no one besides Ryne and Sakari have seen?”

“It sounds like you be saying Ryne didn’t see what he saw.” Lips curled into a tight smile, but his watery eyes deadly serious, Hagan puffed on his pipe once more. When he exhaled, perfumed giana smoke spilled into the air.

Bertram fidgeted when he eyed Ryne. “I’m not saying that, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone had visions deep in the woods.”

Ryne shrugged. “She was real enough. I have Sakari keeping an eye out for her and Mariel.”

“All I’m saying is, there’s been six corpses since Mariel showed up,” Bertram argued, “And eight of our own have went missing. I would think that’s enough proof. Been what? Six years since the last killing in Carnas?”

“Could just be coincidence an infected lapra decided to hunt in these parts,” Hagan said.

Bertram gave Hagan a sidelong glance.”Not even you believe that. And I would bet if we allowed your regulars in, they’d agree with me. The old prophecies say—”

“Yes, yes.” Hagan waved his hand dismissively. “I know what they say. What I believe be something different.”

Ryne let their argument wash over him. “No lapra could shred bodies in such a way. If you bothered to look at Kahkon’s wounds, you would know what attacked him didn’t kill those strangers we found. Neither did the Alzari.”

“See,” Bertram began, as if Ryne’s words confirmed his suspicions about the woman. “That means she—”

“I found the missing eight.”

The two men gaped. Smiles began before they turned into frowns at Ryne’s grim expression.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Bertram asked, his voice soft.

“I was forced to kill them.” Ryne’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment. The memories of what the villagers looked like when he found them swept through him.
You freed them from their suffering. Death is a better place than what life they did have.
When he opened his eyes, both men’s faces had their horrified thoughts written all over them.

“Why?” Bertram finally managed to whisper.

“Someone was feeding them to wraithwolves. Amuni’s Children have crossed the Rotted Forest.”

Hagan snorted. “Foolishness. The remnants of Amuni’s Children be gone. Dead. Dust. Over twenty-five years.” Despite the apparent confidence in his voice, sweat bloomed on Hagan’s forehead, and his pipe hung limp in the corner of his mouth.

Ryne’s expression remained impassive.

“Are you sure?” Hagan asked, his eyes round and fearful.

“As sure as the sun rises and falls.”

“But how?” Bertram’s question was a mousy squeak. “How could they pass your wards? How could our scouts miss them? I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know,” Ryne answered. “You can believe what you will, but extra scouts will need to be posted. I suggest you abandon Carnas. Make your way to—”

“I’m not abandoning all we’ve built here. We fought them once, we can fight them again,” Bertram said, a stubborn set creeping further into his jaw and chasing the color back into his face.

Removing his pipe, Hagan turned to the mayor. “We fought them, but at what cost. Bertram, don’t—”

“Don’t speak to me of costs.” Bertram’s eyes glittered. “I paid my price several times over.” He wagged his stump for an arm and shifted his head so he could show his ruined face and eye on the same side. “They cost me these and my family. I told you all we should’ve killed this Mariel. This can only be her precious Tribunal’s doing as it was then.”

“You always forget this same Tribunal saved you,” Ryne said. He glared at Bertram. “And you’re quick to talk of costs. Our people have paid quite a price already. When will it be enough?”

Bertram met Ryne’s angry eyes for a moment before he looked away. After a moment more of tense silence, the mayor asked, “How many shadelings did you find?”

“Four.”

Hagan expelled a sigh of relief and tucked his pipe back into his mouth.

“As I expected.” Bertram’s tone was triumphant. “No more than a handful of the beasts could have survived.”

“Maybe,” Hagan said, “But what of Amuni’s Children?”

Bertram waved his gnarled hand in dismissal. “They are but men. They can die as easily as any other. With there being so few shadelings, we should be able to muster enough
divya
between the elders to defend ourselves.”

Hagan shook his head. “We should do as Ryne says and leave.”

“You would think like that,” Bertram snickered.

“This be about the safety of all,” Hagan said. “Not just your personal vengeance.”

Bertram began to reply, but stopped as Vana and Vera brought three cups and two flagons to the table. One flagon contained wine and the other juice, both drinks made from kinai. Ryne acknowledged the sisters’ fond expressions with a nod and a smile of his own. After quick bows, the women returned to arranging the furniture around the room with practiced efficiency.

With a sigh, Ryne reached for the kinai juice, chair creaking under his weight. “Listen. As much as I despise the Tribunal for my own reasons, not all of them are bad or intend harm. However, if you hurt Mariel in any way, no good will come of it. And as for fighting against Amuni’s Children.” He waited impassively for Bertram’s one-eyed gaze to meet his. “ Not everyone in Carnas fought in the wars, Bertram. You have women and children here. Don’t let your hate continue to blind you. You may be willing to cross the doorway to death, but plenty others here still want and deserve to cling to life.” He filled a cup and took a sip. A tingling sensation followed, quickly spreading from his gullet through his body. “To be safe, head south to Berin, it’s the fastest and the safest path. The Bana won’t turn you away. You might want to consider sending some scouts to cross the Black Reaches and take word to Castere too.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Hagan's face as he puffed on his pipe a little more than usual. Smoke roiled into the air once more.

Mayor Bertram massaged his stump. “Fine. Let’s convene the elders to see what we should do. In the meantime, we should take Mariel. Question her properly about who she is. Find out what part she plays in what’s happened.”

Ryne grunted. “You forget she won’t let me or Sakari get close to her, which in itself is part of my concern.”

“Be her fleeing from you two such a danger?” Hagan chewed on his pipe. “I’d run too if I saw a giant with a face like yours carrying that monster you call a sword.” He gestured with his head toward Ryne’s five-foot greatsword.

Ryne smirked, fingers creeping up to touch the scars that striped the left side of his face. “I don’t think my appearance scares her much, if at all.”

“Oh?”

“When you’re afraid of a person, you don’t stalk them,” Ryne said. The initial energy burst from the kinai juice wore off, so he emptied his cup. He never quite grasped the need for the wine. Kinai juice or the fruit itself bore enough energetic properties all on its own. Why anyone would want to dull the feeling by impairing their faculties was beyond him.

“Maybe, she be how we were when we first met you. Scared but curious. It’s not like you be the most normal looking fellow,” Hagan said.

Ryne glanced at the Scripts drawn on his arms. They matched those covering his entire body and his armor up to his chin. Each displayed scenes more detailed than epic tapestries. If he stared at them long enough, they appeared lifelike, almost as if he could reach out and touch the leaves upon the trees, or the water within the lakes and waterfalls, or smell the battlefields etched into his skin.

Still, neither who Mariel represented and how she trailed him meant well. Only creatures on the hunt moved as she did, appearing and vanishing in the bat of an eyelid but leaving the feeling she hid close enough to pounce.

When faced by the unknown, cut out its heart before it can take yours.
An old teaching he and Sakari had used countless times
. And how has
that
worked for you in the past? Thousands of innocents slaughtered is how.
Either he or Sakari needed to find another way to get rid of Mariel without harming Carnas.

Thoughts of his friend made Ryne become acutely aware of the lump at the back of his mind. Right now, it felt distant, but as Sakari moved closer, the feeling grew more solid. Ryne sensed his companion somewhere to the east. Did he manage to find out anything new about Mariel?

With that thought, Ryne’s link to Sakari bloomed. He saw through Sakari’s eyes as if he walked in his boots. The man stood at the edge of the Fretian Woods watching Mariel’s distant figure.

“She has not allowed me to come close once,” Sakari said, his tone empty. “She moves every time I do.”

“That’s fine. Just keep an eye on her,” Ryne said before breaking the link.

The sight through Sakari dissolved. Ryne saw only his surroundings within the inn once more. He noted Hagan’s knitted eyebrows, and Bertram’s fidgeting.

“You feeling well? Should I send for Taeria?” Hagan asked.

Ryne shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you were just staring off into the air and talking to yourself,” Bertram said, but avoided Ryne’s eyes.

“Just thinking aloud.” Ryne ignored the men’s skeptical glances. “What were you saying before I became caught up with my thoughts?”

“I be telling Bertram when I seen her, she spoke every bit like a priestess or a Granadian noble. You know the sort. They expect to be heard and obeyed,” the innkeeper said. He pursed his lips while looking at the mayor from the corner of his eyes. “He still wants us to run her off or worse.”

“We all know running her off won’t work,” Ryne said.

“Which leaves the worse,” Hagan concluded. “Do you really want to do something might make them dispatch soldiers looking for her? If she be who she says she be, what will the Granadian Tribunal think if them eagles she sends every morning stop delivering messages?”

“And what if it isn’t Granadia she’s delivering messages to? What then?” Bertram shifted his head so the ruined side of his face turned to Hagan then Ryne.

“We know your opinion of the Devout. But suggesting she be sending messages to Amuni’s Children, wherever they are, be foolish. And blasphemous.”

Ryne almost told Hagan it could be a possibility. But Bertram would only feed on such a suggestion.

“In Humelen’s name, Hagan,” Bertram said, his already black skin growing so black it shone with his rage as his aura gave an almost imperceptible quaver. “Open your eyes. The Tribunal has always wanted to conquer Ostania. Ever since Nerian rebelled, and they lost their hold on us. I tell you, the War of Remnants was their doing. It was their way to get a toehold back into Ostania.”

Hagan chuckled. “You and your plots. I know the reason you wish to harm her. We all do. Maybe you have the right of it, but—”