Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (17 page)

He stood in a humongous city square with glowing structures all around and streets that crisscrossed between them while rising in the air. The surprised expressions of troops massing to depart greeted him.
The Iluminus,
he thought as he severed the power he held, his luinance diminishing to nothing.

Chest heaving with exertion, he drew on what reserves he had left before the soldiers reacted. He Materialized and shut the portal behind him so none could follow. The freezing cold that he hardly noticed before sent his body into a spasm of shivers.

Something wasn’t right.

He glanced down at his body. His aura spilled about him. Tiny fissures ran up his arm where it leaked. One of the vasumbrals had touched him and eaten into his Mater.

Sela, his lifeblood, was leaking away.

C
hapter 26

H
uddled deep within his cloak, head down, Ancel held his reins steady. Snow fell like white rain, before swirling as if it wanted to smother him. The wind’s teeth threatened to penetrate even his furs. From near the middle of what moments before had been the slow rush of the Kelvore River, and was now water frozen to the consistency of solid stone, he glanced back toward the glow of the barrier, picturing Eldanhill’s lights beyond. At present, he couldn’t pick them out; the unnatural winter storm blotted out his home. Under his breath, he muttered a prayer for Ilumni to keep his father, Irmina, and the rest of the council safe. Whatever it took, he promised to see them alive again.

The horse beneath him snorted. To his right, Charra appeared within the swirls as if part of the downfall. Around them, the quickly accumulating precipitation muted the sound of hooves and wagon wheels, and offered better footing than would normally be possible over water frozen by Eldanhill’s Matii. Folded within layers of fur and leather, the remainder of Eldanhill’s folk and army trudged along.

Dagodin, and what was left of the Seifer and Nema clans, guarded the flanks. Sifting through which among them were the enemy had taken some time, but the mountain men had their own torturous ways to discover the truth. Ancel cringed with the memory of rope tied around privates or to arms and legs and attached to horses pulling in opposite directions. Worse than that was watching a few of the prisoners as wolves or daggerpaws savaged them.

Somewhere behind their convoy, Shin Galiana kept an eye on their rear along with Kachien. Loneliness weighed heavy on Ancel. Even with Mirza’s presence next to him, he felt as if he’d lost everything. Mother, Da, Irmina, Ryne. All that was important to him had been torn away. He hunkered deeper into his cloak against the howling wind.

A recollection of Ryne’s voice screaming the name Sakari made him shiver. In the moments since, his link with Ryne had flitted around like a buzzing fly before finally settling somewhere well ahead of them. For a while, he’d sensed Mater in unbelievable amounts surge to Eldanhill’s north. The last time he’d encountered something similar his mother had been taken, and his father lay at death’s brink in Galiana’s hospice.

Did his father survive those injuries only to die now? Had he regained Irmina to lose her once again? Could he really trust her to remain true to her word and find a way to keep the council, and more importantly, his father, alive? She’d been adamant that if she wasn’t there to greet the Tribunal they would simply kill whomever they found and pursue him and the others. Thoughts a gray muddle, he sank further into himself and his furs, inhaling their musty odor.

Time crawled by as they continued their exodus, the storm’s fury constant, keeping them hidden. When they crossed off the frozen river and up the banks, the swirls of snow abruptly ended. The wind still bit as he looked back. The tempest covered the Kelvore River and beyond, but here several miles before the Red Ridge Mountains, all was calm.

“What in Amuni’s name …” Mirza said.

Inclining his head toward the Matii huddled together near the river’s edge, Ancel pulled down the scarf from around his mouth. “The storm was all their doing.”

Dagodin stood guard near them and helped to usher those on foot up onto the open plain past the riverbank. Several folk stopped to stare in awe as one moment they were walking through a near blinding snowstorm, and the next they were standing with only residual flurries touching them in a light spray. A few dropped to their knees in a brief prayer as if the journey was over.

Ancel knew better. Their trek had just begun.

Caked in an icy layer, Galiana appeared last. Kachien followed close behind.

Galiana threw back her hood and unwound a cloth from around her face. “Set it to hold for a few more hours,” she shouted above the wind. “We should be long gone before then.”

A Teacher nodded and passed the instructions to the others. They stood motionless for a while, facing out into the storm, the wind whipping their cloaks. The squall intensified for a moment before settling. More than one of them sagged when they were finished.

“Get those too tired to ride off their mounts and into the wagons,” Galiana said to a nearby Dagodin. “Use their horses for a few of those on foot.” She rode closer to him. “So far, Ryne’s distraction worked.”

“Good,” Ancel said, trying to sound braver and more confident than he felt. “He’s somewhere ahead of us.”

“We will pick him up on the way and find out what this detour is that he requires. Until then make sure we have not lost anyone. You too, Mirza. Remind them, no lamps until we are past the foothills.”

“Yes, Shin Galiana,” they both said and rode off.

With Charra accompanying him, Ancel split off from Mirza to check one side of the refugee lines while his friend rode along the other. Relying on the twin moons whenever they peeked from behind the clouds was a test in patience on a night that was otherwise drab and gray, but Ancel made sure to ask each Dagodin if they lost any from the groups they supervised. To his relief, the answer every time was no.

An abrupt flash of pain seared across his mind. Immediately, he knew it was Ryne. Weariness, hurt, and shivering cold suffused him. A vision bloomed in his head.
Hands freezing, turning blue, a body huddling against icy rocks, then falling down a hill and kicking up snow.
The link cut off.

Ancel whirled, gazing up to the left and the looming, dark countenances of the Red Ridge Mountains. Ryne was up there, and he was hurt. He whipped his reins and raced to Shin Galiana. She glanced up from advising a Dagodin and an Ashishin. The thud of other hooves announced Mirza’s arrival.

“You completed your—”

“He’s hurt,” Ancel wheezed. “He’s hurt badly. Probably dying. We need to go to him now.”

“Who?” Galiana asked. “Where?”

Frantically, Ancel pointed up the Red Ridge’s slopes. “It’s Ryne. Up there. I-I can feel him.”

Galiana turned to the two Matii. “Continue on this route. You will meet the Dosteri contingent at Colvar’s Gap. From there head to Calisto, get supplies, then make your way to Torandil. Kachien, stay and help them.” She turned to face Knight Captain Steyn. “See them there safely, Knight Captain.”

“What about the Tribunal?” Steyn asked. “Won’t they be using the Gap and Calisto?”

“No,” Galiana said. “The Dosteri refused them access to either. It was their answer to the Tribunal’s lack of help in the negotiations with the Sendethi.”

“As you command, Shin Galiana.” The Knight Captain wheeled his horse and rode off with the Ashishin following at his heels.

“Come,” Galiana said. She cocked her head for a moment when she saw Mirza.

“There’s no way you’re leaving me behind,” Mirza said before she uttered a word.

Ancel opened his mouth to tell his friend to stay with the others. The defiant look on Mirza’s face and his earlier sentiments concerning the Ashishin spoke for themselves. Ancel smiled.

They rode east, cutting a swath through fresh snow as high as the horses’ knees. Beside them, Charra bounded, unhindered by the drifts. The deep fluff made for slow going, but Ancel would let nothing stop them. At the back of his mind, the lump that spoke of Ryne’s location pulled him, the feel of it as tremulous as the day when Ryne stepped out from the woods. Locking onto the location in case he lost the link entirely, he slogged on. The wind whipped and howled about them as if possessed, kicking up powder that made him pull his scarf even tighter and duck his head. Icy flecks caked the cloth around his mouth, the material carrying the scent of his breath, steam collecting moisture that soon froze. Hands gripping the reins tight through his fox fur gloves, he concentrated on the thought of reaching his mentor in time.

The plains, broken by the occasional tree or slope of land, seemed to go on forever. The towering silhouettes of the Red Ridge Mountains appeared to move farther away. Undaunted, Ancel snapped his reins, ignoring the stallion’s snort of protest. He lost track of time, but not of the lump. Soon, they reached the first foothills.

The going became tougher then, the route more treacherous as the snow grew deeper and the slopes icier. As much as he wanted to push his mount, Ancel slowed, choosing their path carefully. It would do little to help Ryne if his horse broke a leg now. Even deep in furs, his bones were still chilled and his feet numb. At times, he couldn’t feel his fingers. Ignoring them, he plowed on.

The Red Ridge Mountains rose up before them like massive white monoliths. In warmer weather, red, dusty sand covered these slopes, but now no such color existed. Enveloped by winter’s freezing breath, they were expansive precipices and cliffs glowing silvery blue whenever the moons peeked from behind the clouds.

Ancel stopped abruptly, the lump in the back of his mind spiking stronger than before. He glanced around at his surroundings. Something about the area clicked. The visions he witnessed through the link came again. He closed his eyes, taking in the mountains as Ryne tumbled down an embankment. Ancel snapped his eyes open.
That one.
He flapped his reins, heading toward the closest steep rise.

A sudden barking roar from Charra stopped him in his tracks.

There, at the bottom of the hill was Ryne, his Etchings giving off a soft glow.

Ancel couldn’t tell if his chest rose and fell. Nor could he make out the telltale mist from his nostrils or mouth. Before anyone uttered a word, he leapt from his saddle and stumbled through the thigh-high snow to Ryne’s prone form.

Ryne’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave a weak smile. “I overdid it again.”

“You aren’t wounded?”

“N-no. W-w-worse. C-c-cold. I used too much power. I had to in order to pull the vasumbrals away and make sure everyone escaped. I fractured my aura and one of them touched it, ate into my sela.”

Galiana and Mirza rode up alongside them.

Squinting, Galiana said, “We need to get him some place warm.”

Ancel barely heard the words as he delved into the Eye to study Ryne’s aura. He gasped as he did so. Mater rolled off the man in waves of color. Where an aura normally appeared as a solid shell around a living being, he discerned rents in Ryne’s. From those fissures, essences leaked in a grayish hue that at times grew darker before shining to near silver. Somehow, Ancel knew what they were.

Sela essences.

“I know where we are,” Mirza said. “This is one of the routes my father takes when we’re heading to the quarries or to Harval for mining supplies.” He pointed up the incline. “Not too far up the slope is one of the many caves in this area. We usually keep them stocked with wood and the like. The snows won’t be as deep either because of the way the ridges protect each lower one.”

“One problem,” Galiana said. “How are we going to get him up there if he cannot walk?”

“I-I can manage with Ancel’s help,” Ryne said, his voice a raspy whisper.

Ancel frowned.

“N-need,” Ryne said, his teeth chattering. “S-same as you used a-against the Knight and for the Chainin. Subm-m-it that need t-t-to the essences through your Et-etch-etch-ings. P-pic-picture what you nee-need and the Et-Etchings will grant it.” When he finished, Ryne’s chest labored as he sucked in great breaths. Steam spilled from his mouth and nostrils.

Ancel closed his eyes and reached to his Etchings. He pictured every intricate detail, each edge, the pictures of the sun’s searing flames, the soft glow from the twin moons, the earth below where they touched. What he craved was strength. He delved into the Eye and opened his Matersense. Immediately, the clamoring voices tried to overwhelm him, but he guided them down into the depths of the pool within the Eye and into his sela.

A contented sigh came from the voices. “
What is it you need of us?
” they said in a chorus.

Strength.

“
Take it. It is yours, but remember this is a bargain. You take, we feed.
”

You have all you need before you.

Their answer was a sudden surge of Form essences mingled with a bit of the Streams. He guided them into the Etchings. As soon as he did so, the intricate art along his arms writhed with life. Light filtered in to bond earth and metal together in a way that would put a mastersmith to shame, then that luminance diffused into its more potent form: energy. A heated blast rushed through him, snatching all sense of touch from his chest and arm. Almost involuntarily, his hand snaked out. Ryne’s fingers engulfed his arm. With an effortless snap of his wrist and forearm, Ancel swung Ryne around, plowing through snow as if the deep drifts and Ryne’s body were weightless. He faced uphill. A gasp from Mirza and a hiss from Galiana reminded him they were still present.

“Lead on,” Ancel said.

Mirza eyed him and Ryne before he nodded and headed up the incline. Behind them, Galiana guided the three horses.

Not sparing a moment to contemplate all he’d done, Ancel dragged Ryne through the snow, the giant a pin weight on his arm. Up ahead, a path cleared before Charra.

Deep in his Matersense, Ancel gaped at the elemental bursts flying from Charra. The snow and ice melted like a hot knife through butter. Where Charra found such heat in the freezing cold was beyond him.

While Charra’s clearing did help, it created another problem. The ground was becoming slick with mud. On several occasions, Ancel slipped, and as they worked their way higher, the more treacherous the path became. He wanted to check on Ryne, but he needed all his focus to maintain his footing. Slowly, he also grew colder. Without the ability to bundle himself up, his arms and legs soon went from tingling with cold to outright numbness. If not for his scarf and hood, he may not have been able to feel his ears or his nose. Ice clogged the cloth at his mouth.

Need.
The word surged through him. He needed warmth if he was to continue dragging Ryne to safety without the protection of his furs for himself. His wish communicated itself to his Etchings and the drawing of the sun twitched as if it wanted to walk off his skin. Warmth rolled through his body.