Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

A thoughtful expression crossed Hagan's face as he puffed on his pipe a little more than usual. Smoke roiled into the air once more.

Mayor Bertram massaged his stump. “Fine. Let’s convene the elders to see what we should do. In the meantime, we should take Mariel. Question her properly about who she is. Find out what part she plays in what’s happened.”

Ryne grunted. “You forget she won’t let me or Sakari get close to her, which in itself is part of my concern.”

“Be her fleeing from you two such a danger?” Hagan chewed on his pipe. “I’d run too if I saw a giant with a face like yours carrying that monster you call a sword.” He gestured with his head toward Ryne’s five-foot greatsword.

Ryne smirked, fingers creeping up to touch the scars that striped the left side of his face. “I don’t think my appearance scares her much, if at all.”

“Oh?”

“When you’re afraid of a person, you don’t stalk them,” Ryne said. The initial energy burst from the kinai juice wore off, so he emptied his cup. He never quite grasped the need for the wine. Kinai juice or the fruit itself bore enough energetic properties all on its own. Why anyone would want to dull the feeling by impairing their faculties was beyond him.

“Maybe, she be how we were when we first met you. Scared but curious. It’s not like you be the most normal looking fellow,” Hagan said.

Ryne glanced at the Scripts drawn on his arms. They matched those covering his entire body and his armor up to his chin. Each displayed scenes more detailed than epic tapestries. If he stared at them long enough, they appeared lifelike, almost as if he could reach out and touch the leaves upon the trees, or the water within the lakes and waterfalls, or smell the battlefields etched into his skin.

Still, neither who Mariel represented and how she trailed him meant well. Only creatures on the hunt moved as she did, appearing and vanishing in the bat of an eyelid but leaving the feeling she hid close enough to pounce.

When faced by the unknown, cut out its heart before it can take yours. An old teaching he and Sakari had used countless times . And how has that worked for you in the past? Thousands of innocents slaughtered is how. Either he or Sakari needed to find another way to get rid of Mariel without harming Carnas.

Thoughts of his friend made Ryne become acutely aware of the lump at the back of his mind. Right now, it felt distant, but as Sakari moved closer, the feeling grew more solid. Ryne sensed his companion somewhere to the east. Did he manage to find out anything new about Mariel?

With that thought, Ryne’s link to Sakari bloomed. He saw through Sakari’s eyes as if he walked in his boots. The man stood at the edge of the Fretian Woods watching Mariel’s distant figure.

“She has not allowed me to come close once,” Sakari said, his tone empty. “She moves every time I do.”

“That’s fine. Just keep an eye on her,” Ryne said before breaking the link.

The sight through Sakari dissolved. Ryne saw only his surroundings within the inn once more. He noted Hagan’s knitted eyebrows and Bertram’s fidgeting.

“You feeling well? Should I send for Taeria?” Hagan asked.

Ryne shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you were just staring off into the air and talking to yourself,” Bertram said, but avoided Ryne’s eyes.

“Just thinking aloud.” Ryne ignored the men’s skeptical glances. “What were you saying before I became caught up with my thoughts?”

“I be telling Bertram when I seen her, she spoke every bit like a priestess or a Granadian noble. You know the sort. They expect to be heard and obeyed,” the innkeeper said. He pursed his lips while looking at the mayor from the corner of his eyes. “He still wants us to run her off or worse.”

“We all know running her off won’t work,” Ryne said.

“Which leaves the worse,” Hagan concluded. “Do you really want to do something that might make them dispatch soldiers looking for her? If she be who she says she be, what will the Granadian Tribunal think if them eagles she sends every morning stop delivering messages?”

“And what if it isn’t Granadia she’s delivering messages to? What then?” Bertram shifted his head so the ruined side of his face turned to Hagan then Ryne.

“We know your opinion of the Devout. But suggesting she be sending messages to Amuni’s Children, wherever they are, be foolish. And blasphemous.”

Ryne almost told Hagan it could be a possibility. But Bertram would only feed on such a suggestion.

“In Humelen’s name, Hagan,” Bertram said, his already black skin growing so black it shone with his rage as his aura gave an almost imperceptible quaver. “Open your eyes. The Tribunal has always wanted to conquer Ostania. Ever since Nerian rebelled, and they lost their hold on us. I tell you, the War of Remnants was their doing. It was their way to get a toehold back into Ostania.”

Hagan chuckled. “You and your plots. I know the reason you wish to harm her. We all do. Maybe you have the right of it, but-”

“You’re damned right I do,” Bertram blurted out.

“Bertram, your son’s death be-”

“You think this is just about my son?” Bertram’s face twisted with the question. “I forgave Ryne long ago for my son’s death. It wasn’t by his hand. The Alzari assassins hired by your precious Tribunal were the ones responsible. The same Tribunal that’s responsible for everything else me and the rest of Ostania has suffered. I’ll be damned if I let someone else get hurt or grovel at their feet. I’m sick of it.”

Ryne kept silent. He’d apologized many times for the loss of the mayor’s last family member. Sometimes, he felt as if he had never been in Carnas the boy would be alive today. However, if he’d not been here, the village would have fallen to raiders years ago. That had never made him feel any better about what the Alzari had done to the boy. He knew no words to console Bertram.

“This be foolishness,” Hagan said, his lip curled in disgust. “Blame the Tribunal for sending them Alzari back then, fine. But harm Mariel for the sake of vengeance, and the Tribunal’s attention will turn on us. You wish to condemn us all? Killing their assassins be one thing, but to kill a Devout?”

“A Devout? Ha,” Bertram scoffed, the angry scar from his burn twitching, “If you’re so blind as to believe she’s just out here to teach us ‘savages’ about the purity of the Lord of light, then you’re more fool than I thought, Hagan. Ilumni…Amuni, they’re all Streamean in case you forgot. The Tribunal use the Devout to preach justice and spiritual harmony and meanwhile conquer all who don’t convert. Same shit, different chamber pot. Next, you’ll tell me you believe she’s really interested in how we survive, and why we risk settling this far into the wilds. Tell me this, since you do believe she’s just a Devout. Would you be satisfied with the offer she has made to take those who wish to follow her to Granadia?”

Hagan poured himself a cup of wine. “Of course not, but if they no longer wish to be here, who be we to stop them?”

“We’re a free people, that’s who. Beholden to no one. Free to worship which gods we please, when we please. Free to fight whoever threatens us. Free to live out here away from the grip and poison of other peoples.”

“Funny thing this freedom of yours be,” Hagan said, knocking the contents of his pipe into an ashtray. “It seems to ignore our choice to come and go as we please.” When Bertram only glowered in response Hagan added, “That be what I thought,” and took a sip from his cup.

Bertram snatched up the flagon of wine. His jaw clenched while he filled the last remaining cup, and the flesh from his burn scar tugged at his lips as he muttered to himself. With another glare at Hagan, who raised his own cup as a toast, Bertram downed the drink. He glanced at Ryne and took a deep breath. “We may be doomed anyway. If those Alzari in the woods were sent for you then the Tribunal knows you’re still alive. And that means Mariel already sent word.”