Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (31 page)

Thumper hadn’t moved since Ryne and Sakari found him with his claws protruding at the six openings for his legs, his head tucked where only the carapace on its crown showed, and his tail curled snug under his shell. He could remain this way for days when he felt threatened.

“Do you think you have enough for him now?” Sakari asked as he dragged a fourth carcass over through the muddy leaves.

Ryne studied the meat next to him. “Yes. He won’t be able to resist this. Skin the last one for me to roast. I’ll go feed him.”

Sakari nodded and dropped the remains next to the fire. A knife appeared in his hand, he sat cross-legged on the ground, pulled the lapra by a leg, and began cutting.

Ryne dragged the meat to where Thumper lay, leaving a bloody trail through soggy leaves. Calling Thumper’s name in situations like this never worked, so with a great heave, he sent the chunks tumbling under the dartan’s head. The meat struck the shell with soft thuds.

After a few moments, Thumper’s shell rocked back and forth. Legs eased out, revealing mottled, blue-green skin. When the claws touched the ground, all movement halted. The dartan remained motionless for a moment before his legs eased farther down and pushed up until he stood twenty-four hands from the ground to the rounded top of his shell—the same height as Ryne. The dartan’s tail uncoiled at the same time that his head stretched forward. Thumper mewled when he saw Ryne.

Ryne stepped up under his dartan’s head, a smile on his face. “Good boy. You missed me? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a good meal.”

Thumper’s neck curled down, and he rubbed his head against Ryne’s arm. Rows of sharp teeth clicked against each other in a face too small for the dartan’s girth. As he sniffed at Ryne’s hand, Thumper’s tongue flicked out and licked the blood. His bulbous eyes rolled, and his gaze shifted to the meat.

“Go ahead, enjoy,” Ryne said. “Wish I could’ve found you some kinai to go with that, but this will do for now.”

The dartan rocked from side to side and turned to the carcasses. He tore into the meat and swallowed in loud, gleeful slurps.

Ryne ran his hands down Thumper’s neck and along his sides and underbelly where the carapace was softest, searching for any wounds. Finding none, he reached up along the base of the shell where his bags hung and retrieved his reins. They were still in good shape.

He checked the two deep saddle grooves cut into the spine of the shell a few feet apart, one behind the other. Over a month had passed since he last rode the dartan, and left alone, the saddles tended to grow back in, but so far, Thumper’s had not. A good sign, Ryne thought, considering how he allowed Thumper to roam in the wilds. When he finished, Ryne inspected the small hand and footholds carved on either side of the shell. Satisfied, he washed his hands at the stream and rejoined his friend.

Sakari finished skinning and skewered the meat onto a few sticks Ryne had prepared earlier. Soon, the succulent flesh hung roasting over the fire, juices dripping and sizzling when they touched the flames. The sweet smell made Ryne’s stomach grumble.

“After we’re done eating, we’ll make for Astoca,” Ryne said. “Thumper should be strong enough from the meat to run for a good eight hours nonstop. We’ll see if we can find some kinai fruit patches on the way to give him a real filling. If we can keep him stocked, we should reach the capital in a week.”

“You’re not going to warn the other towns between?”

“There’s not enough time,” Ryne said. “Besides, those towns can’t be helped if this army attacks them. Their only salvation rests with the Astocans. They can field the largest legions of the Ostanaian kingdoms, and we’re more likely to find an Envoy in Castere than any of the other capitals. Once forewarned, they should be able to muster a large enough force to repel the invaders. At least until the Envoy gets word to the Tribunal and they send the Dagodin legions.”

Sakari shook his head. “It will take more than Dagodin Matii to stop what Jaecar mentioned and the daemon we suspect. They will need at least an entire legion of Ashishin.”

“I still don’t understand how they reached Carnas so fast, and from the southwest.” Ryne frowned. “Something just doesn’t make sense. But you’re right, with the numbers Jaecar reported and what we saw at Carnas, it’ll take more than Dagodin to stop them.” Did the Tribunal have that many Ashishin to spare? And if they did would they risk sending them? Maybe, the best course of action was to warn the King, then head to the Vallum himself. If Varick still commanded there, he’d listen. Maybe, he could convince Varick to influence the Tribunal should they not think this a credible threat. “At any rate, we must eat before we go.” Ryne took in Sakari’s expressionless face. “I must eat before we go,” he corrected himself with a rueful smile.

Breakfast passed in silence. While Sakari practiced the sword, Ryne plotted the route they would take to Astoca, revising the trip several times in an effort to shut out the thoughts of Carnas’ dead and those who were captured, but their faces crept in.
Hagan, you and your pipe, One-eyed Mayor Bertram, Vana and Vera, Kahkon, Lara, Taeria…
On and on the memories swirled. As Sakari’s sword work whistled in the background, Ryne prayed they’d found quick and merciful deaths, but he could no more rid himself of his morbid thoughts than he could forget the lives he took in the past. Such thoughts could consume a soul, he knew.

The song from Sakari’s sword drew Ryne, its tone crooning a soothing rhythm he knew too well. He stood.

Sakari stopped mid strike, sheathed his sword, and strode to the fire in his gliding gait. With an exaggerated bow, Sakari indicated the open space within the clearing.

Ryne strode to the center of the area where a light breeze prickled the hairs on his arms. He unsheathed his sword, the Scripts etched into the hilt pressing against his palm as he lifted the weapon in front his face in a salute to the gods. His movements came slow and easy. Strange and sweet at the same time. He’d disciplined himself to practice daily but hadn’t done so since the Nevermore Heights, and this felt as if he’d been locked in a windowless room for months until one day someone let him out into the open air.

He flowed through the basics, repeating every parry, cut and strike like a lost lover’s kiss. The swish from the slick carpet of mud and leaves under his feet became a part of him, and he glided through it unhindered.

Speed increasing as he progressed into Stances and eventually into Styles, his blade became a whirlwind in his hand, lighter than thistledown. Ryne’s swordplay built into a soothing melody that played within his head. In his mind, he poised upon a pond covered in floating lilies, his steps never disturbing its smooth surface. The melody built into an orchestra played at a ball, but strain as he might, the music remained at the edge of his hearing, barely discernible.

As he often did, he strove to reach the music, and as usual, it remained beyond his reach. He settled to listening to the faint notes, allowing his body to move in accordance to the tune. He danced, his feet drawing a trail through the ground in the patterns his mind wove. Nothing else existed, but the distant melody and his sword.

When Ryne sheathed his sword for the final time, two hours had passed, and the sun had burnt off the early morning mist. He strode toward Sakari and the now smoking embers, his thoughts clear. Sakari acknowledged Ryne with a nod. Without a word, they climbed onto Thumper’s back and left the glen. They stayed to edge of the Fretian Woods before cutting clear across the Orchid Plains.

The first two days were uneventful, filled with pushing Thumper and only stopping for six hours a day to rest, hunt, eat, and for Ryne to practice the sword. Ryne chose a circuitous path to avoid any towns, usually staying close to the Tantua River, whose meandering path flowed out from the Mondros Forest to the northeast. Along the way, they saw no smoke from burning structures. Good news for the settlements, but it bothered Ryne. Where was this army? He’d made sure to bypass any areas where one could hide such a large force, but to be able to hide any sign at all should have proved impossible.

On the third day, they reached the first kinai farm in a fertile stretch a hundred miles before the Astocan border. Fields of wheat, corn, cabbage heads sprouting like green-white balls, and the bushy sprigs from carrots spread in small patches before them. Beyond those fields stood large kinai orchards, the rounded, leafy trees growing in neat rows.

“Strange,” Ryne said when no one came to greet them as they crossed up onto the road leading to the farm.

The fields were empty at a time when harvest should be bountiful, and the farm filled with the bustle of working folk, trundling wheels, and the cries from laboring pack animals. From his vantage point, the farmhouse, the barn, and the storage sheds appeared deserted. Guard dogs that should have barked their challenges slunk away instead. Several yellowbeaks sang a mournful chorus.

“Do you think they finished their harvest and all left for market?” Sakari asked.

Ryne noticed what Sakari meant. Where there should have been red kinai clusters, only green leaves showed. “I’m not sure.” The pink fluff from the harvested fruit carpeted the ground, often shifting with the breeze. A trace of the kinai’s sweet smell still caressed the air. “Maybe they prefer not to have anyone here after harvest in case raiders strike.” Ryne doubted the words even as they left his mouth.

“Should we stop?”

“No. Something here doesn’t feel quite right,” Ryne said. Maybe, the sensation came from the yellowbeaks’ keening. Whatever it was, he did not wish to stop. “Let’s move on.”

The next farm they reached was the same. At the third such farm, Ryne stopped at the orchard’s edge. “Maybe one farm I could begin to understand, but three? All abandoned?” He shook his head. “This goes beyond just being odd.”

Sakari shrugged. “Raiders?”

“I thought so too at first,” Ryne pointed to the orchards, “But the crops have been harvested too cleanly at every farm. And they’ve taken every farm animal and any stores.” He glanced around, examining the field cautiously, then dropped from Thumper’s back. “This isn’t natural. And we’ve seen no signs of a struggle. Up here, almost every farm employs mercenaries at this time of year. It would be near impossible for the small bands raiders prefer to do all this.” Ryne motioned for Thumper to stay and he and Sakari strode deeper into the orchard.

No more than fifty feet in, Ryne found the patterns he sought. There were too many footprints in the fluff and soil. Too many for farmers and the extra hands they hired for harvest. Too many for raiders who generally hunted in squads of fifteen men or less. There were enough tracks for a small army.

“You think these are from the same forces that attacked Carnas and the clanholds?”

“Maybe. If they decided to split into smaller compliments for this work.” A sudden stillness prickled against Ryne’s skin, igniting uneasiness. “Do you feel that?”

“The disturbance in the air? Yes.”

Ryne opened his Matersense. The world blossomed as if he viewed it through a magnifying tube tacticians often used to survey a battle. Smells sharpened. At the corner of his vision, he saw the same distortion as he did in Carnas. The razor sharp edges of the elements of Mater he was accustomed to were now smudged. Hidden among the perfumed scents from the harvested kinai wafted a slight decayed aroma mixed with what he could only describe as a wet dog’s stench. The same scent from Miss Corten’s, the strange woods with the half-formed wraithwolves and from within Carnas. Ryne released his Matersense.

“The air is the same as Carnas,” Sakari said before Ryne could utter a word.

Ryne nodded as he surveyed the field before them. Six murdered men at the kinai patches around Carnas, the clanholds destroyed, his entire town slaughtered, and now these farms, devoid of people and kinai. Yes, this army advanced, but what did it all mean? Sooner or late, he would find his answers. He hoped it would be sooner.

They left the fields, collected Thumper, and headed to the buildings. Each one was as empty as the orchards. Within the farmhouse, the furniture was intact, children’s and adults’ beds made up and boots still at the front door. Rotting food sat on the kitchen table with a pot of tea and a pitcher of juice. Maggots crawled across what might have been venison and a baked chicken. The food’s rancid smell filled the air. They found no corpses.

By the time they left, night had come. Ryne had no wish to camp close to the farm, so he pushed them for a few miles until they found a copse of trees he preferred. There, they built a small fire within a hollow and cooked lapra meat Ryne had preserved with salts the day before. While Ryne ate, Sakari went off to keep watch.

When he finished his meal, Ryne resorted to sword practice once more. The farms joined Carnas foremost on his mind.
Hagan, you and your pipe…
As Ryne remembered each of his friends, the action soothed him. Sometime later, he completed his practice, and found sleep’s solace.