Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (14 page)

“You’re right as usual.” Stefan bowed apologetically. “I let the old days come creeping through when I heard their story.” He gave a strained chuckle. “I’ll see which mountain clans are fighting and inform the Council. You boys…”

The rest of his father’s words washed over Ancel in a disquieting wave. He answered Mirza’s raised brow with a bewildered expression of his own. Ancel mulled over the descriptions in his head; wolf-like beasts with green, glowing eyes, a smell like old, unwashed fur mixed with death. Coupled with his mother’s mention of the Vallum of Light it clicked like a key in a lock.

Wraithwolves?
No it couldn’t be. They couldn’t cross the Vallum of Light and its Bastions. Besides, in the books, shadelings often walked like men. What he and Mirza saw did not.
So what were they?
He turned to Mirza to see the same realization dawn on his friend’s face.

“Da,” Ancel broke in on whatever his father was saying. “Do you really think those were wraith—”

“I never said such a thing,” his father snapped, his voice hardening into steel. “And don’t you repeat that in front of anyone. Rumors are the last thing we need. Do.You.Understand?” He punctuated his words by pointing his finger from Ancel to Mirza.

Ancel recognized this as a time that he wouldn’t get around his father, and that the instructions weren’t negotiable. He nodded, seeing Mirza’s head bob slowly beside him.

“Answer me. Both of you. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Da.”

“Yes, Master Dorn.”

“Good. Now—”

A knock sounded on the door. Mother glided over and opened it.

Mensa, an elderly servant with a bent back, bowed to her before she ushered him into the room. He carried an iron skillet in one hand, liquid sloshing around its insides. In the other hand, he held a leather satchel.

Mother pointed to Ancel and Mirza. “Start with their boots and Charra’s paws. Then clean the floor.”

Mensa nodded and shuffled over to Ancel and Mirza as they bent to take off their boots. When they finished, Mensa reached into the satchel and removed two identical pairs of boots. He put one next to each of them and took theirs in return.

Ancel frowned but said nothing. He and Mirza slipped into their new footwear.

Charra growled when Mensa bent to take one of his paws.

“Stop it, boy,” Ancel murmured.

Charra quieted, but he stared at Mensa as the old man soaked a cloth with the clear liquid in the bucket and took his time cleaning each paw. When Mensa finished, Charra cooed. Mensa took the same cloth, got down on his knees, and wiped the trail they had left on the rugs and carpet. When he finished, he bowed and left.

Stefan looked over to Ancel and Mirza. “Now, off with you two. We have things to discuss. Mirza, I’ll be out soon to escort you home.”

“Thank you, Master Dorn,” Mirza said.

“I’ll go with him to the front,” Ancel said.

His mother nodded and they turned and left. With Charra padding behind them, they headed out into the foyer, leaving his parents to their talk.

“Do you think those animals could’ve been…I mean, with the cleaning…” Mirza peered around, anxiety radiating from him.

“I don’t know, but I’ll do as my father says, at least until he takes some men out to the glen.” Ancel did his best to hide his own doubts. “Da’s right. We shouldn’t talk about this.”

“And if it’s true?” Mirza whispered. “I mean, you know what they say about those things in the books, about who and what they hunt. We live in a town full of Matii. If they’re, you know…”

“All the shadelings in our world were destroyed during the War of Remnants. The only place shadelings can be created is in Hydae,” Ancel quoted with great conviction. “And Hydae is sealed away.” The statement brought him some semblance of calm.
All the books and reports couldn’t be wrong, could they?
“Whatever they were, the Council will handle it. None of it has anything to do with us, be it a feud or something else.” Ancel nodded to one of the servants as they walked through the foyer and out onto the porch.

From where they stood, Eldanhill’s lights shone a few miles below them in hazy waves of blue. Charra trotted across the porch and onto the stairs.

“Tomorrow at school, we’re going to act like none of this happened,” Ancel said. “Hopefully, it’s like my mother said. Just the mountain clans infighting again.”

“Hopefully,” Mirza repeated, his tone distant.

Ancel watched as servants and workers bustled about across the estate. Those returning from last minute efforts to finish harvesting kinai trudged along, while others whipped at mules or bulls pulling drays laden with the crop toward the brick buildings that housed the fermenting equipment and the wine press. He wished everything would remain as calm and serene as it appeared, but for some reason his mind told him otherwise. The thought of wraithwolves marauding through the woods and hunting down anyone who used Mater brought a chill to his bones. He drew his ripped cloak around him.

CHAPTER 10

Ryne took one more look out to the Mariel’s campfire before he decided to head home. He’d spent the last couple hours waiting outside Hagan’s Inn while the elders met. They still had not come to a decision. When Sakari joined him, Ryne said a quick goodnight to the guards . Together, they made their way past row upon row of mostly dark homes toward Carnas’ western outskirts.

The reek from clogged drains made Ryne eye the cloudless skies. Two weeks between thunderstorms was a rare event. If the weather continued, they would be forced to remove the levies from the tributary of the Fretian River that flowed close by. The still air felt as if a great creature inhaled and now held its breath. His skin prickled with the thought of that breath’s release.

Ryne’s mind was still on the weather when they arrived at his over-sized house, lamplight pooling from several windows. Wispy smoke swirled from the brick chimney, and spicy food smells filtered from within. Before he could reach the wide front door, it opened, and light flooded the road.

Vera’s buxom silhouette stood in the doorway. “We hoped you would be back in time to eat.”

“And we hoped we would get to dance for you tonight,” said Vana from somewhere in the room.

Ryne grinned as he stepped inside and embraced both women at the same time, one in each arm. “I thought you two would be going back to Hagan’s?”

“Master Hagan knows better than to ask us to work late with you out and about,” Vana said. “We overheard you say you had a summons to attend to.” She flicked her long dark tresses to one side.

Vera chimed in, “Who else would feed you before you left?” She tossed her head the opposite way from her sister, her hair falling past her shoulders.

Leaning into his hug, their heads barely reached his abdomen. They still looked as beautiful as the night he saved them from a slaver’s brutal whips. Maybe tonight he wouldn’t act shy when their bodies, which still bore the scars from their abuse, swayed as they danced the Temtesa for him. Ryne still couldn’t decide what to do about their affections, or which to choose, or even if he should. ‘A nice dilemma to have,’ Hagan often said.

While the sisters fussed over Ryne, Sakari disappeared down a lamp-lit hall toward one of the two rooms in the rear. Ryne couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. He’d tried many times, but Sakari insisted on keeping to himself..

Finished with their playful banter, the sisters vanished in the direction of kitchen. Ryne shed his boots in a corner near the front door, strode across the large room, and eased himself into a chair at the dining table with a heavy sigh. It felt good to be home.

After a moment, he stood and strolled over to one of the many bookshelves lining one wall opposite the kitchen door. Close to the shelves, a huge padded chair sat below a window looking out onto the plains and the Nevermore Heights outlined to the north. The hidden slopes brought anticipation trembling through his body and made him glance at his books. He’d received several there.

Most of the books on the shelves were detailed studies and theory on Mater from great professors of the topic like Shin Henden and Exalted Calestis. He remembered when he used to doubt whether the elements existed in everything. Other books dealt with military strategy and instruction on the Disciplines of Soldiering. Those included fighting styles, relaying stories of warriors who could summon massive Constructs to do battle for them or lose themselves, battle-bonded within the clarity of the Shunyata, undefeatable. Some contained myths and legends of peoples and creatures long lost—the Eztezians, the Erastonians, the Chroniclers, the netherlings and many more. But within every myth there was some semblance of truth to be found. Others gave detailed recounts of Denestia’s split into Ostania to the east and Granadia to the west. He always believed if you had to read, then make certain you gained practical knowledge.

Ryne took off his sword and leaned the white scabbard with its gold rune embossing next to the bookshelf. A series of white glyphs were etched into the guard and long golden hilt. He straightened to see Vera bring him a plate piled with venison stew. The peppery smell from the meat and the scent from the baked bread in her other hand made his stomach grumble.

“You know you can’t eat with those on, right?” Vera pointed to his leather armor. “Well, not that you can’t eat,” she corrected herself, “But we won’t serve you until you remove it and show us you didn’t get hurt earlier today.”

“Sometimes I forget myself, Miss Vera.” Her raised brow at his lie brought a smile to his lips.

The two-piece armor always felt loose at first, but once he pulled them on, they melded to his body, as if tailored just for him. If he didn’t know the power of the Scripts drawn on each piece, he would wonder how such flimsy looking, fitted armor could protect a man. The leather itself was harder than any metal he knew and more pliant than the finest cloth weaves. The multicolored Scripts were an exact replica of those covering his body up to his chin.

Vera’s green eyes studied him the entire time as he peeled the armor off. Her gaze didn’t drift even when she placed the plate on the table. Her sister soon joined her, carrying a pitcher of sweet kinai juice and a glass. They giggled as he laid his armor over his chair.

He stood before them in tight undergarments made from fine cotton, crafted so they wouldn’t hamper his ability to put on his armor. Giving them both a ghost of a smile, he said, “Well, you ladies had your fun, and have done your inspection. You see I’m not hurt. May I eat now?”

“Yes, you may, my Lord,” they both answered.

He strode to the table, sat, and dug in with zest.

Hours later, after another night with little sleep, a long, whistling wail penetrated Ryne’s skull—the summons he anticipated.

The calling was more a feeling than a sound. Ryne’s head resonated with it like one of his many headaches. He fought off the familiar dizziness swirling through his mind as the euphoria from the kinai juice he drank earlier battled the whirling sensation. After a few moments, the lightheadedness dwindled. With the dwindling came an irresistible pull like a maggot to a corpse.

He stared off through his window toward the cloud-shrouded Nevermore Heights. The summons pulled him there. He knew the place well.

Smirking, Ryne put down the ancient leather-bound tome he’d been reading. The title leered at him—
The Principles and Tenets of Mater by Exalted Thanairen.
After twenty years reading the book, every single word within it remained etched in his mind. One part came to mind as he took in the gloomy light of dawn peeking through the clouds.
Dawn and dusk—The Spellforge hours—the times when light and shade were the most balanced—a period for great power.

Ryne stood and the two young women at his feet stirred. Vana and Vera had swayed and gyrated in the Temtesa until they grew tired. Then they sat and listened to him read from the book until they fell asleep. He waited a few minutes to make sure they were sound asleep once more. Satisfied with their slumber, he gathered his armor and his sword and slipped from the room.

In the adjoining room, Ryne donned his armor. Tightening the laces, he savored the feel of the leather molding itself to his flesh until the Scripts on the armor and those on his body became seamless. He tossed the strap for his scabbard over his head and his greatsword came to rest at his waist, the pommel slanted across his stomach.