Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (34 page)

Through the power pouring from the Sanctums of Shelter, Ancel sought those of his people who still lived within Randane. Those who a mending could save, and one he prayed for a chance to find help. Drawing on Etien’s knowledge, he Materialized the survivors to where he sensed Irmina’s pull at the Iluminus.

The rest of Randane, he burned.

C
hapter 53

C
onnected to the Sanctums, Ryne could tell when Ancel departed Randane. Mater surged from the Iluminus where a netherling battled a human with at least as much power as an Exalted. For now, the human was holding his own behind a Forging that drew on the essences imbued into the Iluminus itself. However, they could not maintain it for a long. If the madness didn’t take them first, they would deplete their sela essences and die.

With the Prima released by Ancel, he’d called up reserves to shut away Kahkon and the Great Divide from any immediate access. He made out the Skadwaz raging on the other side of the barrier he’d erected. Depleted of some of his power when Ancel destroyed the Chainin, thus breaking the link to the shade he had been tapping into, Kahkon could do nothing more. Any attacks would have to be more direct, through systematic destruction of each Bastion. A feat still beyond the shade.

It had been through sheer desperation that Ryne had given the Sanctums light to Ancel, but there was no other way for him to keep Kahkon at bay. Not with the way the Skadwaz had wrenched shade from him. He knew within himself if he’d attempted to summon his other sentient, he would have failed.

Yet, all he’d done was to give the world a temporary reprieve. In all likelihood, Kahkon would consolidate his strength with the resources provided by the Great Divide. That didn’t even bring into account that he possessed the vasumbrals.

Then there was still the Nine. The netherling in the Iluminus had to be one of them.

A shift in the essences made him focus on the gate through the Vallum of Light at the Iluminus. One of Kahkon’s traps was there. A massive shadeling army stationed outside, ready for any breach. The Setian remnants would be opening that gate at any moment. He allowed himself a smile.

With squeeze of his hand, he called on the heat stored within the Vallum.

Kachien was dying. For all his power, Ancel could do nothing about it. Tears streamed from his eyes.

The survivors formed a convoy heading toward the Cogal Drin Mountains and the city of Benez somewhere on the other side of those peaks. Behind them, the Vallum of Light lit up the sky. A field swathed in black marked where Ryne had destroyed thousands of shadelings at the Vallum’s gate.

The trap suggested that either he had more traitors among his people, or it was a coincidence. He no longer believed in coincidences. Galiana would have liked that. More tears dribbled down his cheeks. She had died holding off the Tribunal’s Matii as well as a netherling within the Iluminus.
May Ilumni keep your soul safe.
For the briefest of moments, disorientation took him. If not for a heart heavy with grief, he would have smiled.

“Don’t shed tears for me,” Kachien said, her voice raspy. “I died well. Fighting. An Alzari could ask for nothing more.” Black veins were appearing along her skin. “Finish me.”

Wiping at his face, Ancel eased his other hand from hers. He lacked the will to speak, so he mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He stood.

In one motion, he unsheathed his sword, triggered its Etchings, and took her head. With his other hand, he Forged fire to consume the body. Heat scoured his face, but he did not turn away. He watched until it went out. When it did, he drew on the wind and scattered the ashes.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn. Mirza nodded to him, his eyes red and puffy. Irmina stood near, her wary gaze centered on Ryne. Halvor and Kendin’s monolithic forms matched the sands upon which they stood. Jerem had left to seek some alliance with the Cardians and Astocans, or at least to plead for one.

“Walk with me, Ryne.” As they strode across the dunes, Ancel asked, “What happened? I felt you
losing.”

“The thing you fought, the Skadwaz, are more powerful than I once thought. They have formed some coupling with netherlings to grant them more strength. We knew Amuni was experimenting with something of the sort, but we thought it was never completed.”

“You were wrong.”

Ryne nodded.

“What does this mean?”

“We need Prima to defeat them, as we do to stop the Nine. As of now, I used the Sanctums of Shelter to trap Kahkon at the Great Divide. At least one of the Nine is free, locked in the Iluminus for now by use of the Bastions within it. I would not wager against there being more of them. Before you can hope to face them, you must complete your training. You need all of the Streams.”

“How do I attain the others?”

“The guardian of heat resides within the Broken Lands. The one who guards cold is far north in Everland. You must gain them both before I can give you my shade.”

Ancel stopped in his tracks. “You held both light and shade?”

“Yes, I once thought I was supposed to be the Aegis. However, Kahkon, the one I fought at the Sanctums, now possesses a great deal of what was once mine. He tricked me into seizing my power. Now, he rules the Great Divide. I am certain he is releasing everything we guardians once imprisoned there.”

“How do we deal with him?”

“You don’t. Your brother will keep him at bay for now. With the second Chainin broken, three Eztezians dead, only six seals remain. Mine, Kalvor’s, the other two guardians, and two Chainin. The gods’ return is near unavoidable.”

Ancel frowned. Much of what Ryne had said he barely heard. One word dominated his mind. “My brother? I have no brothers.”

“Actually, you do. A brother and sister. Anton and Celina. No, they aren’t dead. They are what complete the Aegis.”

Ancel’s pendant vibrated harder than he ever remembered.

Mother.

G
ame of Souls
Bk1

Sundered Souls

Prologue

One gold bit. Ten silver monarchs. A thousand silver bits. A small fortune to kill a legend.

Thartensen rolled the gilded coin across the top of his calloused hand from his pointer to little finger and back again. Golden light played off the king’s face imprinted upon its surface. With the spoon in his other hand, he scooped up a helping of pickled eggs, and stopped, his attention drifting to the picture he’d placed on the tabletop. He took in the artist’s rendering of the raven-haired woman, her angular jaw a tad short of masculine. Beyond eyes like amber gemstones, she didn’t look like much. Thar dropped his spoon onto his plate, the food’s mouthwatering scents no longer so appealing.

Through a slit in the tavern’s window, he gazed down onto Kasandar’s main thoroughfare where it passed by the Smear. Sunlight’s first threads reflected from signs and windowpanes. Farmers and merchants who rose with the dawn hurried along, their guards’ hands on sword hilts, wary gazes locked on the Smear’s narrow alleys where fingers of daylight fought a losing battle. The marching boots of the nightwatch’s last patrol drifted nearby. Wagon wheels mourned on cobbles.

He wondered if it was worth it to take on this contract, this adversary. If he harbored doubts before, the money, which was ten times what he normally charged, gave him a measure of hope. In small electrical bursts, an excited tingle eased up his arms and face. Perhaps things would be different this time. Perhaps he might actually be risking his life. He could hope couldn’t he? After all, what was life without challenge?

The thought sobered his enthusiasm. They didn’t call him the Lightning Blade for nothing. As good as his target was supposed to be, she would never see him coming. The certainty in his own skill, and the ensuing result, saddened him.

Mouth downturned, he considered his last few contracts. More often than not, the people he introduced to his sword possessed a reputation they didn’t deserve. One man was said to have skin so hard he couldn’t be sliced. To prove it true, Thartensen had poked him. Over and over again. The whimpers, wheezes, and leaking red that followed had been disappointing. Why couldn’t he find one person as good or as strong as his employers claimed? Maybe he should change his name to Myth Killer.

His hunger as dead as the bacon on his plate, cold coffee more like mud, Thar pushed away from the table, chair scraping the wooden floor. There was no use in brooding. His job was death. And he’d been employed and paid. The time had come to begin his service. First on his list: a trip into the Smear. Still rolling the coin absently, he rummaged into his cloak’s folds, drew out a few copper bits, and dropped them on the tabletop with a clink. He turned to leave.

She was lounging on a chair no less than ten feet from him. He kept his face placid, veiling his surprise at not hearing the door lock click or even a change in the room’s air. In trousers and a shirt that could make her pass for a man, her leather boots well-polished, she smiled. Those bejeweled eyes and defined jaw were unmistakable.

“Thar the Lightning Blade.” The words rolled off her tongue, slow, smooth, and as conversational as if she’d told him it was sunny outside or someone would die in the Smear.

“Elysse the Temptress.” For the first time in years, Thar felt another tingle, similar to his earlier anticipation, but this one wasn’t excitement. Instead, his pulse quickened; his mouth dried. Thar drew his brows together at the unfamiliar sensation of fear.
Why in the Nine Hells am I afraid? Of a woman no less, regardless of her reputation.
He almost snarled at the weakness.

She dipped her head. “Your latest employer has given you a rather daunting task.”

“For a lesser man probably. Not for me.”

“Oh?” A dagger appeared in her hand. She turned it several times, inspecting the blade. “Dracodarian forged steel. An extraordinary find, almost as rare as the race themselves.”

Thar resisted the urge to reach for one of the matching scabbards hidden under his cloak. The missing weight spoke on its own. Frowning again, he realized he hadn’t seen her move.

“You Blades never fail to baffle me.” She balanced the hilt on her fingertip. “You so more than most, Thar. From babes, the king’s best train you to do what it is you do. Hunt and kill those who might challenge his rule, those with a fighting prowess comparable to your own. From babes, loyalty and undying devotion to the crown, to Kasandar, is ingrained into you. Or should I say beaten?” She paused, head tilted in contemplation, which made her jawline even more acute. “Why were orphans, unwanted babies, taken in by the court? What made you different? What of your parents? Why did they give you up?”

“Kasandar is the only—” Thar stopped himself from saying the words, from repeating the mantra that Kasandar was the only father and mother he knew, the only ones he needed, the sole reason to live. In his teen years, he once wondered about his parents when he stood guard at a birthday ball for a count’s son. For the briefest instant, he’d dreamed what it would have been like to be showered with that type of love from another human, rather than his trainers’ canes and harsh voices.

Elysse dipped her head slightly as if knowing his thoughts. An almost imperceptible flick of her hand, and the dagger disappeared.

The familiar weight returned to his scabbard. Eyes widening, Thar sucked in a breath. His quickened pulse became a thump that rattled his chest. Seated within it was the electrical charge again. Elysse the Temptress was living up to her status as a legend.

Thar cracked a smile. “Is there a point to all this? Don’t disappoint me by begging for your life. I’ve seen enough people piss their pants.”

“My point is this, Thartensen. There’s a reason the King’s Blades all possess the skill they do. There’s a reason you’re given certain contracts. There’s a reason the king allows you your little side business.”

“We train harder than anyone else.” Thar counted out each point. “Because of that, we can touch parts of our minds and bodies a normal person couldn’t. We’re among the most loyal to the crown. And lastly, the king is simply keeping his rule secure.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“Regardless, I work for the throne.” He rolled the coin then stopped it at his middle finger. “Even if I only had this one contract, and not the king’s order also, I’d still hunt you down.” Thar picked out the distortion in the air around her. “You seem to be one who might finally offer me a challenge. Now, can we get on with it?”

Elysse beamed. “On one condition …”

“Yes?”

“When I win, you’ll take me as your wife.”

Thar started. Such a request had been the farthest thing from his mind. “Lady, you’re mad. Why would I agree to that?”

“First off, I’m no lady. Secondly, I wasn’t asking. And finally, it’s the only way I spare your life.”

Thar cackled. He couldn’t help himself. The woman had to be fucking crazy. However, she watched him with about as much expression as a stone. In fact, those eyes were a bit too predatory, like a hawk analyzing a tasty morsel. He let his mirth dissipate into a chuckle. “If you know so much about us Blades, then you realize how pointless such a threat is. The penalty for a failed commission is death.”

“Ingrained into you from young.” She smirked. “You Blades aren’t much different to hunting dogs. Whip them as needed, feed them, give them a home where it seems everyone else would shun them, provide them with a form of education, show them love, teach them to fight, and finally, give them a purpose.” Elysse pursed her lips, appearing thoughtful before she nodded. “Yes, very much like a dog, a deadly one, but a dog no less.”

For a moment, Thar felt his blood boil, the tingle within him heating to match. Something about the little twitch of her lips, and her cockiness, told him she was purposely goading him. After a deep breath, he unclenched his fists.

“So, you have restraint. Good. Now, let me tell you why you’ll agree. I know you better than you know yourself. Of all the Blades, you believe you’re the best. As much as you search for anyone who can match you in combat, I doubt you’d give up the chance to learn from the person who defeated you. Especially if they said you could become better than them. I also doubt you’d refuse the one little thing that niggles you.”

“And that would be?”

“Finding out who … correction … w
hat
you are.”

Cold prickles eased down his spine. He almost opened his mouth to ask before he caught himself. “Even if any of what you say is true, the others would hunt us both down.”

She shrugged. “That’s nothing new to our people.”

Thar narrowed his eyes. Why did he get the sudden impression she was referring to him when she said ‘our people’? “Let’s say I agree and you win, why do you want me as a husband and to help me …” He let his voice trail off. If he’d finished the sentence, he would be admitting her superiority crossed his mind. Now,
that
, was fucking crazy.

“To continue our line, of course. You see, my dear Thartensen, unlike the other Blades, you’re of pure blood. If our race is ever to rise to take revenge on King Jemare, we need to make a child. We must have a few, in fact. You and I are among the few Pures left. The same way the king has trained so many of you to hunt your own, you and I will fashion the greatest weapons the Dracodar have ever seen to stop him. After all, with what’s coming across the Renigen Sea, we will need quite a few exceptional warriors.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Thar said. “Not only because the Dracodar are a myth, a people long dead, but because you’re too arrogant by half. Sitting here all pretty, prodding at my past, trying to convince me to betray the one thing in my life that has been good to me. This is going to be fun.” He dropped his hands into his cloak’s folds, the charges within his body growing from spurts into a complete flow that circulated with his blood. The skin under his skin hardened into a steel-like consistency.

Smiling, the Temptress leaned forward, an elbow on her left thigh, her chin resting on her left palm. “Denial will accomplish nothing. What you feel right now is but a small part of what you are.”

He was done with talk. She would pay for playing with his mind.

“You know they say a man’s strength is the measure of his soul.” With her right hand, Elysse beckoned to him. “Let’s see how deep yours is. Whenever you’re ready, husband.”