Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (31 page)

The entire battle stopped.

Darkness streaked from Hardan toward the balcony where Buneri stood. Hardan’s body followed, blurring across the distance.

“Raijin Irmina, Raijin Irmina,” a voice called, insistent, a hand tugging her arm.

Still in shock, she looked down. A Pathfinder wearing a strip of color on his arm that signified he belonged to her knelt at her feet.

“High Jin Quintess sent me to remind you of the zyphyl. She said now is the time.”

The words registered with Irmina even as she nodded absently. Yet, all she managed was to direct her attention to the balcony.

Buneri and Hardan had become a haze of whipping tentacles, strikes, and screeches. Their limbs were too hard to follow. At times it appeared Hardan had the upper hand, but Buneri slipped away on every occasion as if he was toying with him.

Below them, the battle had resumed. Several Dagodin archers in support of Buneri fired arrows up toward Hardan when he backed off a few feet. Blackness streaked down from him to tear them apart. It congealed into tiny eel-like minions.

The warning gong to announce passage through the Travelshaft wailed. The sound broke Irmina from her trance of watching the netherlings fight. She dashed toward the zyphyl.

C
hapter 49

W
ith the bells droning their arrival, Galiana stepped from the zyphyl’s grasp and opened her Matersense. Spread to her left and right, the army of Dosteri; the Mysteras’ refugees; thousands of clansmen in fur and leather, their great wolves and daggerpaws beside them; and the Matii commanded by Cantor shifted into ordered formations under the watchful eyes and yells of Weaponmasters. At first glance, one might have expected this to be a haphazard formation, but they’d been preparing for this. It showed in their rigid ranks.

She gazed out onto the city and school she once held dear. When they left Torandil, she warned everyone to expect some resistance, but she could not have anticipated what she saw before her. Chaos ruled. She couldn’t help but to stare for a moment before she collected her thoughts.

In the main square, all manner of Matii battled. The ones ahead of her were forcing another set to retreat. It didn’t take her long to discern the two sides. Those with armbands that signified their alignment with the Gray Council were losing … badly

Bodies and rubble littered once pristine flagstones. Intermingled with the reek of burned flesh, the acrid pall of smoke hung heavy, drifting into the air in gray plumes. Fire shot back and forth between the two groups. Lightning arced from the sky. Luminescent beams and bolts streaked and rippled across any distance separating the opposing forces before cutting swaths wherever they struck. Concussions rocked the plaza. Eerie screeches echoed. From what she could not tell or see. Steel rang on steel.

Where Raijin clashed against any other Matii, the fight turned quickly in the Tribunal’s favor. Only the Gray Council groups with Pathfinders offered any real resistance against them.

Tribunal cohorts reformed quickly to face Galiana and the arriving army. Comprised mainly of Dagodin brandishing sword and board or long lances, their uniforms and armor crimson to match their Ashishin counterparts, they were rigid in their discipline, unflinching with their response. At least a score of High Shin, their robes made up solely of colorful stripes, revealed themselves among the ranks. None appeared surprised or concerned by the presence of a new threat.

At their head was High Shin Neftana, her willowy form unmistakable. From Cantor’s reports, the woman should have been dead. The way she marched ahead of her forces spoke of her usual overconfidence.

Galiana signaled, and shields blossomed all around her. As Forges began in concert from the Tribunal Matii, the essences congealed, giving the air itself a thick texture. A nimbus grew, not only near them, but also spreading across and up as they drew on sunlight itself, one of the most powerful sources of the Streams.

All across the enemy lines, the cobbles lurched, once, twice, and then in waves that raced across the ground, tossing the enemy from their feet. With a rumble to challenge an avalanche, bricks and debris blasted at least forty feet into the air, taking soldiers with it.

The fountain assumed a gigantic humanoid form, twisted metal outlining a skeleton, stone blocks clacking together for muscle and body like a building creating itself without workers. Debris that should have fallen to the ground hung suspended for impossible moments before zipping into the monolith. The soldiers unlucky enough to be caught within the process were added as part of the titanic creature. Blood dribbled down its exterior. Its face formed into Halvor’s countenance. He roared, the wind from his voice billowing Galiana’s cloak.

Similar, smaller shapes followed by the thousands. In as much time as it took an eye to blink, each one resolved into Sven several times their normal height.

They smashed into the Tribunal lines. The enemy formation shattered under the impact. Armor was no match for the stoneform creatures. They swatted aside Dagodin and Ashinshin with no more regard than if they were insects.

As disciplined as the Tribunal’s armies often were, the sight of small mountains with arms and legs tearing into their ranks sent them into a panic. Ashishin lashed out with their Forges. The attacks did more damage than good as they blasted into not only Sven but their own allies as well. The Sven bellowed before massive arms swung down to turn human bodies into pulp.

Galiana cringed as she watched the decimation. Years spent fighting the Harnan and the Sven in the Nevermore Heights resurfaced. She could imagine the horror these Matii experienced. It had been the same for her.

Not all the Tribunal’s soldiers faltered. Led by High Shin and the more battle-hardened Raijin, small pockets fought together. Instead of attacking with Forges, they relied on the
divya
they wielded. Using the power imbued into their armor, they became little more than red streaks that darted from one Sven to the next. They delved into fighting Styles and Stances too intricate for her to follow, each one an imitation of an essence. The squeal or ping of metal meeting stoneform flesh quickly became painful bellows.

Eyes ablaze, Neftana strode forward, thin, heated lines tinged with darkness spurting from her fingers to slice through several stone and metal-encrusted legs. When the affected Sven crashed to the earth amid billows of dirt and dust, Dagodin fell upon them, spears and swords flashing as they rose and fell. The Sven buried under that melee did not rejoin the battle.

Almost an entire cohort had surrounded Halvor. Galiana gripped her robes against the urge to Forge and help him. Their plan demanded her discipline even if it meant seeing them die. Of that, Halvor had insisted.

The Svenzar let out a shout to challenge thunder. The noise broke through the din of battle, the cries of men and beast. It was as if for a moment the conflict paused. He folded his arms across his chest and tucked his head down. His Sven copied him.

“Kill them!” Neftana screamed, panic clear in her voice.

Before the first weapon struck, the surface of each Sven and the Svenzar burst like a boil pricked by a pin. A rain of earth, stone, and metal fell, much of it hanging unnaturally in the air. The creatures, now returned to their original sizes became one with the ground, sinking into it, their once hardened bodies dissolving into a muddy consistency.

The signal, at last
. Tension eased from Galiana’s shoulders.

First Jerem, and then Cantor and his Pathfinders strode next to her, followed by Jerem’s Matii from Calisto. She felt the others gathering, the essences rushing into them. Raijin could manage a vast number of feats, as could Pathfinders and High Shin, but none could defend against the element of surprise.

While she watched, most of the debris changed shape in midair. It became solid. Tiny legs sprouted—legs resembling those that belonged to a spider but tipped with bone. Wild screeches echoed as the cause for the panic in Neftana’s voice became clear. By the tens of thousands, mindless gerde formed, each one half the size of a man. When they landed, they skittered across the ground, more insect than Sven, their eight legs propelling them at incredible speed. They leaped on any person close enough, spiky attachments on the ends of their feet stabbing into armor and flesh, tearing bodies asunder. The battle became a blood sea.

Keeping her expression stoic despite the bile in her throat, Galiana raised a hand. With the Pathfinders this close, she basked in the pleasure of not feeling or hearing the essences’ maddening whispers. To her right and left, standard-bearers waved flags, the Guardian Wall and the Quaking Forest flying high.

Power built within her. It grew from a thrum to a whine. Sweet ecstasy. She unleashed the first salvo and the others with her.

Her attacks were the finest streaks of heat and light, honed to points like crossbow bolts. Jerem and the other High Shin repeated her Forging. His Matii sent forth a rolling wave of fire.

Her targets were the opposing High Shin and Raijin. Kill the head and the body will follow. The flame wall was meant for the gerde.

All along the Tribunal’s lines, Matii fell, pierced through the chest or head, wounds cauterizing after the essences struck. The fire wave washed over them.

Buried in heat and flame, screams and wails issued from the Matii and gerde alike, the humans sounds somehow more animalistic in their death throes. The cacophony crawled across Galiana’s skin. She whispered a prayer for the dead.

Her attention turned to the remainder of the battle. Smoke choked the air in black plumes. Halvor and the Sven had reemerged in several other areas, now more their normal size but no less deadly. The Svenzar was helping a group of Pathfinders who were defending a wagon. Galiana squinted. A familiar form in full black Raijin regalia fought against others similarly garbed. Accompanied by two Pathfinders, Irmina was carving a path toward her and the Travelshaft. Death walked with her.

A strange occurrence caught Galiana’s eye. Darkness blurred around several Forgers. The men and women uttered wordless screams before they fell, their bodies riddled with wounds. The darkness resolved into wriggling snake-like monstrosities.

What in Ilumin’s name—?

The earlier screech cut her off. This time, when she glanced up, she picked out the sound’s origin. Her breath caught in her throat.

On the balcony above them, two netherlings battled. The creatures were a mass of ebony chitin and tentacles. Mater flew from them at dazzling speeds. Not the single or dual essences she was so accustomed to but complete elements. The Forges were so complex that they passed beyond her comprehension. At times, the netherlings launched from the balcony out into midair, striking at each other before flitting back to solid ground. Neither appeared to have the advantage.

That all changed when several lightning bolts streaked down from what had been a clear sky but was now a mottled gray. Before they could strike their intended targets, tentacles flashed up to form a writhing, fleshy dome. The bolts struck and dissipated.

Galiana snatched a glance to discern the attack’s origin. Several of her own Matii from Eldanhill and the other Mysteras were drawing in another stream of essences. “No!” she screamed. “NO! Fools you will break—”

But it was too late. Flame lances, their orange glow imprinting themselves on her retinas, shot toward the netherlings. In the same instant, darkness blurred to the Matii, reappearing as the black creatures she noted earlier. Her warning cry died in her throat as the creatures devoured them like a school of carnivorous fish, tearing flesh from bone.

A piercing screech, higher and wilder than any before it, sent chills through her.

Impaled by the other’s chitinous arms, the netherling that had used its tentacles for defense flopped to one side. When the victor glanced down toward her, she got the premonition the wrong one had died. With a high-pitched wail, it flung the corpse away.

Forge after Forge tore toward the creature. Helpless, Galiana could only stare as its tentacles whipped out. With ease, it deflected the attacks.

The netherling’s counter came in the form of several hundred black beams no thicker than rope. Each connected to a person and ripped their spines from their bodies. Sela coalesced from each corpse. The worm-like minions streaked to the essences and devoured them. Moments later, Halvor and the Sven charged any other Matii who attempted to attack.

“We have to get to the Vallum now,” Jerem yelled. “It’s the only way to survive that thing.”

Galiana nodded numbly. The calls went out for retreat. Even as they did so, more ropy tendrils shot out, ensnaring more of her people. The Tribunal’s Matii had backed off to reform on one side of the square. This gave the netherling and its minions ample space to feed at will.

“There’s no escape for us.” Galiana’s insides wilted. She found it fitting that all the years spent to make the world better would end where it all began.

“Tell that story to someone else,” a voice said next to her.

She turned to see Irmina standing there, gaze riveted on the carnage within the square. The wagon, still guarded by the Pathfinders trundled behind her. Quintess and her own cohort was a part of the escort.

“I didn’t begin this fight to see it end here.” Irmina brushed back disheveled hair from her sooty, bloodstained face.

“No one here can defeat that.” Jerem nodded toward the netherling. “With the bonds to restrict it broken, we will be nothing but fodder.”

“You can call yourself food if you want, but I am no one’s lunch. Gather as many survivors as you can. I will join you shortly after I buy us some time.” The young Raijin’s eyes grew steely as she stalked toward the Travelshaft.

Frowning, Galiana asked, “What do you plan to do?”

“Tame a zyphyl.”

“How?”

“By promising what it desires most … freedom.”

C
hapter 50

C
loak draped behind him, Ancel surveyed the cliffs looming above him. Randane’s walls sprouted from them like rows of teeth, the towers along its length the fangs. He shielded his eyes against the swirling snow.

For this endeavor, he’d opted for his leathers alone and commanded all his men to do the same. Any slight advantage that would not hamper his movements might prove essential in the battle to come. Not to mention the stealth required for his plan to work. He’d had a hard time convincing High Shin Cantor to have the Pathfinders do the same. Apparently, they always wore their armor. When he gave them the ultimatum of changing or relinquishing their guardianship, they gave in. To hide their faces, they had donned hooded cloaks with scarfs over their mouths.

He’d allowed the Svenzar Kendin to lead their small contingent through the Travelshaft from Torandil to the ruins of some great city in the no man’s land between Sendeth and Doster, east of Randane. According to Kendin, thousands of the shafts existed. The World’s Veins, they called them. An apt name Ancel guessed, considering the powerful essences that resided within the Travelshafts. It was as if they made up a swift-flowing underground river whose water was almost as pure as the Mater within the Entosis.

When they arrived at Randane, they found an army of Dagodin and Ashishin led by Jerem’s two Exalted. Trust was not a sentiment he ascribed to when it came to the Tribunal, so he’d used his aura sense to discern that they were indeed human. Undeniably strong in Mater, but human nonetheless. At his command, they waited on the plains, ready to be a diversion as he and the others breached the city.

Randane itself seemed much the same as he had left it the day he escaped. At least from this vantage point next to the Kelvore River. Although he could no longer see them, the spires that stabbed the sky had been as he remembered.

The plains near the castle were a different story. He recalled their appearance the day he and Kachien took their walk, made love in the small tributary, and his ability to see auras had manifested in response to his emotions. What amounted to a small town had thrived outside the city. Beyond the cheaply constructed wood and brick structures, the world was a green ocean interspersed with colorful blooms dotted by trees.

Now, all that remained of the town was rubble and char. Mud covered what were once fields, bleeding brown into what should have been a white sea. Reeking corpses littered the town’s streets, wafting to him even here. He put a hand over his mouth. When he first saw the thousands of bloated corpses the Tribunal’s armies left behind, he’d spilled the contents of his stomach. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness again, regardless of how the sight was forever burned into his memory.

Letting out a deep breath, he focused on the cliff spanning up from the half-frozen river. Voices whispered outside the Eye as he held onto his Matersense. He’d enveloped himself within both once he met Exalted Leukisa and Ordelia. A good decision too. The Eye had saved him from succumbing to the war of emotions he experienced when he saw the massacre outside the city.

The cliff and the filthy water gushing from the sewer exit were his key to breach the city’s walls. The ability to reach the tunnel’s entrance was another dilemma altogether. Layered ice coated the cliff, and although it covered most of the river in a sheet thick enough to hold considerable weight, the constant disturbance from the sewage runoff meant there was no way to reach the wall, much less the tunnel. Not if he didn’t want his men to freeze to death. There was also the matter of the water in the tunnel itself. Imagining himself submerged within its icy grip made him shiver.

Kendin, the musical notes of his voice smooth and rhythmic, was conferring with Exalted Leukisa. The miniature versions of the Svenzar stood silently in the snow along the riverbank near the rest of Ancel’s men with Mirza in command. Comprised of at least a hundred Seifer and Nema accompanied by their pets, three times that number in Dosteri Dagodin, as well as fifty Pathfinders, they amounted to more than a minor threat. Given their proximity to the castle, Ancel still marveled that a warning hadn’t sounded. It made him realize the skill Leukisa possessed to go along with his strength. A strength belied by the Exalted’s leathery skin drawn tight over his face, deep-sunken eyes, and gnarled fingers. Leukisa’s Forging kept their presence hidden both in sight and sound.

As he studied the Forge, he picked out its delicate structure. Whereas he might have forced the essences into a solid, the Exalted had kept them as they were for the most part. They appeared natural, flowing at the correct points. Upon closer inspection, Leukisa had woven transparent bands of light thereby twisting exactly what the area revealed. When he didn’t look at it through his Matersense, it appeared as if the cliff, the castle itself, and the trees along the bank, their trunks frozen until they burst, cast long shadows over mounds of snow.

To keep the noise of their presence from any guards, Leukisa diverted air essences, streaming them in the opposite direction well past the river’s far bank. Ancel’s lip twitched when he considered the confused expression of anyone who happened to pass by the area reached by those sounds. The murmur of any conversation and the occasional grunt, bark, or snarl from a wolf or daggerpaw would certainly spark stories of a vale haunted by troubled spirits.

A low whine from Charra brought his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Kendin approached, his massive feet flattening the snow with each step, leaving imprints to match. He hoped the Svenzar had discovered a way to tackle the issue of the tunnel. Leukisa watched with those piercing eyes of his but kept his distance. If the Exalted had taken exception to Ancel’s displeasure at his presence, he did not show it.

“Leukisa believes he can hide what we plan,” Kendin said.

The Svenzar’s speech was a contrast of high and low pitches with each word. If one didn’t understand Sven, it was little more than odd tinkles and hums. Ancel didn’t know why or how, but the more he’d heard the language, the more his ability to decipher it and eventually speak it, had increased. It was something he’d question Ryne about at some point. At present, he wasn’t concerned. Learn, adapt, and take advantage. A mantra from
the Disciplines
.

“What do you think?” Ancel asked. Despite the Exalted’s Forge, he’d be damned if he left any final decisions up to him.

“You allow distrust to cloud your judgment.” Kendin gestured around them. “He has made our position invisible to prying eyes. I believe he can do what he promises. As things stand, we do not have much choice if you wish to save the ones captured.”

Melancholy enveloped Ancel for the briefest of moments before he suffused the feeling. He couldn’t afford to let his prejudices cause a delay, and yet a hasty decision and walking into a trap would be just as bad. He sighed. Sometimes a leader had to take risks. This was one of those times. “Do what’s required. We enter either in secret or all-out attack. The end result is all that matters.”

“A wise decision.” Kendin raised his right hand to the air and made a fist. At the same time, his left hand elongated and plunged into the snow. “A protective ward exists all along the walls. Any touch would set it off. The drain you brought us to is unguarded. We will make it possible for your men to reach it and pass through without the water to trouble you.”

Brows furrowed, Ancel tried in vain to think of a Forge strong enough to do what was needed. One that wouldn’t be detected by whatever or whoever controlled the city. He gave up. “Even if you manage this, how will you be able to follow us inside?”

Foot by foot, Kendin’s body shrank. “We will always be close. Ask what you need of us, and we shall give our assistance.” The Svenzar continued to speak as he melded with the earth. “Have your men follow when the steps are built.” With those words, his body dissolved altogether.

Through the Forms, Ancel discerned where Kendin became one with the ground. The same occurrence repeated itself among all the Sven. Tracing the ripple left in their wake, he stared in shock as they, now a part of the earth, traveled to the cliff wall. As each one gained the icy surface, they reformed into what he could only describe as a set of stairs, joining where the other stopped. The steps continued up until they were level with the sewer.

A disturbance three times as large as the others flowed up the cliff face. It stopped, and then grew from the ice-covered surface. Edges curved out into a cylindrical shape large enough to hold a man. In moments, it joined with the drain.

Ancel cocked his head to one side. The thing was a tunnel made of stone and fit into the sewer exit, tilting slightly upward. Water gushed around the outside, some spilling from the new formation. In slow increments, the new runoff dwindled until a mere trickle escaped. However, sewage still rushed around and down the new tunnel’s exterior while inside remained dry.

“I’ve seen lots of strange things in the past few months,” Mirza said as he strode over, “and still I see something new often enough to shake my head. Never a dull moment.”

“Indeed.”

“Well the men are as ready as they’ll ever be. Before the water starts making those stairs as slick as a dancer’s oiled backside I say we do what we came here for.”

“This won’t be easy,” Ancel said in response to Mirza’s dry humor. “I fear what we’ll find inside the city.”

“Nothing is ever easy.” Mirza’s expression became grim. “Whatever awaits inside we deal with as needed.”

Ancel wanted to tell his friend what he suspected, but instead he nodded. If he was right, there would be time enough for Mirza to see how bad things were and the type of treachery they would have to deal with in the future. “If it goes bad in there, get as many out as you can.”

“How will I know when that is?”

“Trust me, you’ll know.” With his Pathfinder escort, Charra at his side, and Mirza following, Ancel headed to the front of his men.

The first step onto the platform-like stairs felt strange. He knew he was walking on living stone, on the bodies of the Sven. The sela essences that made up their life swirled from one to the next. They vibrated within him as if from his own heartbeat.

When he reached the new tunnel molded onto the cliff wall and the old algae-encrusted exit with icicles around its edges, he stopped. The opening yawned before him. He knew the new tunnel growing from its insides was Kendin’s body. The hole in front of him had to be a part of the Svenzar’s mouth.
Well, you wondered if they would eat you, and now they will.
The humor eased his uncertainty. After a deep breath to clear his thoughts and the hint of fear fluttering in his belly, he strode inside.

His footsteps echoed along with those of the others following him. Similar to a Travelshaft, a soft glow lit the interior. Ancel strode forward amid the muted breaths of man and beast and the scuff of leather on stone. The tunnel angled upward. Soon, they were walking on level ground. They exited within the sewer system and into putrid air and squeaking rats. Darkness stretched ahead of them with a pinpoint to show where the passage ended.

Ancel Forged, twisting air and light to match their surroundings. “Uncover the lightstones.”

“You sure? They will be a beacon if anyone looks down here,” Mirza said.

“No one will see. Trust me.”

After a brief pause and a sigh, Mirza said, “Well, you heard the man.”

Moments later came the rustle of cloth. A soft, white glow bloomed. It lit the tunnel. The drains were much the same as he remembered, clogged with shit and other wastes. His imagination conjured ghastly images of what could be wriggling within the sewage. Disturbed by the sudden luminance, rats as big as a man’s leg scurried away, squeaking their displeasure.

Convinced of the Sven’s earlier claim, Ancel led his men forward. Power resonated above him in such torrents he felt he could extend his hand and touch it. The dream he experienced in the Travelshaft rose fresh in his mind. After a deep breath that he almost regretted when he swallowed the area’s stench, he recalled the drainage system and its series of open spaces joined by tunnels. He set off, weaving his way by memory. The castle, main plaza, and its temples dedicated to the gods pulled at him. His captured people were there.

A brief trek filled with the stifled breathing and muffled coughs of a few brought him and his men to a passage much like the others.

“Kendin,” Ancel kept his voice low, “I need you to confirm that the castle’s cellars are on the opposite side of this wall. If so, make us a door.”

Ancel sensed more than he saw the ripple that passed through the stone. He waited. A restless pressure almost overcame him when the wall slid apart. It was as if the stone simply peeled back.

One of his soldiers holding a torch stepped forward. Beyond was a dusty, expansive storage room, one half of it filled with barrels and crates. Across the room was a wide set of stairs.

After he stepped through, Ancel waited for as many soldiers as could fit to crowd inside and settle down. When they noticed he watched, silence spread across the room and outside.

“I have a deep respect for all you who have come here to fight this battle even knowing you will face shadelings and worse,” he said. “Make no mistake; many of you will die today. If you’re wounded, there is a good chance no one will be able to save you. Your one solace is in fire, in the Streams. The same Streams that can corrupt you will also prevent what awaits you should you succumb to a darkwraith’s blade or a daemon’s tentacles. Remember that. Set it in your heart and mind now. If someone falls, behead them or burn them. It’s the only way to ensure they don’t rise again.”

“What of your own people?” Leukisa’s eyes were sunlit orbs that reminded Ancel of Charra’s.

This was the hard part, but he hoped Mirza would understand. “If they have been turned, they too will face the same fate.” Ancel met Mirza’s eyes. His friend gave him a nod. Tension eased from his shoulders. “You all know your roles in this. Our jobs are to assassinate whoever leads here and to rescue those captured. In that order. If all else fails, those in command must die. Understood?” He waited from the murmurs of acknowledgment, and then turned to Leukisa. “Send word to Ordelia to commence the attack.”