Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (7 page)

Ryne recognized the Style at once—Amuni’s Hand, the God’s Way—but the assassin’s speed was so surprising he couldn’t dodge every strike as the leafy carpet under his feet caused him to move slower than he would have preferred. Nor could he raise his greatsword in time to parry despite its feathery weight. His armor parted with a soft hiss at the shoulder and chest followed by his own pained grunt. A burning sensation followed as did a trickle of warm blood. Ryne frowned. No normal steel could cut through his leathers. The Alzari’s weapons were imbued.
Where could these men have found divya?

Ryne’s Scripts roiled across his body and armor. The voices surged into his head. They begged him to release his bloodlust, but he gritted his teeth against the feeling.

With Ryne’s recognition of the Styles came understanding. He considered each Stance the man would use before attacking with a Style. After parrying a few blows, Ryne adjusted to compensate for speed, a smile playing across his face. The Alzari’s brow puckered in concentration as he continued his onslaught.

Ryne faced Earthtouch—the Alzari shifting his feet, daggers pointed down, then bending slightly forward to dig deeper and connect with the Forms of the earth—with Voidwalk. In the Stance, Ryne became many times lighter, like a wisp upon the wind. Not even the dry leaves below him showed any effect from his great size. Ryne waited, relying on his Stance’s weightless air essences to counter whatever Styles the Alzari attempted when he attacked with the strength of earth essences behind his blows.

As if part of the rock and soil, the assassin sank knee deep into the earth and flew forward, leaves and dirt spurting into the air with the path he made. His blades sliced at Ryne’s lower extremities before they rose up, and the man soared from the hole he’d created. Ryne sprung backward in a massive leap, floating on currents of air to avoid the strikes. Face drowned in sweat, the assassin’s feet touched the ground, feather soft, before he rushed forward, his breathing labored as he strived to reach Ryne.

A sense of calm passed over Ryne. He already knew the man’s next attack. Almost every enemy he ever faced overestimated his size and strength and underestimated his speed and agility. This assassin was no different.

As the Alzari swept forward and up, his blades stabbing one above the other in a Style called Climbing the Mountain, Ryne leaned back into Bending with the Wind—his body folding back on itself with effortless grace until the back of his head almost touched his thighs. Ryne kept his sword held out from his chest as his body curved away, the assassin’s daggers striking nothing but air where Ryne’s stomach had been. In the same motion, Ryne pulled himself straight, knocked the blades to one side, drew his hand back, and stabbed.

He used the momentum from his lean to whip forward with Lightstrike—a direct lunge.

The Alzari managed a grunt when Ryne’s greatsword tore through leather, cloth, flesh and scraped past bone as it exploded from the assassin’s back with a shower of blood and viscera.

Ryne drew his sword back and flicked it to one side to rid it of the blood. He spun, ready to help Sakari, but the fighting was already over.

A few feet away lay the other Alzari, his daggers still gripped in his lifeless hands. His only wounds were two precise slices, one across his stomach and the other across his neck. Blood pooled below his body, leaving the grass and fallen leaves slick.

Several cuts in Sakari’s armor revealed his tan skin. He gave Ryne a reassuring nod.

Sightless eyes staring into the sky, the dead lapra lay between the hunters. Deep rents marred its fur in several places, and even dead, the monstrous body, black with blood, appeared too big for the beast’s six skinny legs. Putrid fluid leaked, the stench overpowering the smell from the rotten flesh.

Denton, the youngest of the five hunters who had left from Carnas, nursed claw wounds to his chests and arms. His torso heaved and his pale cheeks labored with each ragged breath. Lenka limped severely, his armor ripped from waist to knee. Torn muscle exposed white bone through the holes where blood trailed down and painted his leather red. The other hunters bore no injuries.

“Since when could Alzari tame these things?” Dren nodded toward the giant lapra’s corpse.

“Since when the beasts be leaving the Rot be a better question,” Keevo added. The grizzle-faced man kicked at the lapra’s mutilated leg.

Dren’s square jaw tightened as he regarded the Alzari assassin then Ryne. He nodded toward the corpse. “I thought the Tribunal had given up on you.”

“So did I.” Ryne shrugged. His chest and arm throbbed.

Dren continued, “Now, we find two Alzari mercenaries here. With the bodies we’ve found the last few weeks, this makes for a strange coincidence. But I guess now we know who killed those men in the kinai orchards.”

“Alzari weren’t responsible for those deaths,” Ryne said.

“Really?” Dren bent to take a closer look at the Alzari’s corpse. “How’re you so sure?” He poked at the war paint on the assassin’s face before he straightened.

“They always leave a ritual dagger as proof of their work. Plus, no weapon of theirs could have made the wounds on those men.” Ryne’s gaze shifted to the infected lapra. He stroked the scars on his face as he eyed the elongated claws and teeth. No lapra could leave the gashes on those bodies either. He decided to keep that to himself.

“Do you really believe this beast could’ve killed them?” Keevo’s scarred face puckered with doubt. “It was so infected with rot, it moved like mud. Amuni’s balls, the tamer ones on the plains could have taken this.” He spat at the remains.

“If the Alzari accompanied it, then maybe,” Ryne said. “Alone, I’m not sure. But who knows what can happen when you underestimate what you face.” He cast a sidelong glance toward the wounded men.

“Malka.” Ryne gestured toward the man.

Malka turned to regard Ryne. His nose and eyes peeked out from the brown bush that covered his face.

“Gather some kinai and help Sakari tend to the others.” Ryne nodded to the sweet, red fruit growing in thick clusters within the stand. “Keevo and Dren, check for signs of the boy. Shout if you see a woman with golden hair or that so called Devout, Mariel.” The men nodded and hurried off to do as he bid.

As Ryne surveyed the clearing, he removed the paste the sisters had given him and applied some to his wounds. The mixture had a sweet smell, but it stung enough to make him wince. Droppings from the lapra indicated the creature had used this particular area for some time. Bits of bone and carrion from the beast’s previous feasts littered the ground. Besides their footprints and the Alzari’s, there were no other human tracks. Ryne’s brow furrowed.
If the creature dragged Kahkon here, why not kill the boy once it reached its lair? For
that
matter, why didn’t the assassins finish the job?
He still pondered the question when Keevo and Dren returned.

“There be a blood trail and the animal’s tracks from the direction you came.” Keevo pointed south to an area with disturbed undergrowth. He shook his head, clearly baffled. “Why not return to the Rot or go farther north toward Alzari territory?”

“I think something worse must have forced the lapra out here. The assassins were trying to fight back.” Ryne lifted his chin toward broken branches and brush dragged across the stand’s easternmost side. “There’s wards carved into those tree trunks to hide a path there. I’ve only ever seen those symbols used by the Alzari clans when protecting their territory. Whatever it was, they didn’t want it to follow, and the lapra was too afraid to return to its home.”

“Burning shades,” Keevo hissed. “Do you think it could be Amuni’s Children—”

“No,” Ryne snapped.”Things are worrisome enough without you dredging them up. There’s enough fear in Carnas already. Besides, none of the wards I placed in the Rotted Forest have been disturbed. Even the Children aren’t strong enough to bypass those.”

“If not them, then what else?” Keevo’s face relaxed visibly, but he still glanced out toward the blockage to the east.

“I don’t know yet, but it’s best not to start any rumors. Extra scouts will need to be posted when we return,” Ryne said.

Footsteps behind them announced Sakari’s arrival with the other men in tow. The wounded hunters both chewed on kinai. Paste from the fruit dyed their bandages a brighter red, but the mixture appeared to be doing its work. Denton no longer gasped, although he did wince with each breath, and his color appeared close to its normal tan. Lenka, his leg now wrapped in bandages, moved with a less pronounced limp. For Ryne, his cuts had subsided to a dull ache.

“What about this person with golden hair?” Dren asked.

“None of you saw her?” Ryne asked in disbelief.

The hunters gave him blank looks.

“I did,” Sakari said. He tilted his head to the hunters. His green pupils expanded ever so slightly while the silver flecks crowding his eyeballs flickered.

The men looked away from Sakari’s stare. Ryne wasn’t surprised by his companion’s answer, but the villagers’ response troubled him. They were all experienced hunters. It would take a person with considerable skill to avoid detection from every one of them.

“Master Waldron, no offense, but you sure it wasn’t Mariel again? Maybe the light in the woods played tricks with her hair.” Lenka peered out into the woods.

“Or maybe an Alzari woman?” Dren added.

“No,” Ryne said, “this person is taller than Mariel with a more muscled build. And an Alzari with golden hair? Listen, you five head home. Lenka and especially Denton need to be seen by the menders. Me and Sakari will find Kahkon.”

The men protested, but Ryne shushed them with a wave. They gave in with curt nods.

After a few moments of preparation, they parted ways. Malka and Dren assisted the two wounded while Keevo scouted ahead. Ryne watched the men leave before he and Sakari headed south to follow Kahkon’s bloody trail.

“Why not send one of them to help Lenka and Denton and have the other two come with us?”

“Whoever was in the forest,” Ryne said, “She managed to elude their tracking ability. And she escaped me even after I read her aura. In the seventy years since I’ve woken, that’s never happened. One moment she was there, and the next she didn’t exist. My ability to see auras is unique among my people, how could someone—.” Ryne’s mouth dropped open at his last sentence.

Never before had I thought of any skill in reference to my people. Who are my people?

“Has a memory surfaced?” Sakari cocked his head sideways.

Ryne attempted to connect his words with an image of his people, but as usual his efforts were met by a thick fog. He pushed deep into the white mist clouding his mind until he encountered a red wall. There, he stopped. He wanted to will himself to go further, but his brief trips past the wall rose fresh in his mind. The excruciating pain and dread he experienced when he became lost within its glare became palpable. The faces of slaughtered innocents and him poised over them with his sword in hand swirled about him. Sakari’s touch had rescued him from insanity back then. He couldn’t afford such again, not now, maybe not ever. Ryne withdrew, his eyes focusing on Sakari.

“Well?”

“No, there were no memories, just a stray thought,” Ryne answered. “As for the stranger I saw, Keevo and the others would be no help if she proves to be an enemy.”

“Sometimes a distraction is needed to complete a task.”

Ryne scowled. “I won’t put them at any more risk than I already have. A person who can avoid my power? That’s unheard of. We need to move with care. My presence has already cost Carnas and its people too much. They’re as much a part of me as you are. I will not see them harmed.”

Sakari’s head dipped briefly. “As you wish.”

They continued their search in silence with Sakari gliding ahead. Occasionally, they discovered torn strips of cloth left along the wayside as the tracks changed course.

Ryne resisted the temptation to open his senses and gain a better awareness of what lay ahead. Luring another lapra or worse would only serve to hinder the boy’s chances at survival.
Dear Ilumni, I beg of you, keep the boy safe.
Dizziness swept through Ryne. His jaw grinding with the effort, he fought the feeling off and concentrated on their search.

Almost a mile farther, they found Kahkon. The boy lay curled between two large tree roots. His right leg was a jagged stump and his shirt no more than tattered cloth covered in dry blood. Hair that should have been a healthy dark color now contained several white streaks.

Ryne rushed to the boy’s side, resisting the urge to cry out. He removed the pouch of kinai paste and passed it to Sakari. “Here, the sisters had Taeria prepare this before I left Carnas. It should be potent enough to help.”

Sakari took the pouch and inspected the contents as Ryne bent and eased Kahkon over onto his back. Ryne sucked in a gasp at what he saw. A gash ran down the left side of Kahkon’s chest all the way to his stomach. How the boy had lived, much less dragged himself this far was beyond Ryne. Rage and grief warred within Ryne at the sight.

Kahkon’s chest heaved, each breath a gurgle, and his brown skin was a pale shadow of itself. His eyes snapped open and stared sightlessly before they focused for a moment then widened with terror.

“Ma…Master W…Waldron h-help me,” Kahkon said in a hoarse whisper. “Sh-shade”

The boy’s words, combined with the itch that often nagged at his mind whenever someone watched him, brought uneasiness creeping down Ryne’s back. A decayed odor wafted through the air as he took in his surroundings. It was the same stench as at Miss Corten’s but multiplied tenfold. His gaze immediately picked out an aura of shade among a nearby copse. It took him a moment to realize the aura emanated from the trees themselves. The branches and leaves were as black as a moonless night.

“Take care of him,” Ryne ordered Sakari as he lay Kahkon’s head down and stood.

Ryne eased his way through the undergrowth, his hand on his sword. The brush ended well short of the copse of rosewood and teak. Tangled vines, roots, leaves, and creepers spread across the forest floor in an advanced state of decomposition. He squelched through the decay, the brown of his boots becoming black.