Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (59 page)

Ancel’s regret at not being there when the Sendethi attacked rose again. He could have helped somehow if he’d been here. Maybe he could’ve saved some lives. The thought twisted in his gut. He shook his head and glanced around, just now realizing they had crossed the town. Behind them, three plumes of smoke marked where the majority of the attacks occurred. The rest of the town was untouched.

Scratching at his beard, he followed Danvir and Mirza down the road toward Shin Galiana’s. He spared Kachien a few glances, thoughts about what she said also churning through his mind. They continued down the twisting path between older houses, many just one or two stories tall. This part of town lay so close to one of the Kelvore River’s tributaries he could hear the rushing waters. Townsfolk shambled by, some weeping, others with grim expressions on their faces. Some gasped or skirted around Ancel and their friends when they saw Charra. A few reached for or hefted weapons. The daggerpaw ignored them.

They rounded the last corner, and ahead stood the squat sandstone and granite structure of Galiana’s hospice. For the first time, Ancel thought about why he needed to come here to meet his father. Why not at the Whitewater Inn? Or their own home? Was his father hurt in the fighting?

Trying in earnest to dismiss the thought, Ancel dismounted, and tethered his dartan. People trudged by them, some struggling to carry several buckets to where dartans waited. Others wore bloodied bandages, their clothes torn and disheveled as they shambled up the cobbled streets from the direction of Shin Galiana’s. Drays carrying wounded men, women and children rumbled down the road toward the hospice. Where some faces showed despair, others bore a fierce determination. On one side of the street, a man comforted a woman with a tear-streaked face and clothes covered in blood. Everywhere Ancel looked made worry for his father come crawling back to the surface.

“Things are worse than I could have imagined,” Kachien said, her voice grave.

Ancel gave her a questioning frown.

“The wounds on many of those bodies and on some of the people.” She squinted at a cart carrying injured folk. “Those are not just from normal steel. I know wounds caused by wraithwolves and darkwraiths when I see them.”

Ancel sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?” A quick look at Mirza’s wide-eyed expression and Danvir’s pale face told him they’d heard.

“Yes. I have no doubts.”

“That’s impossible,” Danvir whispered. “The Vallum protects us against shadelings. There’s no way…” His voice trailed off at Kachien’s wilting stare.

“I told you,” Mirza said in earnest. “Still, why aren’t there any Tribunal Ashishin here already? You would think this place would be crawling with them.”

“Maybe—”

“Ancel, there you are, young man,” Guthrie Bemelle’s voice called.

Ancel turned to see Danvir’s father striding toward them. The owner of the Whitewater Inn no longer wore his usual extravagant loose silks. Instead, a full suit of shining, blood red, Dagodin plate armor covered him, the noonday sun glinting off the polished steel, patterned swirls and lines on the breastplate. Already a wide man, the armor enhanced his size. In one pudgy hand, he carried a wide-bladed, two-handed greatsword. Gold embossing covered the scarlet scabbard.

“Da!” Danvir exclaimed, his eyes watery. He ran to his father and the two of them hugged. Somehow, Guthrie appeared the smaller of the two even in his armor.

The innkeeper looked his son over, his hanging jowls flapping against the collar of the gorget at his neck. “Glad to see you’re well.” He beamed. After a few more hugs and wiping of tears, he released Danvir and turned to Ancel. “I’ve been searching for you since Jillian sent word. Shin Galiana needs you.” He eyed Kachien. “You must be the Alzari. Shin Galiana said to expect you. If you don’t mind, my son and Mirza will see you to the Whitewater Inn. Galiana will meet you there.” After Kachien’s nod of approval, Guthrie locked gazes with Ancel, but his eyes betrayed nothing. “Ancel, if you will?” He turned and strode toward the hospice.

“Wait here, Charra,” Ancel said. After a moment to make sure the daggerpaw complied, he hurried to catch up to Guthrie. “Master Bemelle, are my parents well?”

“Your mother is fine.” The man tilted his head toward Ancel. Dark lines tugged at his slanted eyes instead of their usual smile. “Your father—”

“Is my father hurt?” Ancel’s heart skipped a beat.

Guthrie stared ahead. “I’d rather Shin Galiana speak to you about that. Things are already hectic enough as it is.”

Taking in deep breaths, Ancel attempted to calm himself, but he couldn’t help the sinking feeling or the great weight on his shoulders. Guthrie’s lack of an answer didn’t help nor did the weariness tugging at his body. The feeling grew as they walked.

Outside the hospice, a line of townsfolk stretched from the wide front door, past the porch, down the stairs and out into the street. Dagodin and Shin Galiana’s apprentices were turning back many of the injured after a brief inspection. Alys stood among those apprentices.

“Why are they turning people away?”

“We’ve resorted to only mending those who bare the shade’s taint in their wounds. Even then, the mending has stretched Shin Galiana and the other Ashishin to the maximum. We’ve sent to Calisto for more menders, but they’re still several days or more away. In the meantime, those with normal wounds are being treated by the apothecaries and their apprentices.” Guthrie nodded to the guards, bypassed everyone on the line, and strode to the stairs.

“Guthrie is my fath—”

“Alys,” Guthrie said, signaling to the flame-haired young woman. “Take Ancel down to see Shin Galiana.” He turned to Ancel. “Everything will be fine, my boy.” Guthrie wiped sweat from his forehead and left.

Wordlessly, Ancel stared at Alys. They had not spoken since the night at the inn. Dark rings spread under her eyes, ash smeared her cheeks and hands, and soot coated her sunset hair in gray streaks. Her mouth was downturned, and after a moment, she averted her eyes.

“This way,” Alys said, hurrying inside.

Ancel wanted to ask after his father, and find out how Alys was doing, but he had no idea where to start. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and occupied his mind with his surroundings as he staved off the need to rush inside to find his father.

Shin Galiana kept a tidy home. Each item had its place. Every piece stood in coordination with one another in blue and brown tones. Neatly aligned bookshelves bordered the living room, and rugs highlighted its wood floors. Center tables sat at the middle of the rugs, and evenly spaced chairs surrounded the main dinner table. They passed through the main room into a small hallway with a door on each side. The one open door revealed a comfortable kitchen and a hearth. They continued straight ahead to the end of the hall and a staircase leading down to the cellar.

To Ancel’s surprise, the cellar contained the hospice. The last time he was there, Shin Galiana tended the sick in a backroom upstairs. The area below spanned about twice the house’s size, he realized, as they traveled along a wall to an open door with a wide hall. Against a wall, appearing haggard and frail, leaned his old Teacher.

“Wait here.” Alys continued down the hall to Galiana.

Downstairs, white dominated the décor. It appeared as if nothing became soiled or remained dirty for long. Even Shin Galiana’s white dress didn’t have a speck of dirt, medicine, or stains. Ancel made sure to keep his hands to himself and resisted the urge to touch anything.

A brief conversation ensued between Galiana and Alys. The Ashishin’s tired golden eyes in a face fraught with more wrinkles than he remembered, regarded Ancel for a moment. She nodded. Alys gestured for Ancel to follow.

They entered a wide room that had a small fireplace at the far end. Next to a table, upon which sat a tray and cups, was a large, comfortable-looking, cushioned armchair. Three smaller chairs were spaced around the table, and a teakettle sat above the fireplace.

“I’ll make some tea.” Alys moved toward the fireplace and the table, leaving him to follow Teacher—no, Shin Galiana.

Without a word to Ancel, Galiana crossed the room and entered a door to their right. Ancel followed. The urge to rush past his Teacher and find his father gnawed at him, but he resisted it. She would probably just snatch him by his ears. If his father was wounded and his situation dire, she wouldn’t be taking her time.

Through the door, several cots set up in the same orderly fashion as the rest of the house occupied the room. Eldanhill women and Teachers inspected one cot after another and tended the wounded. The sickly stench Ancel expected from those on the cots didn’t reach him. Instead, a sweet smell like flowers on a spring day filtered through the air. Around the room, at specific intervals, candles and herbs burned, thin smoke trails carrying the flowery scent. Ancel recognized some of the women fussing over the wounded—Emlyn, the miller’s wife, Mosel’s wife Brandi, Clarissa, and Robyn, cousins to the Bemelles. Sad, lost eyes looked back at him for a moment before the women returned to their work.

Ancel could just make out the butcher, Cell, on a cot with his wife Renee above him. Heide, the old peddler’s wife strode from one cot or another as well as Idna, Tarka Sonet’s wife. She stopped at one cot and brushed her hands over the soiled bandages hiding the person underneath, then promptly burst into tears.

A lump formed in Ancel’s throat with the sight of the men. Except for Cell, the other forms on the cots were unrecognizable, layered bandages hiding even their faces. The visible parts revealed swollen, purple and black bruises. Blood and fluids seeped into the bandages. Bile rose in Ancel’s throat, and he cupped his hand over his mouth.

Guthrie’s words about those wounded by the shadelings echoed in Ancel’s head. He sought the Eye and opened his Matersense. Around him, every wounded person showed the taint of shade crawling within his or her wounds. It tried to spill out, but the light from wards within the room forced it back.

To the rear of the room, a familiar form drew him. Dressed in the tattered remnants of a crimson uniform and swathed in bandages around the chest, neck, and arm, the man groaned and muttered. Like the others, shade clung to his wounds. Dark hair with touches of silver hung in unkempt wisps. The usually neat mustache and beard was scraggly and flecked with blood, and the man’s eyes were closed in a face haggard and gray.

His father’s face.

CHAPTER 46

“No! Dear Ilumni, no,” Ancel cried in a hoarse croak, bursting into tears. He rushed past Shin Galiana to his father’s side.

Stefan’s chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes shifted quickly. Squeezing his father’s cold fingers tight, Ancel got down on one knee beside the cot.

Ancel glanced up when soft hands squeezed his shoulder. “Teacher Galiana. Is he dy—” He choked up, unable to bring himself to finish the words.

“I do not know.” Her dark-rimmed eyes regarded Ancel. “I have done what I could. The rest is up to him.”

“But, his breathing and the shade and—” His father’s gray face brought a desperate dread rushing up into him.
If she can’t, then I have to help him. I can’t let him die. O Ilumni, help me.

A spinning sensation filled Ancel. His grip tightened on the bed and his father’s hand. Somehow, Ancel found the Eye, and he opened his Matersense. Power tugged at him.

“Our power is yours to use,”
clamored a sultry voice in a seductive drawl. “
I can grant you unending strength and the means to mend his father.”

“And in return you’ll be forever sealed to us,”
another voice, this one lighter, said with a hint of a chuckle.
“Is that what you want?”

“Your father is dying. Save him.”

“And doom yourself.”

“Look at his face. Yes, our power, you need it.”

“Our power is not always what you wish, but it is there for you, if you know the risks. Kachien has told you of the risks. Choose.”

Ancel chose.

Light streamed into his body. He opened himself to bathe within its incandescence. The one Forging he'd read about in the Tome of Undeath brushed his thoughts. Snarling, he thrust the light toward the shade dominating his father’s wounds.

A blow to his back knocked Ancel to one side, slamming him into the wall. His Forging shattered, and his hand fell away from his father. Air essences held him against the wall behind the cot.

Dazed, he stared at the Forge holding him. He reached for light again. Another blow rocked him. Stars danced before his eyes. Blood filled his mouth. He lost both his grip on his Matersense and the Eye.

A blurry form blocked his father from his sight. Ancel shook his head and focused. The form resolved into Shin Galiana standing over him with her fists at her hips, her golden eyes ablaze.

“Have you learned nothing this past year?” Shin Galiana scolded. “Master yourself, child. Ignore the temptations. Take a closer look. Do not just think of light’s first Tenet. Remember Mater’s first Principle.”

Light to balance the shade. But wasn’t that what I did? No, the first Principle. The elements must exist in harmony.