Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (51 page)

The Granadians among them stood out, preferring brighter, often multicolored, brocaded silks, extravagant and frilly. The men’s patterned shirts and trousers and the form fitting breeches the women flaunted made the colorful garb of the Cardians seem dull by comparison. They kept their hair cropped neat and short, and a few heads were shaved on one side—a sign of nobility.

Peddlers shopped their wares, and criers yelled for attention as they announced one shop or another among the spice, fruit, and fabric storefronts lining this district. Patrons visited the various steel and iron buildings in steady streams. Despite the variety of peoples around him, more than Ryne’s great size stood out. In one town, long ago, the children called him tapestry man. Ryne smiled.

Foghorns from Felan Mark’s vast docks broke Ryne from his thoughts, the stench from offloaded composts rising strong on the warm air. Neither the salty sea spray nor the many smells from the spice vendors could hide it. Unnoticed, gray twilight had crept in as he walked. He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention ahead.

Sakari’s link bloomed in Ryne’s mind. The man, who now looked like a typical Felani, tall and thin, eased his way through the shoppers and vendors alike. “You have company, and it is not her. From the markings they have disguised, they may be Alzari.”

“I see. Wait for me at the gates.”

Sakari melted into the crowds. Moments later, the link broke.

Ryne made purposeful stops at several vendors, haggling with them then storming off in a huff. Soon, he was able to tell who followed him. Their auras roiled with the same tainted shade he’d seen from the Alzari in the Fretian Woods. He counted ten in all. His brow furrowed. Could it really be them? Here in the city? How? He continued to walk as if he didn’t notice them.

From the corner of his eye, an aura fraught with light bloomed. It flared brighter than any other within his range. The aura followed those tracking him.

Irmina had returned.

Ryne hurried toward the stables. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention than he already commanded. If there was to be a fight, he couldn’t risk such a battle within the city. Especially if he lost control. There was no Entosis close by if he were to expend as much Mater as he did against the shadelings. He would need to give his power its due if he failed to restrain himself. He glanced behind him to see the Alzari split up. Two trailed him. Behind them, Irmina followed.

When he reached the large stables, one of the few stone buildings in Felan Mark, he paid the stable master and checked on Thumper while tracking his pursuers. Easing farther into the stall, Ryne waited for the two men who followed him to enter the stables. As he continued his inspection of Thumper’s chain bit and reins, he watched without drawing attention to himself as the Alzari hurried to their own dartans. Satisfied, Ryne mounted just as the Irmina entered.

Their gazes met for a brief moment. The woman’s brown eyes narrowed, but she made no move toward him. Instead, she rushed in the opposite direction toward another line of dartans.

Ryne shook Thumper’s reins, and the dartan mewled before plodding to the stable’s wide entrance and out. Without a backward glance, he headed toward Felan Mark’s gargantuan main gates along a road reserved for riding. This close to moonrise, few riders travelled the flagstoned streets in the direction of Felan Mark’s gates, so he made good time.

“Are you certain you want to leave at this time o’ night?” drawled a Dagodin guard at the gates. The man gave Ryne’s armor and sword a long look over.

“Yes. I’m sure I can get hired on with them.” Ryne motioned to a heavily guarded supply caravan the Dagodin were allowing to pass through a wider than normal sally gate.

“I guess. It’s your life.” The man shook his head, signaled, and let Ryne by.

A few hundred feet from the walls, Sakari waited. When Ryne reached him, his companion leaped onto Thumper’s back behind Ryne and shifted around for a moment before he settled down.

The caravan peeled off toward the east, following the Felan Road, while Ryne headed north toward the Barrier Mountains silhouetted in the distance. Thumper picked up speed until he flew by the sandy plain’s sparse grasses and shrubs. The first deep hollow that hid them from Felan Mark’s towers soon came upon them, and Ryne stopped. He stared back toward the city.

Behind him, the ten Alzari left the gates, riding hard. Soon after came Irmina’s aura.

A tingling sensation ran through Ryne’s body as battle energy filled him. He tilted his head back, a grin spreading across his face at the sensation. With a last look at the oncoming mercenaries, he wheeled Thumper and rode toward the mountainous foothills.

CHAPTER 41

Irmina followed the dust clouds from the men hunting Ryne toward the Barrier Mountains, short, hardy grasses decorating the red and beige sands in faded browns and greens flying by. Days had passed since the last of the areas common thunderstorms, and despite her light linen and cotton fabrics, sweat trickled down her temple. She pulled her scarf up to protect her from the flying dust. Misty sped across the undulating plains with such ease Irmina had to hold back so she wouldn’t catch up to the bandits.

Wreathed in shadow, rocky foothills appeared ahead of Irmina.
Fool. Why would he come to such a remote location rather than stay in the city? Worse yet, why go into the bandit’s own territory?
Even in her brief time in Ostania, she knew about the bandits who hid among the Barrier Mountains, raiding any caravans or traders who dared travel without a heavy guard contingent. She’d seen Ryne fight, but to take on ten men? The man must be insane. Jerem said he believed the man a descendant of the Eztezians, but they were supposed to be twenty feet tall. Even if it were true, surely he couldn’t hope to survive against ten men? Not even with his strange bodyguard. Battling animals was one thing, men, another. She shrugged the idea off as preposterous.

By the time she maneuvered Misty past old volcanic outcrops, the moons hung above the mountains, one chasing the other. Eerie shadows abounded, mixed with the many fissures within the rocks, and a brisk wind carried sulfur smells from the ancient volcanoes. Somewhere farther north, a grunting bark echoed. Misty issued several piercing whistles at the disconcerting bark.

Up ahead, dark silhouettes resolved into the bandit’s mounts. Irmina trilled twice to Misty—the sound coming as four, fluttering, shrill tones—swung her legs over to one side, and dismounted. The only movement ahead came from the bandit’s dartans twisting long necks to look at Irmina. The men had left them unguarded. Crossing the path she slipped by the creatures while Misty hung back close to the rocks, obeying Irmina’s command to stay.

Irmina crept among the shadowy rocks but saw no sign of the ten men. A slope jutted up ahead of her, and she darted across glassy volcanic stone until she crouched below the hill. After a few furtive glances, she crawled up the slope, careful not to slip on loose shale.

Below her, Ryne stood in a clearing at the center of a hollow, a mountain of flesh sword and tattoos. On the ground, a lightstone illuminated his features and the surrounding area, throwing long shadows from the skeletal trees scattered in patches around the clearing.

The dark-garbed bandits approached him from four different directions with swords out. Three stood behind one of the dead trees a few feet from the clearing’s edge. Another two squatted within the shadows provided by some tall bushes close to those three. Across the hollow’s far slope, the other five bandits slunk among the sparse vegetation. Despite the gravelly, uneven ground, the men moved in silence, their steps ghostly silent despite the slate and shale.

Irmina narrowed her eyes at the men’s unusual, noiseless movements. Brow furrowed, she engaged her Matersense.

Around her, the night bloomed with individual colors that represented Mater for her. Brown shades signified Forms. Streams hung colorless but sharp. Moonlight gave off a soft, perpetual white glow. Many other colors she couldn’t apply to an essence swirled around her. She focused on the bandits and gasped. Shade clung about them and their swords. These men possessed shaded
divya.

Shade stymied the lightstone’s illumination in thick, impenetrable black blankets, except several feet from Ryne. There, the shade dissipated as if the light gobbled it up. Outside that area, shade essence sat unmoving among all others like dead weight, and these men used it to creep closer to their quarry without a sound. It appeared as if they walked on shadows.

Irmina shifted her gaze to Ryne. The giant man appeared unperturbed, the odd tattoos on his arms and the artwork drawn all over his leather armor glinting with the moonlight. He held no power from what she could tell, and yet he stood with quiet confidence as the men approached. He neither moved nor looked in any particular direction, and his oversized sword still rested in its scabbard.

Strangely, Silvereyes was nowhere to be seen.

The bandits on the hollow’s far side sneaked close enough that with a few strides they could attack. Ryne still didn’t move. Within the open space, they would surround him with ease.

Heart racing, Irmina took a deep breath. She’d never failed to carry out her orders before, and she intended on maintaining her reputation for success. Without her help, Ryne wouldn’t survive. She edged backward from the hilltop.

As she retreated, still facing the slope’s crest, the sound of clashing steel and muted, choked off cries rose from the hollow. Light bloomed from below, illuminating the night air. The essence washed out the shade. White images burnt across her vision before they faded. The sheer force of the power sent a tingle through her body as she remembered what she’d seen and felt Ryne do in the Fretian Woods.

Turning, she scrambled the rest of the way down and signaled to Misty with a single low trill, this time two wavering tones. The dartan ambled to her without a sound. She swung up onto Misty’s back and took her bow from next to the big saddle. Her hand touched the reassuring hilt of her longsword.

Battle sounds continued to surge. Then, as abruptly as they began, they stopped.

No, he mustn’t die. No
. She urged Misty toward the hilltop. As they topped the rise, three trills undulating from low to high to low in a bird like song, left her lips.

Misty charged.

Irmina’s gaze flitted to the clearing, and she pulled back hard on her reins. The dartan reared to a halt with its two front feet in the air, shale and slate kicking up. Irmina gaped at the scene below her.

Ryne sauntered to the center of the clearing with his sword still sheathed. The ten men lay dead in the clearing. Each corpse lacked a head.

Ten men.

He’d defeated ten men in minutes and walked as if he was out on a leisurely stroll. Irmina snapped her mouth closed.

In each hand, Ryne carried a shaded
divya
. One by one, he dropped them to the ground at the middle of the clearing. He turned, his gaze rose to her, and his sword left its scabbard with a move her eyes couldn’t follow. Near blinding light flashed around the weapon. She gasped and covered her eyes.

The clang of steel on steel rang in the air. She dropped her hand from her eyes. His sword, covered in smooth light essences, rose and fell, shattering each
divya
. The light winked out when he finished. Another indiscernible motion followed, and his sword appeared in its scabbard once more.

“My master wishes for you to go to him,” said a soft voice behind her like ice trailing along her skin.

Irmina turned slowly, keeping her reins steady so Misty wouldn’t panic. Dressed in a long, dark Felani jacket and matching trousers, Silvereyes stood next to her. His face was all hard planes and angles, and his sandy hair was longer than she remembered. He appeared taller also. Locking gazes with her, he smiled, the expression one that could curdle milk. Her hand tightened on her bow.

“My name is Sakari. I mean you no harm.” He ignored her and glided noiselessly down the hill, his feet appearing not to touch the shale.

Irmina squinted at the places he stepped, but saw no sign of him using shade to move. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting from Sakari to Ryne.

“It’s not safe out there,” Ryne called, in a voice that rumbled like a slow peal of thunder, yet clear and distinct.

The grunting bark she heard earlier echoed again, but this time from more than one direction. She peered around but saw nothing. The barks came again, this time tickling some familiarity at the back of her mind.

Lines creasing her forehead in a tight frown, she trilled once to Misty and sent her down the slope. They weaved their way past the dead trees and dry brush to the two men. As they passed the corpses, the cloying smell of blood hung thick in the air. Misty tried to reach her neck out to the fresh meat, but Irmina pulled her away. She stopped a few feet from the men, replaced her bow next to the saddle, but didn’t dismount. Broken
divya
glinted near where Ryne stood.

Close up, Ryne was even more formidable than he appeared from a distance. She barely reached past his midsection, and he was as wide in the chest as Misty with slabs of banded muscle covering his arms like metal plastered over flesh. The tanned skin of his face and arms—the only places not covered by armor almost matching his skin color—shone. His head actually reached past Misty’s withers by a good two feet. He kicked away the splintered
divya
, his leather armor shifting as if molded to him when he moved. This close, she couldn’t see a place on the armor that wasn’t covered by intricate artwork matching the tattoos on his skin. Black hair in a single thick braid, and tied with a string, hung to the middle of his back. Scars streaking from his left ear to his chin marred the sculptured planes of his face.