Terry Simpson - Ashes and Blood

Irmina knew stealth would be of no use here. Even within the Iluminus’ dungeons, no shadow existed. Light radiated from the walls. Besides, she was a Raijin. What she needed to do was be herself. Dressed in the black, form-fitting uniform with crimson sleeves of her calling, she approached the dungeon guards with an expression that screamed she’d gut anyone who stood in her path. So much so, that not only did they avert their eyes, but not one among them questioned her. The score of Dagodin following behind her marched in a rhythm to challenge the finest army.

These weren’t the deepest cells-those were reserved for the more violent offenders, those the Pathfinders had captured-but they still stunk of piss, shit, unwashed bodies, and blood. A hallway lined with metal doors stretched before her. Moans, groans, and muttering echoed along its length in odd counterpoint to her soft footsteps and the louder leather on stone thud of her Dagodin complement. The dissonance was a grim reminder of the impressive number of prisoners the Iluminus kept. As tempting as it was to free many for sheer chaos, she’d come here for a select few.

Although she knew the cells by memory, she stepped to each one she needed anyway, slid back the metal grate over the solitary window, and peered inside. Refusing to cringe at the stench, the half-healed wounds, yellowed and scabbing patches of skin, and disheveled, torn clothing on people she barely recognized anymore, she gave commands to remove each Eldanhill Council member.

Guthrie Bemelle was a sliver of his former self, clothes hanging loosely around what was once a barrel of a belly, his cheeks withdrawn, jawbones protruding. Devan Faber wasn’t much better, the mining foreman having lost the slabs of muscle that marked him. If Javed was old before, his current appearance leaned toward senile, the once robust kennel and stable owner now feeble, his skin drawn tight over his skull.

Irmina frowned at the next two cells. Of Edwin Valdeen and Rohan Lankon, she found no signs. An awful feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach.

Stefan’s condition was by far the worse. She couldn’t help the involuntary hiss that escaped her lips. Jaw lopsided, his face wore a mask of purple and black. Scrawled across his back was a tapestry of cuts, welts, and scabs. Blood crusted his missing fingernails. The usually well-groomed gray hair was dirty and matted brown; his unkempt mustache and beard formed a bush. Not once did Ancel’s father raise his head when the two Dagodin entered and picked him up under his armpits. He didn’t even groan.

Fighting hard to maintain an uncaring facade, Irmina spun on her heels and strode back to the exit. It took all of her composure not to lash out at the dungeon guards as she passed them. She led the way upstairs, wincing every time she heard a moan behind her.

“Traitor.” Underneath the painful rasp, she picked out Devan’s voice. “Why don’t you just finish us off? There’s nothing more left to tell.”

Irmina continued on as if she hadn’t heard the man. Once up several flights and out of earshot from the guards, she stopped. “Where’s Edwin and Rohan?”

A coughing laugh rattled from Devan’s chest. He spat out blood that landed near her feet. “Edwin’s a traitor like you. From what the questioners said, Rohan’s gone. You fucks tortured him to death.”

Both Guthrie and Stefan appeared to be unconscious.

After saying a quick prayer for the old man, she said, “I’m here to rescue you. And I didn’t betray you.” She gestured to the Dagodin holding Devan. “As planned, get them on the wagons and head to the Travelshaft. I have to find the other one.” If Edwin had betrayed them, he would pay with his life.

The men gave slight nods. They headed up the last flight of stairs and into the courtyard. After a futile search, she rejoined them. Moments later, they were heading down a wide avenue with their wounded charges in the back of a wagon drawn by two horses. The usual crowds on the street cleared a path for them, some stopping to whisper or point. As they walked, Irmina got the niggling sense that something wasn’t quite right. Her escort must have felt it too, because they grew more vigilant and kept their hands on their swords.

When they rounded a corner onto the Shining Way, the avenue was empty. Irmina stopped. The busiest road in all the Iluminus over the past months, she’d never seen it without its traffic. The mesh of walkways directly above her were the same. She spun, glancing in the opposite direction. In the distance, folk crossed several other paths, but they were hurrying. The shuffle of feet behind her and the occasional moan were the only sounds to break the silence. The empty eyes of the buildings and towers around them watched, the doors open but without a single patron or hawker. As always, the air within the Iluminus was still and motionless.

“Be ready,” she said to the nearest Dagodin. She gave the signal and strode forward.

The wagon wheels’ rumble, the clip clop of horses’ hooves, and the thud of her soldiers’ feet might have been the only sounds louder than her own beating heart. Irmina kept her focus on the interconnecting lanes, the doors and windows in her periphery. Any movement would meet violence.

A brush of wind where there should have been none announced the attack.

“Above us,” she yelled, rolling away.

A flash of black and red landed next to her. A woman garbed as she was, brandished a short sword, cowl pulled tight over her head so only eyes showed, Similar forms fell all around them.

“Now,” Irmina said.

She opened her Matersense and felt the others around her do the same. It was odd being linked to Pathfinders in this fashion. To her, it was almost like touching the mind of an animal, except there was coherent thought rather than a ball of emotions. Oneness filled her, the collective consciousness drowning out any urges from the voices that normally rose with touching the essences.

Before the Raijin reacted, the Pathfinders, disguised as Dagodin, created individual shields for each person and the wagon. Along the exteriors of the buildings that lined the Shining Way, the walls shimmered. Ashishin appeared, having Forged a Masking to camouflage themselves as stone. Hands upraised, they shot arrows of light.

The projectiles blazed a trail through the air as they punched into the Raijin from all sides before slamming into the shields and dissipating. Smoking, bloody holes, no bigger than coins, riddled the Raijin uniforms. One by one, enemy Matii crumpled to the cobbles.

Yet as much surprise as her forces had on their side, some of the Raijin were able to react. They were trained and bred for this. Several had thrown up their own shields. A second group dropped from the walkways. Together, they turned on those near the buildings.

A storm of steel ensued.

This close, no one, not even the Ashishin dared to Forge. That gave the Raijin the advantage. As assassins, their close quarter combat was near unparalleled in the Iluminus. Within minutes, they decimated the Ashishin ranks in flashes of weapons, bone, blood, and screams.

The lone High Shin, Delienza, that led this first group for Irmina, was still standing, along with two Pathfinders. Not giving them a moment, the remainder of the Raijin charged in. Backs to each the other, the three fought, their weapons a synchronous flow of defense.

That was when the next group of Raijin dropped down.

High Shin Delienza gave a near imperceptible nod.

Irmina issued a silent prayer then called out, “Full shields.”

As a small cocoon of light and air essences wrapped around her group, there came a thump. Struggling for balance against the ripple in the ground, Irmina dropped to one knee and watched.