Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (56 page)

Shin Galiana’s dartan mewled behind the lines of its fellow cavalry. Ahead of them, row upon row of armor clad novices and trainees interspersed by spear and sword wielding Dagodin formed. She wished she had all Matii for the task at hand, but such wishes were miracles the gods granted. In her time, she’d seen too little of miracles. Barely enough for her to keep her faith.

At least the supplies they’d collected for years would finally be put to good use. Not at the original time as they’d planned, but that made no difference right now. Plans of men were inconsequential things and made to be changed. Resplendent in new green cloth, painted leather, shiny chainmail or glittering steel, a full legion of Dagodin stood ready. In contrast, the retired soldiers, novices, and trainees had to resort to whatever armor they could muster or what could be hastily crafted. One cohort still wore the crimson of Granadia’s Tribunal.

A white battle standard depicting a forest split down the middle by a great quake flew high in the air—the colors and insignia of the Setian. A long time since she’d seen such. A somber smile touched her lips. Despite her regret at days long gone, she still found herself riding with her back a little straighter, and her chest out. The standard was a pronouncement of independence, of a return of an old kingdom, of a reclamation.

Stefan had insisted on the display. Why, she wasn’t certain. He’d assured her it was worth the risk if Eldanhill and their people was to survive the siege and the uprising of the other Granadian kingdoms. Eagles had been dispatched to the other Mysteras to make them aware and begin their exodus before any repercussions or suspicions took place. She’d also sent word to Jerem so he could activate and dispatch the Sleepers within their network to begin their whispers while relaying tidbits of proof that would point to the Tribunal’s many atrocities over these long years. Whether the Setian were ready or not, war had once again come and no way existed to avoid it.
When warranted, strike hard with subversion, fire, and steel and let those in your way tremble at your bold stroke.

Again, she wished the time could’ve been more ideal for this revelation. Indeed, many in Eldanhill had been in shock. But after seeing the few who’d surrendered to the encroaching Sendethi forces have their heads removed and hung on tall pikes, they’d understood their plight. Fight or die.

The Tribunal would be none too pleased by Eldanhill’s proclamation or King Emory’s actions, but faced with rebellion from so many other fronts in Granadia they’d have to consider who to take on first. Their reaction may well be one of immediate retribution. Of course, there was the chance the Granadian kingdoms banded together to crush their old enemy the Setian. Another risk the Tribunal couldn’t afford, and yet they couldn’t be seen to openly support the revival of the Setian. Ah, well, one worry at a time.

The problem at hand lay several thousand feet on the other side of the makeshift palisade where thousands upon thousands of Sendethi soldiers gathered. Twice the battle standards as before flew high, buffeted by the strong wind. Flying not far from those were a few Barsonian banners. More than she’d expected. This was to be the first statement in overthrowing the Tribunal’s iron grip, it seemed. Eldanhill was to be the example. Her lips curled in a cruel smile at that last.

She eyed the sky above once more. Of all times, this Sendethi army had chosen the Spellforge hour to attack. They were playing into the strength of the Matii. Whoever led this army hadn’t done their research. The strategy may be sound against a normal army, but not Eldanhill’s. Could Giomar really be this stupid? Her forehead creased with lines. No. The man didn’t appear the type. After all, he’d already outmaneuvered her once.

Emerald eyes shining from within his silver helmet, icy flecks dotting his beard, Stefan brought his dartan closer. “Something isn’t quite right, Galiana.”

“Yes. That’s what I was beginning to think.”

Stefan signaled for Guthrie, Devan, Jillian, Rohan and Edwin to join them. All now appointed as Generals, they rode over and formed a small circle, misty breaths of men and mounts rising in the air, leather and armor creaking. The musky smell of dartans filled the area.

“Why would you choose to fight Matii at the Spellforge hour?” Stefan scanned the Sendethi forces.

Jillian cocked her head in that odd way of hers, the beak upon her leather helmet making her appear as aquiline as one of her pet eagles. “Maybe they have Matii of their own?”

Edwin snorted. “Where would the Sendethi acquire Matii? The Pathfinders have weeded out every single one who’s come into their power.”

“That may be true,” Guthrie stated, his paunch making him appear to lean unsteadily in the saddle. “But the question still begs to be asked. And the answer Jillian gave seems the most plausible one.”

“I say we take no chances,” Devan said, his hulking form matching his gruff voice. He rode the biggest dartan of the bunch, an animal that dwarfed the others. “Act as if they do have Matii. Prepare our Ashishin to counter rather than attack.”

Galiana nodded. “I agree. If they’d smuggled in Namazzi or Alzari we would have known. And well, the Sevnzar fight for no one but themselves.” Her cloak flapped in the breeze, and she pulled it tighter around her. “But I see the Golden Tide banners of Barson among the Sendethi forces. The Pathfinders have never penetrated their borders. I do not think now is the time to act without caution.”

“Well,” Guthrie said, “They have our ten thousand outnumbered by three to one. If our original plan can’t work, what now?”

“We split forces,” Stefan said. “Make them move their army.”

Edwin’s brow rose. “How do we do that? And why we would we split when our strength lies in our numbers.”

Stefan smiled, all teeth. “
Their
strength is in their numbers. Ours isn’t. Our strength is maneuverability, our Ashishin, Dagodin and what
divya
we’ve mustered. Our mounted divisions are groomed for speed. Their heavily armored horses are no match. Today will prove their downfall. Horse against dartan. There’s no contest.”

Everyone nodded their agreement. Galiana could see part of the plan clearly now. But where would they leave Eldanhill vulnerable?

As if seeing the question written on her face, Stefan answered. “We keep several Ashishin here. Fire the tar and oil pits. Let the battlefield burn even before they charge. Why wait? Have the Ashishin maintain the blaze. There’s no way those horses will charge through fire like dartans would. Their infantry certainly won’t. We have the river’s protection on one side of Eldanhill. Put a small force there led by Jillian in case they decide to use the river. Her eagles can keep her abreast of anything they see across the Kelvore.

“The remainder of our forces we take west to face the Greenleaf Forest. They’ll have to change positions. As they do, we spring the traps we set in the fields to that side. If they have Matii, they’ll be forced to respond then. When they do, we strike. Our Ashishin will counter their Matii as our archers pick their infantry and cavalry apart from atop the dartans. Then it will come down to infantry versus infantry. Our Dagodin versus their regiments.” Stefan drew a line across his throat with his thumb.

Galiana almost grinned. As she’d thought, even after fifty years without his active involvement in a war, Stefan hadn’t lost a step. The best General to serve under Nerian the Shadowbearer was proving his worth. The best Knight Commander ever to don the Tribunal crimson was now in his own element.

With the decision made, they ended their meeting and joined their individual cohorts. Nervous mutters abounded as new instructions were given. Galiana passed the word to the green and white clad Ashishin spread to her left and right. Once, they’d all been warriors, trained for worse battles than this, until they took on the task to be Teachers. Now, they were being drawn into what they loved the most, what their power often cried for. She nodded at the stern faces all around.

“Archers! Light!” Guthrie’s voice boomed, silencing the shift of cold feet, the clink of armor, and the restless murmurs of men and women.

All across the lines, archers dipped arrowheads into fires. The ones who needed to move did so quickly and efficiently, rejoining their rank with practiced smoothness.

Galiana opened her Matersense. All around her, she felt Ashishin do the same. They seized essences of fire from the Streams and essences of air from the Flows. The orange flames at the tip of the arrows bloomed into phosphorescent spheres, sealed off and fed by air. Shadows fled before the luminescence.

“Archers! Ready!”

Longbows arched into the air as bowstrings drew taut. The creak of wood stretching whispered along the archer lines. Flames illuminated faces strained in concentration.

“Loose!”

The twang of several thousand bows reverberated through the air. Burning arrows streaked high, illuminating the heavens with its multitude of thunderclouds boiling in a dark stew. The shafts sailed over oil-filled moats, the chasm of palisades and spiked barriers between Eldanhill and the Sendethi army and down.

Galiana focused on the army, picking out movement among the cavalry. She squinted and brought her looking glass to her eye.

Hooded men stepped forward from around the Golden Tide banners. Hands raised in the air, they moved up in front the Sendethi horse.

“Ashishin!” Galiana yelled. “Shield those arrows. Now!”

A nimbus glowed around the men and women as they quickly linked for the undertaking. A dome rose up in the air above the arrows.

Thunderless lightning cracked across the sky. The bloated clouds tore open, and icy rain fell in a silvery sheet. At the same time, the wind picked up into swirling eddies, buffeting cloaks and spilling hair about the faces of those who went helmetless.

Just as sudden as it began, the storm cut off as the barrier closed above Eldanhill’s forces. The tempest, Forged by the Barsonian Matii, battered against the shield created by the Ashishin. Lightning lanced across its surface, and water flowed off, revealing the shape of the immense oval dome in streaming rivulets.

The shield held. Galiana smirked.

The fire arrows landed with a whoosh.

Flames roared up where the arrows struck oil and tar, racing across the ground in every direction until a curtain of fire, a few thousand feet thick, separated southern Eldanhill from the Sendethi forces. Heat shimmered and swelled to devour the cold that dominated only moments ago. The essences worked into the blaze gobbled up the Mater in the air, and an inferno bloomed, white-hot and eerily quiet. Eldanhill’s army cheered.

Guthrie and the others wasted no time. Orders barked out in quick succession, and their cohorts split.

“Ashishin Berg, Maurer, Jung, and Finkel,” Galiana yelled, voice carrying over the march of the departing soldiers. “Choose five more to feed the fire and maintain the barrier.” She waited as they complied. When they were ready, she nodded her approval of their choices. “The rest of you with me.” She shook her reins and headed toward Eldanhill’s west side.

As she moved, she heard someone yelling and pointing.
Why was the town lit up to the west?
A sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

Screams echoed from the same direction. Above those cries came frantic orders. Those on mounts gathered in formation and charged. The infantry quickened their march toward what Galiana knew now to be flames. Eldanhill’s western flank was under attack.

Slapping her reins harder, she broke into a gallop. Rain and biting wind lashed her as she left the protection of the shield. Coupled with the icy water and howling gale, the fear crawling through her stomach chilled her to the bone. She huddled in her saddle, cloak streaming behind her as her dartan dashed headlong along the slick road. Behind her, the remaining Ashishin followed toward the new threat.

Lightning continued to flicker angrily across the sky, but this time thunder bellowed its response. Galiana ignored the tempest, knowing the Barsonian Matii couldn’t be controlling this portion of the storm. Unless they were stronger than she thought. But the elements within the weather brewing above them now was natural and not a Forging. The change was subtle, like the difference between the smoothness of wet clay and grainy texture of mud, but it was there.

She turned off the Eldan Road onto Market Row and kept pushing west. Small houses along tight alleys huddled against the streets in this section of Eldanhill. Sewage and debris spilled onto the lanes from swollen drains, clouding the air with their stench. Along with the icy sheets the freezing rain had created, this made the going much more treacherous. The occasional gust that found its way down the alleys whipped anything not heavy enough into the air.

The trip all seemed to be taking too long. Ahead, the glow from the fires increased. The cacophony of battle rose on the wind—steel clashing against steel, screams of terror, groans of the wounded, and the ripped cries and gurgles of the dying.

Above those sounds rose something terrible.

Inhuman wails, howls and shrieks that scraped along Galiana’s skin. Despite the cold and the rain, sweat beaded her forehead. She knew those sounds. Hundreds of years spent from one battle to another had etched them into her mind, into her core. They were a part of her as surely as her thoughts.

Shadelings.

She burst from an alley out onto the main avenue of the sparsely housed western outskirts of Eldanhill. And into a scene from a nightmare.

Dead bodies littered the cobbles. Blood colored the water runoff, painted the street red, and pooled in any dip or crack, its cloying scent hanging in the air, adding to the stench of shadelings.

Highlighted against the backdrop of burning homes, wraithwolves and darkwraiths fought soldiers and civilians alike. Black blades or claws and fangs ripped into the unprepared and untrained civilians with ease. Desperate townsfolk preferred to run into the blazes of their homes, creating their own funeral pyres, rather than die to the shadelings.

Dagodin fought in small groups to stave off the attackers, boots splashing through bloody pools. Advancing among the shadelings were Sendethi soldiers, mounted and on foot, laying about them with shields and swords. With every kill, the wraithwolves put their cavernous maws to the storming sky and howled.