Embers of a Broken Throne (10 page)

C
hapter 13

R
yne held out a hand to stop Ancel even as the young man gathered the essences and Shimmered. Ancel reappeared in the open space between Stefan and the soldiers streaming from the portal.

A luminous haze formed around Ancel’s fist. The effect expanded, the Etchings along his arm lighting up like glowing embers. He swept his fist out before him. Ice and snow melted with a hiss, throwing out a cover of steamy mist. Humanoid shapes appeared around him. First a dozen, two dozen, and then three times that number. They kept flickering into existence until an army in white and gold, each soldier the twin of his counterpart, stood at Ancel’s back in a long, single formation. Each man bore a shining spear and armor covered in runes and glyphs.

Ryne gasped. He had heard the Dagodins boast of Ancel’s constructs after the battle against the vasumbral, but this was not what he expected. He’d seen these warriors before, along the streets of the Entosis’ great mountain city, Antonjur, the old home of the gods, a place reached only by travelling between realms. Had becoming the guardian for light’s Tenet allowed Ancel to call forth the Toscali?

Knowing Ancel’s recent habit of not waiting to strike, particularly since the slew of attacks, Ryne Shimmered down to him. He placed a hand on his ward’s shoulder.

“Wait.” Ryne felt Ancel’s body strain under his fingers. “This isn’t the enemy. They’re friends.” The young man’s arm didn’t relax.

The soldiers continued to pour forth, quickly spreading into formations outside the mist Ancel had created. Under thick overcoats they wore hard leather, dyed green. Full helmets hid their faces. Spiked bracers stood out along their arms and fists. Armed with short, double-edged axes, they were pictures of silent discipline.

The last group to come through bore long-hafted scythes. There were a dozen of them, and they remained in front the opening. A lone man followed, garbed the same as the others before him, except he had no helmet.

Garon’s golden aura was unmistakable. So was his long, dark braid, tossed over his shoulder and hanging almost to his waist.

“They are what you came to find, Ancel. These are the Setian remnants,” Ryne said. “Your people.”

“Are they now?” Stefan strode up beside them, boots crunching through snow.

“It’s true,” Irmina said as she joined them. “The one standing at the portal is Garon, Edsel Stonewilled’s son.”

“Ah.” Stefan squinted. “Now that you mention it, he does resemble Kasimir.”

Under his fingers Ryne finally felt the tightness ease from Ancel’s shoulders. The Toscali warrior constructs disappeared one by one, but the mist remained.

“Considering who’s with us I would say it’s best if I approach Garon first.” Ryne removed his hand from Ancel’s shoulder and turned to Stefan. “With your permission, of course.” He looked past the elder Dorn to Leukisa and Ordelia. Quintess and several High Ashishins had joined them. They spoke to each other quietly while their attention remained on the Setian. None of the auras around them spoke of a threat.

After a moment’s contemplation, Stefan nodded. “Speak with him and then we will plan accordingly.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ancel said.

“So am I—” Irmina began.

“You certainly are not.” Ryne faced Irmina. “They know who you once represented, and although I had you under my protection last time, there’s no telling how Garon may react without his father present.” He made to say the same to Ancel, but the young man was already striding across the snow-covered space. Blowing out a resigned breath, Ryne followed.

When he caught up to Ancel, he said, “Allow me to do the talking.”

Ancel nodded once.

“By the way,” Ryne said, “how long now have you been calling forth the Toscali?”

“A few months. I use them to practice. Who were they?”

“The twin to the Ashishins, serving light and order, legendary in their fighting prowess. They disappeared even before the gods fell. My ancestors thought they still lived and hoped to lure them out of hiding with the Iluminus’ creation. But the Toscali never reappeared. A good thing, too. Too many religious and philosophical differences doomed the Tribunal’s efforts to ally all the races.”

“And the armor they wear; it’s like yours.” This time Ancel glanced over. “I can see how the Etchings imbued into it completes that extra protective aura that keeps out every outside influence except Mater. How can I get my own?”

Ryne understood Ancel’s need. With the way his life had changed, the young man had to seek every advantage. “I wish I knew for certain. Years of searching have proven fruitless. The last clue I had led to the Desorin in the Broken Lands.”

“Did you ever seek them out?”

“I tried but found no proof in the first cities. When I attempted to venture deeper into their land, I was warned off by their Matii.”

“And you gave in?”

“Better that than to have sparked a war with the Eztezian who calls the place his home,” Ryne said.

“So how did you happen upon yours?”

“It was provided by Sakari, my old netherling guard. He’s dead and gone now, and never revealed where or how he obtained it. Not even the greatest Imbuers I know can replicate the feat.” Ryne missed his guardian a great deal. They’d become more than master and protector over the years. Thinking of Sakari made some of his other fears surface anew. Foremost among them was what the netherling meant when he said the Skadwaz had stolen minor essences from Eztezians. Siphoning Mater was nothing new, but Sakari’s warning meant something greater, as Kahkon’s ability to wrest control of the Great Divide from Ryne had proven.

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” Ancel said, breaking the momentary silence. “From his aura, I see Garon is strong. And their fighters seem to be at least on par with the Tribunal’s Dagodins. What of the Forgers they possess.”

“I told you, as direct descendants of the original Alzari, the Setian were among the strongest Matii, primarily wielding the Forms.”

Ancel frowned. “None of them mastered the Streams like me?”

“That came later, once they ceded to the Tribunal. Before that, they were Formist, worshipping Humelen, Liganen, or Kinzanen.”

“If they were so strong, why give in to the Tribunal?”

“Long before the Shadowbearer, there was the Luminance War,” Ryne said. “Some call it the War of Radiance. It was one of Amuni’s Children’s first major attacks on Denestia. It began when a group of them managed to free some shadelings from their prisons in the Great Divide. The beasts swept across Ostania, many of them far stronger than the ones you have encountered so far. The Setian were able to hold fast, using the very mountains and forests as protection. Thwarted for the moment, Amuni’s Children diverted their attack to Felan. They used the Travelshafts to get a few shadelings across the Vallum of Light. Desperate, and thinking the shade had done what was said to be impossible by breaching the Vallum, the Felani signed a treaty with the Tribunal, pledging their loyalty in exchange for assistance. Shins and High Shins swept through the Felani cities , destroying the shade incursion. Then they took to the Vallum. But not once did they leave its protection.

“The Setian now found themselves surrounded by the shade and Amuni’s Children. Their generals, your father included, had seen the way the Ashishin would cut down Amuni’s followers in the name of Ilumni’s light. It proved to be the path to victory at that time. They too joined the Tribunal’s cause.” He recalled another version of himself fighting in those battles. His victories gained him the Setian throne.
All a ploy.

“And they’ve now returned to their old ways?”

“From what I saw when I was among them, some have. Others are free to worship who they wish.”

“Except for Amuni.”

“Except for him, yes.”

“Hmmm. I think our people should do the same,” Ancel said.

“What do you mean?”

“Freedom of choice. I’ve given thought to what you’ve said about balance. I think it applies to our religious beliefs too. Even if it means some people will worship Amuni,” Ancel said. “Irmina claimed the Tribunal does the same in secret. Outside of the Nine’s influence, it seems to have worked to keep unity.”

Ryne pursed his lips. “I would be careful as to whom I voiced that last sentiment, but in ways, I agree. As Materwarden for the shade, I’m somewhat proof of your idea, but considering the damage the shade has done to the world, you would find yourself at war with almost everyone.”

“Materwarden?”

“It’s what we called those who had full guardianship of a Tenet, who could summon a Battleguard.”

“So how do we work to change the way people see things? Influence minds across the land like the Nine did with the Iluminus, its Tribunal, and the Devout?”

“They had millennia to accomplish that, Ancel.” Ryne wanted to add that he doubted such time was left, but he reconsidered.

“I know.”

Despite the obvious, near impossible scope of Ancel’s suggestion, his face spoke of determination. Ryne took it as a good sign even if he felt his ward’s pursuits were not only lofty, but also likely to create more turmoil.

“I guess we might have lost if we attacked.” Ancel gestured with his head toward the cliffs behind the gathered Setian.

Small caves pockmarked the walls. Within them Ryne made out the auras of men and women. Each one of them was a Forger at least as strong as a High Shin. They numbered in the hundreds. Ryne smiled. Jerem and Jenoah Amelie had produced an impressive collection of Matii.

“Remember,” Ryne said as they drew closer, “allow me to speak, and do not show any hostility.”

Garon hadn’t moved. The Dagodins that Ryne guessed must be his personal guard shifted a few feet to create a path.

Together, they strode between the guards. Garon kept his focus on Ancel, and so did the majority of the others. At times like these, Ryne missed Sakari. With his power to appear as a trustworthy native he had been worth his weight in coin. After a few tense moments, an expression of either acceptance or dismissal crossed Garon’s face.

“So, Ryne the Lightbringer. I’m glad to have you among us again.” Garon bowed.

Ryne stopped a few feet from the man and gave him a curt nod. Ancel repeated the gesture.

Angular jaw firm, Garon studied Ancel with golden eyes that caught the sun’s reflection. He flicked his intricate black braid over his shoulder before seemingly dismissing the young Dorn. “We thought you might have perished or somehow fallen to the mercenaries said to be roaming through Granadia to capture renegade Matii.”

“Chaos sows itself in Granadia for the moment,” Ryne said, “partially due to us, but it couldn’t be helped.”

Garon nodded. “As always, our people owe much to you.”

“I’m glad I could be of service to old friends.”

“Friends, indeed.” Garon gazed past them. “But one must wonder why a friend approaches with an army rife with enemies.”

“Enemies no longer.”

“Oh?”

“They fight for your cause,” Ryne said. “And the majority of them are your own people, led by a man your father holds in the highest esteem. Stefan Dorn.”

“
The
Stefan Dorn?” Garon’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“Yes. This is his son, Ancel.”

“Pleased to meet you, Garon,” Ancel said.

“Likewise.” Garon dipped his head to Ancel, a new respect in his expression, and then turned to Ryne. “We collected quite a few refugees from the other Mysteras before the Tribunal’s forces stopped us. We—Never mind. Why didn’t Lord Dorn accompany you?”

“He’s not quite himself as yet,” Ryne said. “He was held prisoner by the Tribunal.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.” Genuine sadness crossed Garon’s face.

The last time they met, Ryne retold the torture he suffered at the hands of the Tribunal’s Matii. He was certain the tale was running through Garon’s mind.

“Well,” Garon said, “if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like for you two and Lord Dorn to accompany me to my father. He’d be pleased to see his old commander. After all, we have survived because of Stefan’s foresight. Our people will see to the rest of yours. However, be warned, we will keep the former Ashishin under guard until my father says different.”

“Sounds fair,” Ryne said. “If you will excuse us?”

Garon nodded.

As they made their way back to Stefan and the others, Ryne asked, “So, what do you think?”

The corner of Ancel’s mouth creased with the hint of a smile. “For the first time in a long time I don’t feel as if I’m walking on a razor’s edge.”

C
hapter 14

A
ncel followed his father and their contingent through the portal and into Benez. He stopped and stared. Books and stories told of the marvels men could achieve with Mater. He’d experienced a few himself when he called on its power. The Iluminus with its towers disappearing into the sky and its interior that prevented any shadow from forming was one such. When he visited Harval, he’d seen firelamps—glass imbued with the essence of heat providing light but without visible flames. During the height of its existence Benez must have been a spectacle to behold.

Level upon terraced level stretched down from where he stood. The city had been built upon the southern face of the Cogal Drin’s steep incline, all from stone, metal, and wood strengthened through imbuement. Although anything solid was already of the Forms, he could tell that Prima Materium itself had been used in Benez’s construction. The pure individual essences glowed from almost every surface. He wondered if anyone but himself and Ryne could see this version of the citadel.

Sunset bled across the structures, the hues spearing the tops of a forest that stretched as far as his eyes could see at the city’s base. Vast walls, at least two hundred feet tall by his estimate, choked with creepers and vines, gray and ancient, but somehow still standing, ringed Benez. The city could have swallowed Eldanhill, Randane, and Torandil together several times over.

As much as the sight was a splendor to behold, the ruins below him were the opposite. They were crumbling caricatures of themselves, their skeletons exposed, jutting into the sky as if begging Ilumni for relief. Most were blackened from whatever fire had razed the city. Lichen, brush, and small trees poked through windows and doorways and from any exposed earth, worming their way between cobbles and flagstones. The massive gates were broken, one of them leaning to one side as if some giant fist had slammed it open. Vines crept across the structures and choked the crumbling walls of a vast amphitheater.

Beyond the city loomed trees as tall or taller than Benez’s bulwark, giants clothed in dark green, black, and shadow, invaders marching on the city to capture it as they had the land for miles in almost every direction. Ancel had heard a few of the Ostanians they picked up along the way whisper of the Netherwood. They claimed it was unnatural, a place no man in his right mind would step foot, home to twisted beasts.

“Nothing like it once was,” Ryne said from beside him, tone heavy with regret.

Ancel turned to gaze up the wide, flagstoned avenue. Several such roads shot off into the city, disappearing around dark corners. The shadows lurking among the buildings made him feel as if someone or something watched him. Above him, the structures were of a much richer construction, palaces and villas with great pillars and gardens grown into miniature forests. Spires stretched up into the sky and mist that boiled along the Cogal Drin’s shoulders.

Massive statues in front of a group of four temples drew his attention. Of the four, only one appeared to have suffered the wrath of whatever power or battle had destroyed Benez. He recognized three of the statues. Humelen, in the form of a mountain his head the peak and his shoulders its slopes; Kinzanen, a gigantic tree, branches sprouting from his body; Ilumni, a warrior dressed in silver armor now tarnished by the city’s decline. The last statue, carved from obsidian, was also a warrior, but lacked a head and arms.

“Who’s the broken one?” Ancel pointed.

“Amuni.”

“They built a temple to the shade?”

“During his rise as the Shadowbearer, Nerian had a temple to his patron god erected. Some called it blasphemy, but he argued as you did: that if the Iluminus paid homage to Amuni in secret, why should he not be able to do the same openly.”

Ancel took one last look at the effigy. Perhaps he needed to give his idea more thought. The last thing he wanted was to be compared to the Shadowbearer in any fashion. He loathed the thought.

Farther up, past the temples, an enormous stronghold spread its walls out like vast stone arms to embrace the city. Its towers vanished into the dizzying heights. The castle itself had been carved from the mountain’s bedrock.

For the first time, he noticed the people. Each one was armed. Even the children. The adults wore armor similar to the soldiers he met moments ago. They eyed him and the others, suspicion plain on their faces. More than a few edged their hands closer to their weapons. They congregated or strode among the homes and buildings closest to the palace, many of the edifices showing signs of new repairs. Between the inhabited structures were tents and other temporary construction. More than one overgrown garden housed a variety of farm animals, the odor of their droppings soiling the air.

As he overcame his initial awe, Ancel noted the clang of smithies at work, the murmur of voices, the calls of animals, and the more ordered noises of soldiers at practice with some Drillmaster shouting commands. Fires were springing up along various streets to herald the onset of night.

“Well, not what I expected,” Mirza said, “but still impressive.”

“That’s being a bit modest,” Ancel said.

Ahead of them, the rest of their party was walking toward the castle in the company of Garon’s scythe-wielding guards. Two of them had stayed back.

“Come,” Ryne said as he made to follow, “it might be frowned upon if we were left behind.”

Ancel took in the hostile expressions and unfriendly eyes around him and wondered whether the two guards were there to defend against him or to protect him from the Setian. He guessed at the former.

“Makes me glad Charra decided to stay on the other side of the portal,” Mirza said.

Ancel nodded. He’d found Charra’s reaction to entering the city strange, but the daggerpaw had never failed in protecting him. Whatever reason Charra had for remaining behind had to be a good one.

“So what do you think?” he asked Mirza as they made their way to the castle gate and portcullis.

“Of what?”

“The army. My father and Ryne have been teaching you the ways of command and soldiering. What do you make of all this?” He gestured around them.

“Unless we get help from elsewhere, this will be one short revival,” Mirza said dryly.

“What if I told you that of the several thousand here, at least half of them can Forge?” Ancel sensed the essences as well as picked out the telltale auras around the city’s inhabitants, many powerful enough to challenge the High Shins.

“It might change my outlook somewhat,” Mirza said, “but I saw what we faced in Randane, what Mensa had become. And there was that thing, that netherling at the Iluminus. It killed Galiana, and there’s supposed to be eight more of them at least as strong. Not to mention whatever else they call up from the Nether. Should I bother to mention the armies of Amuni’s Children, shadelings, vasumbrals, and only the gods know how many other kingdoms that will seek our heads? No?” He shook his head. “I don’t see how we defeat them all. We could win a battle here or there before they band together, but once that happens, we’re done.”

“If what Ryne says holds true, we won’t need to worry about the netherling from the Iluminus right away.” He didn’t want to tell Mirza a chance existed that the others were already in Denestia, possibly in Ostania.
One problem at a time. Patience wins wars.
“Also, Amuni’s Children and the shadelings, at least those shut out from Ostania by what Ryne did with Vallum of Light, are preoccupied with the Svenzar forces. The small incursions we had to deal with say as much. Most likely they invaded other kingdoms also, which buys us time.”

“And the vasumbrals?”

“We know Dagodins can defeat them. What we need is time to train ours.”

“I’ll give you that, but we might not have the time. These other kingdoms are certain to blame this new shadeling infestation on the Setian reappearance,” Mirza said.

“True.” That bit concerned Ancel. “I hope High Shin Jerem has convinced this queen of our good intentions. That could be one more ally to go along with the Svenzar.” Ancel recalled the way the gigantic stone creatures had fought at Randane. One of them was worth an entire Dagodin cohort.

“Don’t forget the Tribunal’s armies already massed at the Vallum, possibly imprisoning what reinforcements we might have expected from the other Mysteras,” Mirza said. “Undoubtedly, their commanders have already gained information from those refugees. If I were them I wouldn’t be waiting for us to … strengthen our forces.”

“You sure know how to make a man feel as if there’s a chance,” Ancel said, pushing down his annoyance at the negativity.

“I’m simply being a realist,” Mirza said. “Look, there’s no denying the strength of you and Ryne. You defeated Mensa and burned down a whole city and got a lot of our people to safety. He helped defeat the shadelings during the War of Remnants and did the same at Castere. We saw what he did at Eldanhill. Someone could argue that the Eztezians like you two once banished the gods to the Nether. But there were thousands of you at the time if the books tell it true. Now, there are what? Five? Six? Two of whom might be mad or might see us as the enemy.” Mirza tapped his skull. “Ryne himself isn’t all there. I see that vacant look in his eyes at times. If we’re to survive, we need help. Lots of it.”

Ancel chuckled. “See, this is why I need you. You aren’t afraid to tell the truth, no matter how bleak it might be. Tell me, what do you think of my father’s plan?”

Mirza walked on for a while, stroking his red beard. “To tell the truth, it’s a good one. Striking first to bring the Astocans or Banai under Setian banners seems the best choice. Surprise is our friend for now.”

“When surrounded by enemies, choose a path no one expects,” Ancel quoted from
the Disciplines
.

Mirza grinned. “Stefan’s plan is bold, that’s for sure. As daring as anything they taught me.” His expression became somber. “What worries me is if your father is sane enough to achieve it.”

“It worries me too.” Ancel grew somber with the thought.

A way existed to get his father out of his current depression, a way to make those who now doubted him to see his mind was as quick as ever. If only he could discover it. His mother would’ve been able to do so easily. He reached under his coat and squeezed the pendant. The slight throb from her presence vibrated in his palm. North. It kept trying to draw him there. He did everything in his power to resist. If not for the twin pull from his father’s charm he might have left already.

“Did you do as I asked?” Mirza’s voice became tentative. “Inquire about my mother? She’s supposed to be here … somewhere.” He gazed at the tents and rebuilt houses.

“Cantor said most of the people the Pathfinders took from Granadia stuck together,” Ancel said. “He’ll take us to them.”

“It’s been so long.” Mirza exhaled, long and slow, breath misting. Tears brimmed before he wiped them away and stiffened his shoulders.

Ancel could relate to his friend’s pain. It must have been difficult for Mirz to adjust even if he seldom spoke of the situation. Here he was among the Pathfinders who had taken his mother when he was a boy. From young they’d been taught that Matii driven insane either by using one too many Forges or by the gradual deterioration that occurred once they became adept, were taken to dungeons under the Iluminus for the world’s safety. But the tale hadn’t been completely true, like so much else. By High Shin Jerem’s command, the Pathfinders brought a select number of those troubled Matii here. Few knew of the plot. Even less knew of the Pathfinders true main roles or what hid among them.

“Do you think she’ll remember me?” Mirza asked.

“Mothers never forget.”

“I’ve had this recurring dream of her wandering around with a crazed look in her eyes, not knowing who she is or who I am. It hurts every time I think of her.”

“How’s your father taking it?”

“He hasn’t mentioned it much, but at night he has his own nightmares still. More so now than before. Some nights he wakes sweating, calling her name. I pretend I’m asleep so he doesn’t see me.”

Ancel reached a gloved hand out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “You will be reconciled soon. One happy family.” He wished he could say the same for himself.