Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (29 page)

Whisk.

He heard a roar. Through his helm’s visor he saw wave upon wave of shadelings charging across a rolling plain to him. Wraithwolves, darkwraiths, daemons, vasumbrals, other creatures, skittering like spiders, some appearing as if risen from the grave. Their fetid stench reached him even where he stood. He could make out the sweat, spit, and other bodily fluids as they came, worked into a fervor in their bloodlust.

Behind him, he heard a bellowing reply. To his left, Mirza stood, scythe spinning in his hand, Mater glowing from it. Behind him were rank upon rank of soldiers, faces grim against the tidal wave of flesh, fangs, claws, and steel. To his right was Irmina. Daggerpaws by the thousands spread near her along with scores of mountain men. Overhead, eagles wheeled and cried.

She raised one hand. Sparks appeared in the air. Each grew into living, silver, translucent ovals.

Ignoring the onrushing shadelings, he turned to his army. Too many battle standards to count flapped in the breeze. He knew them all. The most prominent represented each type of Matus still residing in Denestia. The Lightstorm, the Waterwall, the Guardian Wall, the Quaking Forest, the Stone, the Searing Fist, the Thirty-two Winds, the Icebound, the Black Halls.

He watched himself as he raised his fist.

Warriors in cloth, skin a deep bronze, stepped forward from the phalanxes. Faces a mask of calm, each one bore a massive two-handed mace slung over their backs. They strode to the front of his army. Muscles bulged in their arms as in unison they freed their weapons from their harnesses and swung.

The earth roiled with the impacts. It rose, a living creature in a massive swath of rubble, dirt, and blocks of stone that tore apart the enemies vanguard.

As sudden as it heaved, the earth subsided, calm and flat as if it had not just raged. To the front of the horde stood a man in black armor, hand on the hilt of a greatsword that punctured the starving ground.

He motioned to Ancel. “Come!” he shouted.

Ancel smiled. If in death he could help save his people, he would gladly give of himself.

Whisk.

Nine netherlings came forward, one by one, to bestow an Etching upon him. With each gift, his power continued to grow. War after war followed, with him leading the Setian to victory. Their enemies lay decimated before them. On the day he gained his last Etching, he broke the last seal on the Kassite.

The gods returned to the world swathed in destruction. The nine netherlings stood before them, matching their strength.

The gods fell.

The world burned.

Whisk.

Irmina sat on the ground in front of the brown, rusted gates. Shadows capered all around her. Tendrils caressed her and the man she cradled in her arms. Tears streamed down her face.

“I cannot save you, my love. I cannot even save myself.” She wailed.

Ancel looked up into her eyes, red rimmed with grief. A cough wracked his body as he squeezed her hand feebly. Life leeching from his body, he was drifting away. He tried to savor the scent of bellflowers from her underneath the sweat, but the only whiff he caught was of death. “Do it,” he whispered.

Sobbing, she lifted him and stumbled to a stone altar before the rusted gates. No, not rust, but brown, mottled, rotted flesh. She laid him on the altar.

A disheveled figure in tattered clothing shuffled over to him. The figure placed a tome by his head.

“Give in and he shall save you. The shade is his to command and so shall it be yours. Beg him, praise him,” a disembodied raspy voice said from the hungry shadows that licked out all around them.

Thoughts of his friends dying, of his parents, and of a world destroyed assailed his senses.

“Give in, and all shall be well again.”

He wanted revenge. Someone would have to pay for the suffering him and his people endured which now clouded his senses. A voice whispered that it was not real to him. A familiar voice but he ignored it. He was in too much pain and seeing Irmina suffer crushed his heart. The images of destruction stood etched into his skin, seared his being. Below him, Irmina knelt, head bowed, waiting patiently.

Etched into my skin.
He attempted to draw on his Etchings. Nothing happened. He no longer had them. He didn’t think he ever had them.

No. This wasn’t right. He rolled off the altar.

The creature that was Irmina stood. “Almost,” it whispered, death’s stink even stronger now.

Whisk.

Faster and faster the visions came. Futures and pasts. Wars and rumors of wars. Lands and names changed. Friends and family dying. From each he garnered information. A lie here. A truth there. A picture formed. A mosaic to rival any ever created. In the center of it all, he remained, resolute and steadfast. He did not know where they originated, but at every turn temptations reached out to him. At every turn, he defied them. The visions built to a blinding crescendo, blurring into one.

Whisk.

Whisk.

Whisk.

He would not give in, no matter what he witnessed. Perseverance in the face of his doubts. Strength to conquer any weakness. He would prevail.

“Finally,” a voice unimaginably smooth and cold said, “finally, the Aegis’ last piece.”

Ancel opened his eyes.

The silver of the zyphyl extended itself to him. A huge bulbous form pushed out from the center of the silver mass. A single eye opened like dancing flames. It spoke.

“A cycle passes in the Planes of If,

A curse and a gift, the creator’s bane walks the land,

Stretching through time, he reaches his hand,

For any who can right the seeds gone wrong,

Streams of light singing a dark song,

Forms of the land open a path,

Flows fill an empty void,

Finally together as one the three who they dread,

Two thought dead, one willfully misled,

Heralding the end of the era when gods lay slain

Materium wielded and waste lain

Resurrection lies within both life and death,

The time when all breathes a last breath

The world battered to a dying husk,

All in the name of the Nine’s lust,

Yet hope dwells within the Entosis,

Guarded and kept by the blood of the Aegis

Through destiny’s doors

And from within a temple’s floors

It begins and ends with Etchings.”

“What … what are you,” Ancel managed.

“Ah,” the zyphyl said. Ancel could imagine the thing smiling. “One who asks the right questions.” The eye turned. “I am but one who stands between many worlds, a keeper of time, a bringer of dreams,.”

“Nightmares are more like it,” Ancel said dryly.

“Yours are more volatile than most, but so … so …,” the eye turned, “fulfilling.”

“Why me? Why show me the things you did?”

“It is in your blood. You, more than most others, have manifested a power deep within what makes you. Eztezian. Netherling. ‘Tis a coupling not seen before. One thought not possible.”

“Are you saying my parents aren’t Stefan and Thania?”

The eye shifted, rotating right to left. “Of course, they are.”

“But you said … Never mind. What you showed me. Was it real? Was it true?”

“It is all real, all relevant. Maybe not to your time and place but in another. It is all choice. You chose well.”

“You said I’m the last part of the Aegis. What is it?”

The eye did a full rotation. “A concept, a power, an idea, a shield, a person, many persons, you, your brother, your sister, Irmina, your mother, your father, the gods, the world.”

Confused, Ancel frowned.

“Man must have faith. A belief. You have it in you. Many have preyed on that weakness. Man must have power. They crave it. The sentient creatures of all the worlds crave power. There are those who will upset balance for such. The gods have forgotten that which they were created to do. This world leans toward chaos. When the Annendin returns to reclaim the gods, he will see their failure. The world will be scoured. But man must have faith. You have it in you. So do many others.”

“Faith in the gods? In the Annendin?”

“In yourself. Follow the paths you believe are true. The answers will come.”

“Will I find the ones to save the world?”

“This world as you know it is doomed.”

“So what’s the point?”

“The world is so much more than the land, Ancel.”

Ancel stopped, his mind searching for answers. “It’s the people.”

“Ah.”

“Can I save them?”

“No one person can do so. There is no one savior. Yet—”

“Man must have faith.” Ancel understood now. “I must give it to them. Hope. Hope is what they require.”

“As the world must have harmony. I gave you the keys. Follow the path.”

Hands dragged at Ancel before he could ask another question. Cold to the touch, a substance covered his body and face. When his head came free, he saw Ryne and Galiana pulling him away from the zyphyl’s silvery embrace.

He didn’t remember much of the dreams he had inside, but the conversation was as clear as the blue skies above until darkness folded him in its grasp.

C
hapter 46

G
aliana sat in a lavishly furnished room provided by King Tozian, Torandil’s ruler, at her request. The room smelled of whatever flowery musk the Dosteri used to freshen their carpets. She studied Ancel’s prone form. She’d fed him kinai. All she could do now was wait. Almost a full day inside the Travelshaft had equated to a week in time on the outside, and a distance covered that would have taken two months. If not for what happened with Ancel it would have taken a day on the outside. Still, what should have been impossible, Halvor had made probable by refining the balance between the zyphyl and the Forms. But at what cost?

She’d never seen a zyphyl physically latch onto someone. People lost themselves to the visions long before they made it to the exit. To have one of the creatures try to hold onto Ancel was more than troubling. It was frightening. What had it shown him?

Ever since the occurrence, Ryne had become more agitated. He and Mirza waited outside the room with Ancel’s Pathfinders. Charra would have none of it, insisting to be close to his master. She still regretted not being able to question Ancel about the beast. But so far, Charra posed no threat, and its intentions were for Ancel’s well-being. That wasn’t good enough for her considering what it had done to the Quintess and the others, but for now it would have to do.

Her thoughts drifted to Irmina and Eldanhill’s refugees. She hoped Irmina managed to convince the Exalted to spare the lives of the council members. The refugees were of a greater concern. Neither they nor Kachien had made it to Torandil yet. They were several weeks late. Nothing good that she could think of would have caused such a delay.

Added to that dilemma was Jillian’s disappearance. According to the other elders, she’d been gone for months, supposedly researching stories of shadelings somewhere to the north. The woman’s absence worried her, considering what they were about to face. They could use Jillian’s input and her eagles. Why the woman would disobey her orders and leave the planning for their trip from Torandil in someone else’s hands was not acceptable.

Galiana stood and walked over to one of the large windows looking out onto the city. Considered an architectural wonder by many, Torandil sat at the edge of the Hallowed Cliffs, overlooking Bluewater Bay and the many islands and ships dotting its surface. Black basalt, sandstone, bloodstone, and feldspar mixed in with cobalt made up the ordered buildings within the city. Sunlight reflected from them in a myriad of colors that never failed to leave her breathless. She stared across to where the bay’s water caressed the sky, one melding into the other like entwined lovers.

Beyond that horizon lay Ostania, Seti, and the city of Benez. Beyond that horizon was a new beginning. One begun by bloodshed and would end in more before it was done. But it was a beginning nonetheless.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

Jerem strode in quickly followed by Ryne. White hair sprinkled with silver strands, Jerem appeared almost emaciated beneath his silver robes. Events had to be taking a great toll on him, yet, he still had a light step to his walk.

“We have a problem,” Jerem said.

“Well, good day to you too,” she replied.

“No time for niceties. We’ve been betrayed.”

She frowned. “By who?”

“Kachien. She’s taken the refugees to Randane.”

A chill eased down Galiana’s spine to match her mounting consternation. “Why Randane?”

“There’s only one reason I can think of. The Bastion. Whoever controls the city must be able to use its power.” Robes swirling about him, Jerem paced back and forth across the carpet. “It makes what the Assembly did even more worrisome.”

Galiana waited for the man to sort his thoughts.

Jerem continued to pace, head down, brow furrowed tightly. He stopped and looked at her. “Why would the Assembly withdraw their forces from Randane knowing the possible threat a Bastion in the hands of its enemies might cause?”

“They did what?” Galiana couldn’t hold back her shock. A Bastion in the wrong person’s possession could be used to circumvent the Vallum’s protection.

“The only Tribunal forces close to Randane are those stationed at Eldanhill under Exalted Leukisa and Ordelia.”

“Two of our own,” Galiana mused. “Your orders or the Assembly’s?”

“Theirs, which means they know where their allegiance lies. I believe the others are of the Shadow Council.”

“That or they belong to the Nine. What do you think, Ryne?” She glanced at the giant man who’d stood silent as he listened.

“It could be worse than simply belonging to the Nine,” he said. “One of them could be one of the Nine.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, even as she prayed for Ryne to be wrong.

“Too many coincidences, too many pieces moving in concert, too many things in favor of the Nine’s goals. It’s like watching a senjin game without rules unfold. They’re overwhelming us because they can cross zones they aren’t supposed to be able to. We’re stuck in our area while they have us outnumbered and outmaneuvered.”

“You sound as if you’re saying we do not stand a chance,” Jerem said.

“If we don’t change the rules, maybe. At this point, it’s in our interest to assume there are no rules. The Nine intend to replace the gods. The White Council’s primary purpose is to release Ilumni. The Shadow Council wants the same for Amuni. Those don’t exactly fall outside of what the Nine need. The Gray, on the other hand, wish for things to remain the same, for the people to rule themselves, beholding to no gods.”

“Which is no different than it always was,” Jerem pointed out.

Jerem’s lack of surprise or questioning of what the Nine might be registered with her. As usual, the old bastard knew more than he was willing to reveal. She would take the issue up with him at some point, but now was not the time.

“Yes, which supports my line of thinking,” Ryne said. “In order to replace the gods, the Nine need an influx of power. I believe the conflicts started by the Tribunal over the years were more than to just increase the longevity of the Ashishin. Suppose, that like Amuni’s daemons, the Nine have been siphoning sela into the Nether?”

“What made you think of this?” Galiana asked, skeptical but still pondering if it all of it was possible. If it happened to be true, then this Nine Ryne spoke of had been gathering power for millennia.

“What I saw in the zyphyl.”

“And you believe those dreams, those temptations?” Jerem’s expression made his opinion clear.

“Mere dreams for those not an Eztezian.” Ryne let out a breath as if releasing a great weight from his shoulders. “For us, they are the futures, the past, the present, the many possibilities that exist.”

“The Chronicles,” Galiana whispered in awe.

“Yes, and they can get a hold of you, drive you in ways you might not wish. It’s why we banished the zyphyls o the farthest reaches of Everland.”

A knock at the door stopped Galiana from offering her opinion. “Who is it this time,” she called.

High Shin Cantor strode in, his face a mask of worry. “Word has come from the Iluminus. They are ready to act now.”

“They cannot possibly be,” Galiana protested. “This is too soon, much too soon.”

“Time waits for no one,” Jerem said.

“Why though?” Galiana pursed her lips. There was no way Quintess should be ready to make her move. Neither the refugees from Eldanhill or the other Mysteras were safe in Seti as planned.

“According to the reports, the Assembly has summoned the majority of their armies from all over Granadia.”

“To what end?” Galiana asked. “And if so, it only makes Quintess’ position in the Iluminus even more a risk.”

“Let me guess.” Furrows lined Ryne’s forehead. “They did not send them to the Iluminus. They deployed them in Ostania, either at Felan Mark or at the entrance to the Vallum itself.”

Cantor nodded.

Now, Galiana understood. “They are planning to stop us. The only other access through the Vallum is from the Iluminus itself.” Her mind continued to work. The Matii from the Mysteras in Redemia, Konil, and Torcal combined with the ones she’d sent ahead to Torandil months ago, made for a force of over forty thousand, at least half of who were Forgers. That was without counting what the Svenzar brought or the thirty thousand from the Dosteri. An imposing army against many an adversary. Not so in relation to what the Tribunal could muster.

“A bold move, but it does make sense,” Jerem said. “Why come after us when we have to go to them?”

“What should we do?” Galiana was not frightened in the least, but she would rather face the Tribunal’s Matii without risking the refugees.

“Attack,” said a raspy voice.

Everyone turned to Ancel’s bed. His Etchings rippled across his chest and arms as he sat up, sunlight glinting off the intricate artwork.

“That’s madness,” Cantor hissed.

“No.” The hoarseness in Ancel’s voice made it crack. “Think on it. They expect us at the Vallum or at least in Felan Mark. More than likely they have spies among us, Listeners, just like you have among them. By pooling the majority of their army there, they tell us two things. One: they fear the threat we’ve become. Two: the Iluminus is now their weakest point. I overheard much of what you said. You already have people within the Iluminus. Surprise will be your advantage.”

Those words made Galiana regard Ancel in a new light. He might be as much a strategist as his father.

“Not only will you save the thousands here in Torandil, but you will be able to free my father, or at least try.”

Galiana glanced at all the others, not quite certain what she was hearing, but Ryne’s and Jerem’s intrigued expressions matched her own suspicion. “It sounds as if you have other plans.”

Ancel’s eyes were hard, glinting emeralds. “I trusted, Kachien. If this is how she repays that trust, then there can only be one outcome. My father left our people’s fate in my hands. I will not disappoint him. Whatever I have to do, I will get them back or die trying. When I’m finished with Randane, whoever or whatever is there, will find no cobble to hide beneath.”

“Have you given any thought to it being a trap? That this might be exactly what they want? For you to rush off and play savior.” Galiana kept her gaze fixed on Ancel’s face for any sign of doubt, but she saw none.

“I
know
it’s a trap. King Emory or whoever owns him, wants me, even more so now that I escaped his grasp last time. I’ll give him what he desires, what the shade desires … me. I will let them have a taste of what I bring.” For an instant, his Etchings glowed. “We fight while we take our people to safety. It was silly to think we could do this without losses, without sacrifice. We paid in blood in the past. We will pay now too. But from them we will take what matters most. Their hearts.”

Moments passed in silence as not only she, but also the others stared at Ancel. Pride shone from Ryne’s expression, and she was certain hers might be showing as plainly. She regarded Jerem, who appeared oblivious to all around him as he stroked his wisp of a beard. She could picture Ancel’s suggestions growing in her old mentor’s head, expanding as he analyzed possible outcomes.

“Well said.” Jerem strode over to the window and looked out. “I will send word to Leukisa and Ordelia to assist you at Randane. As for myself, I cannot return to Calisto. The Exalted have already made a decision concerning me. Several High Shin and Raijin loyal to them invaded the city.

“I’ve brought those loyal to me here already. Coupled with the Matii you all possess and the Dosteri’s military, we may succeed striking where they least expect. Plus, it is not as if we intend to hold the Iluminus. Between you,” he turned to nod toward her, “myself, Ryne, and the other High Shin on our side, we can hold it long enough to escape through the Vallum and into the Sands of the Abandoned. From there, we cross the Cogal Drin Mountains and into Benez. Not the plan I had, but it will do.”

Galiana could see how it might work. With support from within the Iluminus, they might manage it after all.

“I’m afraid I will not be accompanying you into Benez,” Ryne said. “I will help as I can with the Iluminus, and no, I will not be there for you either, Ancel. I have faith you will handle what comes until we meet again. I had planned to help my fellow Eztezians at the Great Divide once I took you to safety, but everything I saw within the zyphyl tells me they need me now.”

“Why there?” Jerem asked. “The Skadwaz are massing millions of shadelings northwest of it. Even you and the others would be hard pressed to stop them without help.”

“Because we have no choice, Jerem. It’s either we stop them or the Sanctums of Shelter will fall. As the Sanctums go, so goes the rest of the world, swept under by a black tide before we’ve been able to mount our first real offense.”

Around the room, silence reigned. With so much hanging in the balance, they had to cast aside all doubts. They’d prepared for this for all these years. In ways, it felt good to know the first major battle hovered on the horizon.

“Then, we must plan,” Galiana said, “and be quick about it.”

Ancel sent out for Mirza, and they began to lay down the foundations for what they hoped would be victory.