Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (32 page)

Even with the meager light cast by the flames, he noted the Exalted’s eyebrows as they rose in surprise. The man didn’t expect him to know they could communicate mentally. And he didn’t. It had been a guess.

Leukisa bowed then closed his eyes. When he opened them he said, “It has begun.”

As he said the words, the bells throughout Randane tolled a slow lament. The ceiling shook. Dust cascaded down.

“Give the soldiers a moment to empty from the castle,” Mirza said under his breath. “Kendin, let us know when the halls are reasonably clear.”

Time dragged while they waited. A roar from outside interrupted the breaths of man and beast. Deep in his Matersense with the voices flitting outside, Ancel felt power jolt and ebb. With it came dull thumps from the city’s walls. The earlier resonance grew, pulling at him harder.

Part of the stones that made up the ceiling flowed downward. More than one soldier started or grasped for a weapon.

The stones grew into a Sven hanging upside down. “Master Kendin says the way is as clear as it will be.” The Sven retreated. The ceiling smoothed.

Ancel drew his sword. “It is time.” Heart thumping, he headed for the stairs with Charra.

They spilled from the cellar into a wide hall. The few guards never stood a chance. Arrows and crossbow bolts struck them down before they sounded a warning.

“The six strongest Pathfinders, with me. Kendin, you also,” Ancel commanded. “Everyone else follow Mirza and the others.” He sprinted farther into the castle toward the main tower.

Guards rounded a corner ahead only to be buried by a wave that traveled under the carpet and along the walls. It knocked paintings and tapestries from their perches. Bone hackles erect, Charra loped at his side.

“Try not to Forge unless you must,” he instructed.

“Yes, sir,” the Pathfinders answered in unison. Three surged ahead while the others guarded the rear.

Oddly, they met little resistance. The enemies they encountered proved to be no more than a nuisance for the Pathfinders. Blades bloody, they gained the stairs to the tower. Outside, steel rang amid battle cries and commands.

“Kendin, is there a way for you to carry us up? I need to get to the top as fast as possible.”

The Svenzar’s massive head formed at the first landing. “Yes. Step onto me and hold onto the supports I provide.” He dissolved.

Seven poles grew from the landing. Without hesitation, Ancel strode up the steps and held onto the one closest to the middle. Charra bounded up next to him. Their faces masks of concern, the Pathfinders joined them.

“Hold tight,” Kendin’s voice called from below them and the surrounding walls.

The floor lurched forward, taking them with it. Ancel sucked in a breath. The platform they stood upon moved faster than a sprinting man, steadily gaining pace.

Guards occupied the first three landings. Miniature walls formed and crashed into them. Bodies toppled into the hollow in the middle of the winding steps.

By the time they made the next two landings, air rushed by Ancel’s face. They shot up, the balustrade and steps a blur. He squeezed his eyes shut yet still exhilaration spilled through him. If they met more soldiers he couldn’t tell. Within moments, they eased to a halt. When he opened his eyes, they were at the top, a closed door in front of them.

As they got off the platform, the bricks around the doorframe shook and fell. The door crashed outward. Sword in hand, Charra at his side along with his Pathfinder escort, Ancel strode outside onto the battlements.

Unnaturally black, clouds covered the sky. Lighting illuminated the mass before streaking down into the city. Thunder rumbled. Up here, the cries of man and beast carried on the swirling winds. Cloak billowing, he headed toward the pull of power, and the spires that marked the temples dedicated to the gods of Streams.

The plaza was worse than he expected. Dagodin and Randane soldiers battled outside the castle. Shadelings writhed before the temples. The Sven formed a wall, the earth quaking at their feet as they prevented that seething mass any purchase. Ashishin stood with them, their Forges ripping into the enemy ranks. More than half the Sven were rubble. He could pick out numerous bodies of his own army. The clansmen and their pets fought in groups among wraithwolves and darkwraiths, their savagery giving the shadelings pause.

Daemons and darkwraiths screeched. Black tentacles whipped out to strike down any of his men within range. Darkwraiths struck in blurs, their swords swift and deadly. Black lightning streaked sideways toward his forces.

Leukisa was repelling them with shields of his own, Forging faster than Ancel once thought possible. His skill kept them from being overwhelmed.

A bellow tore the air. The cobbles swelled and blasted up. Kendin’s form exploded through the opening. The shower of rubble became one with his body. Arms outstretched, he threw stones as big as a man into the shadeling ranks. The enemy lines buckled. When he stomped, a circular wave swept out from his feet. Any creature it touched, it entombed.

The power Ancel had been feeling spiked. He snapped his head around.

Atop the temple’s steps, next to the statues of Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni, and Rituni, a woman in leather armor was dragging Kachien’s limp form by her hair. He recognized her.

Jillian.

Once he’d learned of Irmina’s skill, he’d suspected someone had controlled the wolves that day in the Greenleaf, but until Jillian went missing he hadn’t been certain who the person could have been. He snarled.

A man in black armor had his hands outstretched. Shade essences billowed from him, consuming several Eldanhill folk. The Mater coalesced into thicker bands, growing stronger from some connection within the temples. Ancel could never forget the feel of those Forgings. They were the same as those the night his mother was taken. Darkness did not shroud the man’s face this time.

Rage seethed inside Ancel until his vision filmed red. The man was Mensa, Mother’s head servant.

The voices outside the Eye screamed. Sword in hand, he leaped from the tower wall.

C
hapter 51

R
yne stood where the Great Divide’s black chasm began, not far from the towering edifices of the Sanctums of Shelter. The spires rose at his flanks, their tops hidden in the clouds. This close to them he felt the various essences at use throughout Granadia and near any Bastion. It was like stepping in front a blacksmith’s bellows then being thrust onto a mountain top in the dead of winter. He didn’t need to link with Ancel to identify the young man’s Forgings. They burned through him almost as if he was standing next to his ward.

Denestia’s Mater was somewhat odd here, concentrated. The elements whipped and coiled more violent than the worst of winter storms, their colors prismatic. The air gave off a mélange of smells that made him want to retch and savor them at the same time. Bloated clouds bubbled overhead. This location being the point where Denestia’s power touched the Prima unleashed first by himself and then Ancel, the occurrence did not quite surprise him, but it was no less troubling. Although the elements from both types of Mater thrived, they were at odds with each other, like two siblings who believed each was the more dominant and thus needed to fight.

“Are you sure it was wise to let the boy face a Skadwaz on his own?” Taeria’s voice, or rather, Trucida Adler’s, was a raspy whisper. Appearing frailer than before despite her robes, skin splotched, she hunched beside him. Discovering she kept an eye on him in Carnas had been a welcome comfort.

“It takes the heat of battle to develop the best crafted weapons.”

“What if he loses himself?”

“Then we will have to kill him and start anew.”

“Let’s hope he passes then,” she said tiredly. “From what I sense, he might be able to best a few of us even if we’re linked.”

“Indeed.”

Power surged again from Randane and the Iluminus. He frowned at that last.

His cloak flapped from a sudden gust. As the wind grew, the material streamed out behind him. Snow swirled like white petals. Rain pattered, first a few drops, then a torrential downpour. He raised a hand, drawing on an Etching. A shield of pure shade, yet still transparent, formed a dome around him and Taeria. It served two purposes.

“They come. Cocky as ever,” she said.

He smiled. “Just the way I like them.”

Through the rain and from the Great Divide’s edge strode three forms. They stopped within shouting distance. As abruptly as it began, the storm died.

“Yow two were always full of yourselves,” Ryne called, “even after Cardia and Astoca split.”

“We didn’t come here for insults,” Lestere Cadem replied, voice carrying without raising it. Ryne expected no less from the air guardian. Dressed in a blue coat with matching britches, face hard and angular, Lestere kept a hand close to his sword.

“Just to accept your surrender,” added Henden. A pillar of water coiled around the graying man like a giant snake.

“What makes you think that’s what I’m here for?”

“Because,” Lestere stepped aside to let the third man through, “two Eztezians might be a stalemate, but with a netherling on our side, one you attacked, you have no hope of winning. Especially now that the guardian of cold has abandoned your cause.”

Sakari took his place between them. Face expressionless as always, he dipped his head.

“Besides,” Henden opened his arms, palms upward, “we see you’ve already given up the light. You definitely have no chance.” He cocked his head as his attention shifted to Taeria. “I’ve never known who metal was, but I once thought it would be a Svenzar rather than a human.”

“Maybe, I don’t stand a chance,” Ryne said, ignoring the comment about Tae, “and maybe I do. Don’t forget I can sense that you two have also relinquished your essences to another.” Ryne knew that didn’t matter. Even as a shell of their former selves, Taeria posed no threat to them. Not when they could still summon Prima constructs. He might be able to defeat one but not both.

“False bravado as always, Thanairen,” Henden said.

“You can tell your master I don’t accept any of his terms.”

“Then we shall have to kill you and take your ward as we did his sister.” A wicked grin spread across Lestere’s face. “You need to die anyway for them to return.”

Ryne smiled to match, and then he grew serious. “It should have never come to this. We were to nurture the Aegae, not turn them against each other.”

Henden spat. “Why not? Why should they live to rule, live with power, while we succumb to madness? Because of prophecy? We chose the smart route. Let them fight the gods when they rise, and we survive to reap the rewards. Self-serving? Yes, but not much different from what you do.”

“No. I serve the Annendin’s will.”

“The Annendin?” Lestere scoffed. “A so-called god no one has ever seen. At least we can say we’ve met Amuni and the others, but this Annendin? Even the other gods do not admit to its existence. If it did live, it’s dead now or doesn’t care. That’s the only explanation as to why it would abandon Denestia.”

“Funny,” Ryne gave a deliberate shake of his head, “you don’t believe yet you created an Aegis.”

“No, we created someone to fight for us with power we could not wield.” Henden gestured to his own Etchings. “Tell me, Thanairen, don’t you grow weary of staving off the madness? Of wondering when it is death will come to take you? And for what? A people who know only treachery, destruction, pain, and suffering.”

“I wonder who taught them all that,” Ryne said. “We’ve only been misleading them into wars for the last few thousand years.”

Lestere shrugged. “Sheep are meant to be slaughtered.”

Ryne saw there was no way to sway his brethren. The realization saddened him. “You’re right. You allowed Kahkon to twist your minds away from your mandates. In this case, that makes you sheep.”

The two Eztezians reacted simultaneously. Their Etchings glowed, lighting up their skin and armor. Prima Materium roared from them. It spun in a mass, forming a roaring vortex filled with air and water. Stormy winds sucked at Ryne with such force that if he wasn’t held in place within the ground’s Forms, it would have swallowed him.

Despite the swiftness of their reactions, Lestere and Henden were too late. And too weak. They’d been too confident in their own power, and their assumptions about Taeria had been wrong. The second purpose of his shaded shield was to hide that she was only an Exalted.

Miniscule pieces of metal coalesced within the air and water currents the two men wielded. The shards shot straight down, thousands upon thousands of them, a rain of metallic death created by Kalvor, the Svenzar king, upon whom they stood.

Working in concert, the men Forged air and water into a nebulous container around them to slow Kalvor’s attacks. The earth, sprinkled with metal, flowed up to encase their feet. Not reacting, Sakari remained untouched.

At the same time, Ryne drew on the power within the Sanctums behind him. And also from the Great Divide. After all, it was home. His home. He’d have to be fast to prevent them from summoning their sentients. The Prima he expected from the Divide failed him, dissipating as someone else wrenched it from his grasp.

Ryne gasped. Such a feat should have been impossible. His heart sped up, beating in chaotic thumps that felt as if it would leap from his chest. Fear threatened to choke him despite his submersion within the Shunyata. Denestia’s essences screamed in his head. It took everything for him to beat them back, to find a room in the prison of his mind to lock his emotions away. Having to resort to such desperation stilled the blood in his veins. For Denestia’s Mater to have risen despite his connection to his Etchings and Prima should never have happened. They weren’t strong enough.

Laughter echoed. A solid bar of shade shot up from the chasm. It arced high in the air and then fell. When it crashed to the ground outside the torrent of Prima and the two Eztezians as they staved off Kalvor’s attack, it resolved into black flames. The fire danced and capered before eyes appeared followed by hands, feet, and finally a male torso. As the Mater subsided, the essences formed into material akin to living cloth. Writhing and twisting with a sentience of its own, the fabric settled around the man. Ryne knew better than to think it was something as simple as cloth. It was another type of netherling, this one more of a parasite not unlike a leech.

The netherling and the man’s outfit became one. In an immaculate gray coat adorned with silver scrollwork and pants to match, he was similar in height to Ryne. The way the width of his shoulders and back tapered down to his waist spoke of a physical specimen in prime shape. His black boots were highly polished with circular silver clasps on the side. A silver belt to match encircled his waist, the buckle of which was the shape of a maned beast. The same creature stood out on the shiny buttons of the coat. Etchings adorned the sword hilt that jutted from the scabbard at his waist. One hand on his weapon, the man stepped forward. The last of the shade shrouding his features disappeared. His hair ruffled with a life of its own.

Ryne tensed. His recognition was threefold. Familiar auras spilled from the man. The manner in which the newcomer and the creature residing within him had Forged were unmistakable. The memory of the battle against the one who’d created the Wraithwoods in Ostania rose fresh in his mind. Other recollections followed, most of them so painful Ryne wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. The man before him was not the child he’d portrayed all those years in Carnas, but the similarity of his face was unmistakable, the angular shape with eyes that often appeared to be squinting.

All the memories, the time spent; the stories he would read to Kahkon in the Skadwaz’s guise as a needy young boy who craved knowledge; the attachment he built; the promise he’d made to the boy’s mother when the lapra took him; the battle he and Sakari had fought that night to free Kahkon. It all came roaring back.

For him to discover this deception.

Ryne shook, his hand clenched tight around his sword hilt, and unlike before, he did not attempt to deny his emotions. He let the rage remain unbridled, drank it in, and fed it to his Etchings. They burned like magma, their glow bursting forth.

A grin split Kahkon’s features. With a confident swagger in his step, he strolled toward where Kalvor still tried to overwhelm the other two Eztezians.

“Now,” Ryne whispered.

When Sakari’s sword took Lestere’s and Henden’s heads, Ryne doubted they felt a thing. They never saw it coming.

Ryne pulled on light essences and Shimmered to Kahkon. With the Skadwaz holding the Great Divide’s power, he doubted he could hurt him with any Forge. Instead, he drew his sword, activated the Etchings along the blade, and struck.

Kahkon’s hair extended in a billowing mass to block the blow. Several tentacles snaked their way past Ryne’s sword as the netherling etched into Kahkon’s body responded.

Ryne summoned Damal, who appeared in a swath of light. The tentacles slammed into the construct, the impact throwing Ryne back through the air. In midflight, he Shimmered again, this time appearing above Kahkon and dropping with his sword pointed down.

As he expected, Kahkon attempted to dodge using Earthtouch. But Kalvor was already in place within the ground. The earth belonged to the Svenzar. Kahkon could no more manipulate the essences there than he could wield the Flows.

However, there was nothing stopping Kahkon from Blurring away. Yet, something about the way he moved was off. Frowning, Ryne studied him. Before Ryne could shout a warning, a gigantic metal arm surged up from the ground and snatched Kahkon’s form in midflight.

A wail pierced the air from the opposite direction.

Ryne spun to face where he’d last seen Sakari and the two dead Eztezians. Numerous tentacles flowed from Sakari’s chitinous body. Head arched back, the screech continued to pour from his mouth. Next to him, sword in hand, was the real Kahkon. Etchings glowed along the blade’s length, the only weapon that could kill a netherling outside of a god’s attack or one of their own.

“You took my servants,” Kahkon said. “Now, I take yours and the Great Divide also.”

A whisper from Sakari brushed Ryne’s mind. “I am sorry I was not able to warn you of him, master. At least I saw you home safely. He has your ward’s mother and has used her to free much of the shadelings from their prisons. An army of them await at the entrance to the Vallum near the Iluminus. Beware his strength. He is using the Great Divide’s Mater to feed the vasumbrals. They are almost ready. Also, not only does he have a netherling’s power imbued into him by Amuni, but he has also stolen the minor essences from several Eztezians.

“You would have been his greatest triumph. My death was the only way to ensure you were free of his control and any chance to corrupt your thoughts. I wish I could have done more.” Ryne sensed the hint of a smile. “Playing both the shade and the Nine against each other has been an enjoyable charade. Of all things, to fail you now.” Sakari’s voice ended in an escaping breath and regret. His body began to dissipate, chitin becoming ash that the wind swept away.

Brimming with hate, Ryne focused on Kahkon. At his back, the Sanctums roared with Denestia’s Mater and the Prima they had gathered over the years. Using his sword, the Sanctums’ Access Key, he tapped into that powerful fount.