Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (45 page)

Almost three hours later, with the sun waning in its dying throes, Ryne and Sakari rode with Varick toward the Knight Commander’s encampment accompanied by Rosival. They left the lights and sights of Astoca behind them to the north. Rosival took his leave when they reached the encampment comprised of several hundred white tents with the Tribunal’s Lightstorm standard flying high above.

They dismounted, and several Dagodin took their dartans. Knight Commander Varick led the way through the neat tent lines. The camp reeked of the droppings from gathered mounts mingled with the sweet aromas of food for a stifling contrast. Soldiers acknowledged Varick with a bow or knuckled their foreheads. Many relaxed at fire pits, either cooking or sharpening weapons, while others practiced the sword using wooden lathes. The clack, clack of the weapons played a soothing beat. Almost every soldier they passed studied Ryne, often fingering their weapons. They ignored Sakari.

“I had no desire to speak around Rosival,” Varick said.

“I figured as much.”

“I was surprised to find you here. And discussing war no less. I thought you retired?” Varick led them to a tent about twice the size as the others.

“I did.”

Two lance-wielding guards stood at the pavilion’s entrance, snapping to attention at the sight of Varick. The Knight Commander nodded to each man in turn.

“Knight Cosar,” Varick said to the one on the left. “I’m as hungry as a starved bear. Send for food.”

The soldier bowed, leaned his lance on the canvas with care, and strode away toward the cook fires. Varick entered the tent.

“I’ll wait out here,” Sakari said.

Grumbling to himself, Ryne raised the flaps and ducked low as he stepped inside. Too often, he had to keep his body hunched and head down when standing inside one of these contraptions.

“Sorry about that.” Varick pulled off his gauntlets and threw them on the plain, wooden table. They thudded next to a bright lamp and Ostanian maps. “If I knew we would’ve found you, I would have had the tent raised.”

Ryne grunted dismissively. “You would think I’d be used to it, but it’s been too many years.”

“Now, that’s the truth.” Varick turned to face Ryne. Smiling, he held out a callused hand. “It’s been too long, old friend.”

“Indeed.” Ryne clasped the shorter man’s arm. “Way too long.”

“Well, at least the years have been good to you. You haven’t aged a day since we first met.”

Ryne grinned. “I wish I could say the same for you. Your hair is almost as white as this tent.”

“Don’t let the white hairs and wrinkles fool you.” He looked Ryne up and down. “I could still manage a blow or two on you.” Varick released the handshake and faked a strike at Ryne.

Leaning away from Varick, Ryne held up his hand. “I’d never make such a mistake, old timer.”

Varick wrinkled his nose. “Although, I would have to beg you to take a bath first.”

They both laughed. Ryne sniffed himself. The smell of death and days without a bath clung to him still.

Varick took a step back and studied Ryne. “So, are you joining with the Astocans?”

“No.”

“But, you said—”

“I said, yes, I’ll fight. Meaning I’ll fight for the Alliance. If he took my words to mean I’d fight for Astoca…” Ryne shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I said it in a way he’d want to hear. After I came here, the plan was to go find you.”

“Oh?” Varick removed his sword and strode over to a bedroll, the only other contents in the tent. “The gods work in strange ways. Before I received the message from the Tribunal, I planned to come to Carn—.”

Ryne took a deep breath at the mention of his home, his hand tightening on his sword.

“I’m sorry,” Varick said. “I forgot. You feel like talking about it?” He carefully lay his sword down on the bedroll.

“Not much to talk about. They didn’t leave anyone alive. Not much different than what I’ve done in the past.”

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to them. You’ve always fought for the light, for Ilumni.” Varick headed to the table and its maps. “There’s nothing but darkness in what they do. We’ve both seen it, Ryne. They have to be stopped, or else we all fall.”

Stooping slightly, Ryne moved close to the tent’s center to better accommodate his size. “I just don’t understand the point to all of this. The killings, the wars. Is it just for territory? For power? If this is all part of a divine battle in preparation for the day the seals break, wouldn’t Amuni secure his powerbase in Hydae first, before he tried to claim Denestia? What of the other gods? Where do they fit in? If Denestia is Ilumni’s, why does it seem we’re always defending? When do we attack? Is this really about divinity or just some story drawn up for us to spill blood so one kingdom can claim another in the name of religion?”

Varick remained silent for a moment. “You’re asking questions I can’t answer. I’m just a soldier who’s been fighting for too long. The Tribunal points, I attack. This is the way things have always been.”

“You ever questioned it?”

“Question who?” Varick grunted. “The Tribunal? That’s not my place. I’m not you. I can’t defy them. If I could kill a Pathfinder, maybe. But look where doing so got you. My tasks are simple. I see a threat, and I respond. We’ve both seen enough to know they’re greater powers at work here. You’ve always sought answers since I met you, Ryne. More answers than most. You say because you can’t remember who or what you are. Yet, even after your pardon, you refused to go whenever the Tribunal asked for an audience. I’ve backed you in the past against them, but you’ve never said wh—”

“Because it’s not up for discussion.” Ryne’s hands clenched around his sword once more. After all these years, Varick was still insistent. “The High Ashishin Tribunal is not all pure like they make people believe.”

Varick shrugged. “None of us are. But we do what we must, as they do what they must. I don’t think you’ll ever get the answers you seek without going to them. Demand bravery by conquering your fear. Remember? It doesn’t only apply to grooming troops. Hiding across the Vallum will only work for so long. Sooner or later, you’ll have to go to them.”

“Well, let’s just hope it’s later. I’ll continue searching for my answers elsewhere. Speaking of which, why were you looking for me?”

“Well, there’s two parts to that. First, The Tribunal has sent several legions across the Vallum in the past few months alone. Many of them raw recruits. Trained Dagodin, yes, but hearing what I did today, training will only take them so far. So—”

“So you were going to ask me to train them, or at least to help.” Ryne smiled. This fit what he needed perfectly. A glimmer of vengeance to come warmed his insides. “How’s the Tribunal feel about that?”

Varick gave Ryne a sidelong glance and a smirk.

“I see. What’s the second reason?”

“Not only did they dispatch these new legions but they also ordered all Dagodin Imbuers to begin crafting
divya
.” Varick paced back and forth from the table to a cot in the corner. “It really became strange when they managed to drag Dagodin Lucina Adler from wherever she retired to train these new Imbuers.”

Ryne frowned. “
The
Lucina Adler?”

“Yes.”

“Too much of a coincidence. It reeks of the Tribunal knowing what was about to happen here. Always plotting,” Ryne mused, stroking his scars.

Varick nodded in agreement. “Even so, once I heard they’d dragged her from wherever she was hiding, I thought of you. She’s one of the few people who may be able to tell you the origins of your weapon. And not go running back to the Tribunal, that is.”

Ryne perked up, possibilities flitting through his head. “So where can I find her?”

“She’s in Felan Mark. I figured it being in Ostania would give you a better chance to talk to her before anyone could do something about it.”

“Why would they send her all the way there?”

Varick’s face brightened. “Oh, I don’t know. Some commander reported he needed the weapons as soon as possible. The Tribunal agreed.”

Ryne couldn’t help his grin. Varick had a way of seeing he got things done just the way he wanted them. Ryne’s face grew serious. “You’ll need those
divya
more than you know.”

“Really?”

Drawing a deep breath, Ryne told him what had happened. He started with Mariel then continued on with the missing villagers, the murdered men, the golden-haired stranger, the infected lapra, the Alzari, the wraithwolves found in the woods, the darkwraiths and his battle. He left out Halvor and the Entosis.

Varick’s expression went from wide-eyed shock to disgust until his brow furrowed tightly. “Mariel, you say? I almost forgot. There was a third reason I needed to see you. A couple months before I left the Vallum, there was a slim, dark haired woman with gold eyes like an eagle's looking for you. Claimed she was a Devout named Mariel. I had one of my men look into it. She was really an Ashishin named Irmina, well on her way to becoming a Raijin. One of the Tribunal's favorites or so I’ve been told.”

Ryne ground his teeth. Not only was the woman an Ashishin, but she was training to be a member of one of the deadliest assassin corps in Granadia.
I knew I should’ve killed her.

CHAPTER 36

From Irmina’s vantage point atop a hill, travelers and soldiers alike approaching the main fort appeared as small colored figures dwarfed by the Vallum of Light’s size. In groups, they disappeared into the two-hundred foot wide mouth of the passage that served as the only exit or entrance through the wall. The Vallum itself stretched three hundred feet into the air, its white alabaster, feldspar, and steel, shining with an ethereal glow. Irmina knew the radiance for what it was—light and fire essences imbued into the structure.

In truth, the fort was two Bastions—Hope and Forlorn—like every other Bastion named for whatever the High Ashishin who undertook their construction felt they represented. The oval edifices, with their lines of crenels separated twenty-five feet between each, extended another hundred feet above the Vallum, and were positioned to the left and right of the entrance to and from Ostania proper. Not that the land spanning from the Vallum west to the Sea of Swirls was not part of Ostania, but as that swath was currently under Tribunal rule, it was often considered Granadian territory. The fact the local Ostanian kingdoms disagreed with such considerations was of no consequence.

As the setting sun painted wispy clouds purple and orange, Irmina rode down from the hills toward the throng of travelers heading to and from locations beyond the Vallum. Those without an armed escort were already preparing camps not far from the wall’s protection. Wagons rolled along, and those on horses, dartan or slainen galloped by those on foot in an attempt to reach the gates before the call to close the entrance sounded.

The activity around her droned on in an incomprehensible racket. Peoples in fashions she didn’t recognize, various skin colors from pale Granadians to ebony Cardians, and languages and dialects she couldn’t begin to understand, journeyed the wide road. Quick bows came from those who glanced up and saw Irmina’s crimson Ashishin uniform as Misty sped by.

Irmina followed the path set aside for nobility and military, red armored Dagodin greeting her with salutes. As she passed the first massive gate set into the wall, Irmina cringed. Unlike other gates, this one was all stone—a part of the wall—and required an Ashishin to trigger the wards that closed and opened it. She had once seen what would happen to those caught between when the massive slabs slid together. Dark red splotches marked the most recent occurrence.

Neither lamp nor lightstone lit the passage, but the glow from the essences within the structure made the inside as bright as early afternoon. Murder-holes and arrow slits dotted the walls and the bridge above that spanned between the two Bastions. With a soft trill, Irmina urged Misty to go faster. Minutes later, they crossed the five hundred foot tunnel and out into the open air. Tension eased from Irmina’s shoulders, and she allowed herself a deep breath.

Ignoring the people either heading to the closest encampments of travelers or continuing toward the town in the distance, Irmina veered right. Spread below in a vast field were thousands of tents, many with the Lightstorm insignia flying above. Barked orders, the clash of steel, and the synchronized stomp from Dagodin practicing formations rolled through the air. She rode abreast the Vallum, bathed in its white glow, until she reached the rounded granite structure where the Bastion Forlorn began. The Dagodin outside snapped to attention as she dismounted and dropped Misty’s reins over one of many hooked spikes set into the wall.

The gravity of the news she brought crawled within her as she entered the building. Before long, her hurried footsteps became a run. Several winding stairs later, she reached the well-guarded communication center.

The room’s rough-hewn, feldspar and steel blocks rose into a dome far above her head. As with the passage, no lamps hung along the walls, but the room was bright all the same. A lone man, with a round, too-smooth face, wearing a long robe with colorful sashes embroidered in diagonal patterns that identified him as an Ashishin Herald studied the message map on the floor.