Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Immortality is a thing all dream of, even those who serve the shade. Our Forging is the closest thing to it. In our Forging, your mother is the Key. Like few among the Setian and other races, she possesses a special Gift. As do you. Her Gift is the ability to Forge every essence into one to form Prima Materium. The primordial origin of Mater itself. It’s a requirement for the life extension to work. Her Gift is unique.”

Galiana stopped and turned to Ancel. She held his gaze. “Not only does the shade want her for this, but they seek you, Ancel. You see, the Setian are the descendants of the Eztezians.”

This time, Kachien started.

Ancel’s mind reeled.

“Kachien told me your power manifested. The colors you see around any living thing is called an aura. It signifies the Mater possessed by that creature. With it, you can identify anything from lifeline to intention, good to evil. And that’s just the cusp of what I know. No one knows what else you can do. According to the Chronicles, such power shows in those who become Eztezian Guardians. If a Bloodline Affinity is perfected, such a person’s mind can be delved into and provide the locations of the Chroniclers-the great men and women who could see all events and possibilities, past, present, and future. In turn, this would lead to the discovery of the remainder of the Eztezian Guardians.

“We could not only face another Great Divide if they are unsealed, but we must consider that a way has been discovered to use the Eztezians to break the seals they placed on the Nether. The very seals which have already been weakening. We know the Tribunal learned their Forge from one of the few Skadwaz who escaped the sealing three thousand years ago. But we never knew if we had destroyed them all until recently. We-

A screeching wail resonated through the air, followed by several screams. Charra’s loud, grunting bark answered.

The wail and screams came from the direction of the winery.

Ancel broke into a run.

The thrill of battle energy surged through Ryne. He, Sakari, Irmina, Jerem, Varick, and Refald stood at the front of the army massed to depart below the Vallum of Light. The flood of auras from the tens of thousands of soldiers filled his vision in waves.

Jerem had brought an entire legion of crimson-garbed Ashishin. One cohort accompanied Ryne’s group destined to defend Castere. The other nine cohorts were stationed with Clovis, Strom, and the other Knight Captains for their defense of Cendos and Bastair. Ryne’s group consisted of an additional two legions of infantry led by Varick and Refald. The clink of armor and weapons and the mutterings of thousands of voices ran down the ranks as soldiers shifted impatiently while they waited.

“All are in order,” Varick said.

“Good,” Jerem said, his wrinkled face a mask of concentration. “Remember, allow the Ashishin to engage first.”

“I’d still rather you be there to command them and to help,” Varick said, ready to argue once more that having a High Ashishin with his men would be invaluable.

“There are other more pressing developments that need tending to. Rest assured, my Ashishin will follow whatever commands you give.”

Varick bowed.

“Ashishin, prepare,” Jerem called, his voice reflecting the strain of whatever he did.

Ryne reached through his Scripts to touch his Matersense. All around him, he felt every Ashishin do the same. He immediately fled into the calm center of his mind, locking away both his bloodlust and the warring voices. His battle energy built to a sweet resonance to match his thumping heart. A grim smile parted his lips.

“We depart,” Jerem declared.

As before, first came the tearing sound as if the world itself around them ripped. Wind howled. The air in front of them coalesced until a slash formed, and the falling sensation struck.

Seconds later, there was a deafening roar. The ground below them heaved. Lightning split the air. Fire lit the night, and heat washed over them in waves. Ryne squinted. Men and animals screamed.

They stood on a wall lit by sputtering torches, lamps, and dying flames. Not just any wall. The battlements of Castere’s Inner Ring.

Blue armored Astocan soldiers covered the ground, many with gaping wounds, some groaning and others shuddering in the final throes of death. Among them were Amuni’s Children, their black armor showing great rents that oozed bodily fluids. Darkwraiths and wraithwolves stood out among the dead and wounded; the former like slimy puddles in the shape of men. The reek of spilled innards and burnt flesh was still fresh.

Spread from where they appeared, out into an ever widening circle, the ground was scorched and blackened, flames still roaring up into the main flagstoned avenue of the Inner Ring and down into the Mid Ring. Where Jerem had placed them, above the single gate to the Inner Ring, not a single being stood that didn’t belong to the Granadian army.

Ashishin spread out into small groups with deadly efficiency, burning whatever moved to a crisp. Dagodin swept out, some forming a circle around Varick, Refald and the Knight Captains, while others went about the task of taking swords to anything moving not dressed in Granadian colors. Howls and wails echoed from below.

“Man the battlements!” Varick yelled.

Farther along the bulwark, Astocans fought Amuni’s Children and shadelings. The Granadians struck from behind, tearing into the enemy. Bolstered by the attack, the Astocans surged forward. The shade army disappeared beneath the crush of the two armies.

Up the avenue, within the Inner Ring, the Forged flames died. The Astocan army rushed back down toward the gates. Within the Mid Ring, the same occurred, but it was the shade’s minions that surged up through the open gates, spilling into the courtyard and avenue.

Behind and below them, the city boiled black with Amuni’s Children and shadelings. Out in the Rainbow Lakes, warsailers and a myriad of other vessels burned. All along the walls that stretched into the water, Namazzi Forged great gouts of liquid into huge waves in an attempt to decimate incoming enemy ships. Shadelings Blurred up onto the walls, tearing the Astocan Matii apart. The Outer Ring was a mass of burning structures. Gigantic spears of flame sailed into the air and flew deeper into the city, sparking new fires within the Mid Ring. Smoke billowed into the air, blotting out the stars and painting the dark sky black.

Ryne turned his attention back to the chaos at the gates. If they lost the gates, their attack would fail. “Irmina, Sakari, with me,” he commanded.

Not waiting to see them comply, Ryne leaped from the battlements into the Inner Ring’s side of the wall. While falling, he drew his sword, touched his Scripts and fed light and fire essences into them. As his feet touched the ground, he also took a hold of earth essences. He landed among several thousand shadelings and Amuni’s Children. Glowing red and green eyes regarded him for a moment, the expressions on every face one of stunned silence.

Not waiting for their recovery, Ryne slammed his sword into the ground. At the same time, he drew on his Scripts again, picturing the same bubbles around the men and women in battle drawn there. Similar bubbles sprang up around himself, Irmina and Sakari as they landed beside him. Ryne triggered his Forging through his weapon.

In a ring and a roar, the ground exploded. Debris, men and shadelings were hurled into the air.

The earth became a living thing with dirt and stone for hands and teeth, ripping men apart. Fire and light rippled out in a thousand tongues, scorching all Ryne had targeted as he’d fallen.

The rubble, blood, and gore struck against the shields Ryne had Forged. As the earth died to a mere undulation, and the flame and light subsided, he leapt forward onto any enemy still standing before the gates.