Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (50 page)

Several hours later, Ryne shook his head at Irmina’s annoying persistence. She’d followed him from the Knight Commander’s encampment all the way to Felan Mark. She tried to hide among the mix of Ostanian locals behind him, but her aura stuck out like a bright light.

Ryne linked with Sakari, who milled in the crowd nearby. “Keep an eye on her until I return.” He stepped to the head of the line preparing to enter Felan Mark’s main fort.

“As you wish.”

Ryne broke the link.

“Sir, do you have business here?” asked one of the four scarlet armored Dagodin guards with his neck craned to peer into Ryne’s face.

“Yes.” Ryne produced the pass for the guard’s inspection. “I’m here to see Miss Adler.”

The guard eyed Ryne’s leather armor and his sword suspiciously. After a moment, he said, “Follow the long hall. Don’t touch your weapons as you walk and you’ll be fine. Someone will meet you once you’ve passed inspection inside.”

Ryne nodded, and the guardsman signaled behind him with his silver spear. The soft clink of well-oiled metal gears churned within the armory’s thick, steel walls. The massive gate slid open with a brisk motion, and the spiked portcullis rose. Ryne entered, and the gate and portcullis slid shut.

Metal walls surrounded him, drab, gray, and featureless. A long, well lit hallway stretched ahead, lamps in metal sconces hanging at measured intervals. The hallway continued as far as he could see. Ryne made sure to keep his hands away from his sword as he strode forward.

Half an hour and a few twisting halls later, Ryne stood at a bladesmith’s shop within the armory. In front of him stood a short, gray-haired woman, lines creasing her forehead, nose, and beneath her eyes. The woman’s young student, a girl with smooth, pale skin and long blonde hair, cast nervous glances in Ryne’s direction. A few feet from them, a bulky smith wearing a thick apron poured molten silversteel into a cast. Ryne opened his mouth.

“Shh,” the wrinkle faced woman said. She gestured to the girl. “Close your eyes, Millie. Feel the Mater flowing within the metal—the elements that make everything what it is.” Her voice had become a hypnotic drone. “Seek each individual essence of Mater as they form the solid blade. You need to find the light among those essences. When you do, guide it, help it to flow apart.”

Ryne searched both the teacher’s and the student’s face for any kind of strain he would have felt. The goading power, the struggle for control, the emotional battle he experienced when he touched Mater. In their faces, he saw none. The same as he noted with most Granadian Matii he met.

The bladesmith held the cast steady, and the diminutive, old woman’s voice murmured like a gurgling brook in the background. His focus fixed on the mold, Ryne lost himself in the teacher’s voice. The liquid metal’s acrid smell hung so strong he could taste it.

The teacher’s soft monotone continued. “Just as the Mater is about to complete the weapon’s creation, gently guide the light you separated back into it. That will complete the imbuing.”

Ryne found the calm pool in the center of his being. He opened his Matersense, his bloodlust a distant buzz he easily ignored. Essences around him and within the molten steel bloomed. They swept about the room in sharp-edged transparent swirls, enhancing his vision.

Each essence became vivid despite their transparency. Streams of fire flared, melting the metal and rising in waves, the heat, light, and energy essences all working together. Water and air essences flowed to make up the liquid byproduct and steam. Both the Streams and Flows worked to create the superheated air in the smith’s shop. The liquid began to solidify giving it the element of Forms.

Light in a white luminescence intertwined with everything in intricate patterns. Shade essences filled the void in the shadows cast by flames within the forge and lamps on the walls. They too, a part of the Streams. A flow of light slid away from the whole and formed a thick ball.

“Guide the light into the metal now,” the gray-haired teacher whispered.

The elements of Mater snapped together. As they did, the light rotated and slammed into them. A tiny concussion of air brushed Ryne’s hair from his face. A small section from the ball of light dissipated and joined its origins.

In the mold now sat a shining, silversteel core. Light glowed from it in flickering waves.

Ryne’s eyes widened at the newly imbued metal. It was the first time he’d seen an imbuing. He released his Matersense, and the glow disappeared, the metal appearing as ordinary, highly polished steel.

“Next time, be more gentle, my dear. The light essences will pass into the steel without force. The gentler you are, the stronger the imbuing will be, and the fewer essences you will lose. In turn, the stronger the
divya
you will have created.”

“Thank you, Miss Adler,” the girl said, her broad smile lighting up her face.

Miss Adler gave the girl’s shoulder an encouraging pat. “Now, watch as the smith crafts the weapon.” She turned to Ryne. “Follow me.”

She led them from the room and down a long, lamp lit hallway with vaulted, steel ceilings. Miss Adler walked with a swift, purposeful gait unhindered by her long dress, but Ryne still needed to shorten his steps by a great degree to make sure he did not pass her. As they walked, he couldn’t help but open his Matersense again with the reaction of his Scripts to all the Forgings around him.

Beneath his feet and through the steel floors, he sensed the magmatic essences of fire powering the armory’s vast forges. Water essences ran through pipes around him to every room. Forms abounded and metallic scents permeated the air as hammers rung on metal, and steam swished from bellows.

Craft rooms lined the hallway, each occupied with a Matus and a smith. Some contained three people—a teacher, a student, and an artisan. In other, much larger rooms, there were double bellows, and those rooms held up to four Matii and several weaponsmiths. All around, Matii drew on the essences as they imbued weapons into
divya.

Signs above the doors announced shield, axe, hammer, sword, and scythesmiths. Figures painted on the thick steel walls in reds, blues, and yellows next to each door depicted the artisans. The clangs and rings from the metalwork flooded the hall in a ceaseless din.

Ryne followed Miss Adler to the end of the hall. Two Dagodin, in white uniforms with red stripes on the arms—a stark contrast with the dark gray metal around them—stood in front of a blank wall. One soldier moved his silver-hafted lance to one side, turned to the wall, and a heavy metal door slid open. Ryne and Miss Adler passed through. The door slid shut behind them, and the sounds from the smiths cut off abruptly.

“So, Knight Commander Varick sent you?” Miss Adler said as they continued down another hall.

“Yes, he said you were the one I needed to speak to.”

“Oh? How’s the old bat doing anyways? The last I saw him, his face looked like old leather, worn and dry. Tried to convince him to eat more and maybe take a break, but he refused.”

Ryne smiled. “Much the same. Grumpy, rude and still in command at the Vallum.”

“Good to know much hasn’t changed with him.” Miss Adler stopped at a door and pushed it open.

Ryne ducked inside. Miss Adler entered, locked the door behind them, and dropped a steel bar in place.

“One can never be too cautious,” she said in response to Ryne’s questioning look. She took a seat at a large oak table. Filled bookshelves lined the walls behind her, and in one corner sat a small cot. “I would offer you a seat, but judging by your size, you wouldn’t fit in any chair I own.”

Ryne shrugged and stood across the table from her. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“So, why’d Varick send you?”

Ryne unsheathed his greatsword. With a quick move, the old woman brought a longsword up from beneath her table.

“Like I said, one can never be too cautious,” she said at Ryne’s raised brow and kept her longsword between them.

With great care, Ryne laid his sword lengthways on the table. The grip stretched a foot past one end, and the blade stopped at the other. Ryne fixed his gaze on Miss Adler’s piercing blue eyes. “Varick said you’re the only Dagodin he could think of who may be able to tell me about my sword.”

The wrinkles on Miss Adler’s face doubled as she frowned and pointed at the runes running along the blade and hilt. “What are those?” She rested her sword next to Ryne’s weapon and traced her fingers along the markings.

“Scripts,” Ryne said and paused. Miss Adler raised her face to him and squinted. Ryne continued in answer to her apparent confusion, “I can use them to manipulate almost any element of Mater to empower my sword. It’s like imbuing except my weapons are already crafted.”

Miss Adler’s head jerked back ever so slightly. “I’ve never heard the like. I don’t think it’s even possible. Imbuing can only happen when the components are at their base levels. Before Mater has already formed the item.” She shook her head. “As I look at your sword, I see nothing but a plain, oversized greatsword. It’s not a
divya
.”

Ryne reached down and held the sword’s hilt. Through the Scripts on the sword, he touched the light essences around him. The Scripts shifted and swirled as he drew light into the weapon until first its Scripts, and then the sword itself glowed white. Miss Adler gasped. Ryne released the weapon, and the white light faded as the Mater receded back into the air around them.

Miss Adler stared from Ryne to the sword. “I’ve spent over seventy years creating
divya
, and I’ve never seen anything like those Scripts. There isn’t an Imbuer or a Dagodin I know who can manipulate Mater within a
divya
that way. We can only imbue and wield them. Once a
divya
is created, only the essences imbued within it can be used. We cannot increase or change their properties. I would’ve said no one can but…” She gestured to Ryne. “A long time ago, I read about something like this, but I always thought it a myth.”

Ryne’s heart leaped. After so many years searching, he would take even a myth if it meant progress. After all, he was living proof myths held some semblance of truth. “Where? Can you show me the book?”

“It’s in the possession of the Tribunal at the Iluminus’ great library. I could request—” She stopped talking, her eyes narrowing as his body stiffened at the mention of the Tribunal.

Taking a deep breath of resignation, Ryne forced his body to relax. “Miss Adler?” He picked up his sword and sheathed it.

“Yes?” Miss Adler’s gaze met his.

“Please don’t mention—”

“You don’t need to say it. With Varick sending you like this, and your reaction, I know not to say anything to any Ashishin or to anyone else.” A pained expression crossed her face. “I still remember what I went through in my younger days when they found out I could imbue. Yet, only with their training did I finally understand my power. You’ll need to face that decision some day. I wish you the best when that day comes. To think I almost asked your name. Now, I’m glad I didn’t.”

He nodded, unlocked the door, and ducked outside.

Trudging through Felan Mark’s crowded streets did little for Ryne’s troubled thoughts. Here, he’d finally found some information which he hoped would lead to more about himself, and it was in the Tribunal’s hands. Years of fruitless searching boiled down to him having to deal with those he despised the most.

He let out a weary breath as he took in Felan Mark. The fortress city’s steel walls shone with the setting sun’s purplish hues. The same colors lit up the Barrier Mountains and their long dead volcanoes sprouting to the north. Ryne often wondered why the Felani built everything with metal in a land plagued by flash thunderstorms. Massive steel frames highlighted towers under construction around the city, and immense statues portraying Ilumni decorated the metal city’s central spire. Here and there, a person stopped among the bustling crowd to voice a brief prayer to the god of Streams.

The crowd gave Ryne ample space along the street’s flagstones. Being shunned felt strangely familiar even after so many years in Carnas. Many in the crowd murmured or gaped at his great size. Among the throng, Ryne could pick out the dark linen coats without buttons donned by Felani men, and the earth tones favored by their women in their airy cotton dresses. Their height and their favored braided hairstyles had drawn him to them in his search, but that led nowhere. Sprinkled among them were a few bald-headed Banai, slit-necked Cardians and Astocans, and he even spotted a huge Harnan, his skin the color of bronze.