Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

On and on the faces swept through him. He etched each into his mind.

“May the gods find a place for your souls and may their Battleguards keep you safe.” Ryne threw the torches onto the wood.

The logs burst into flames with a whoosh, heated waves from the pyre forcing Ryne to take a step back. He stared into the roaring blaze. Black smoke billowed into the air in greasy plumes, and the acrid smell from the burning flesh filled the air.

Ryne whispered another prayer, then a torch and the remainder of the oil in hand, he strode to Vana and Vera’s home. He didn’t go inside. He wanted to remember them as they were the night he left. He doused their home with oil and set it ablaze.

As he watched the conflagration, Ryne lost himself in thought. To have taken the six clanholds, and keep moving the way they did, the advancing army must number over a hundred thousand or more. How many of those are shadelings or worse? Halvor said my enemies sought me. Well now, I’ll seek them. If my purpose is to battle, then I’ll once again embrace my bloodlust. They will know fucking fear.

A withering heat filled Ryne as if he and the inferno were one. “We’ll need to behead and burn the other bodies. Afterward, we have cities to warn. We need to find Thumper. He should be at his favorite clearing in the Fretian.”

After destroying the other bodies and setting more homes on fire, they strode from Carnas, heading to the southeast. There, they found signs of blood mixed with the tracks left by the army leaving the village.

“Have you realized we did not find Kahkon, Bertram, or Taeria and the other menders?” Sakari asked.

“Yes,” Ryne answered, but he offered nothing more as he pushed the chance for survivors from his mind. If any did live, they were as good as dead.

They jogged across the plains, and Ryne took one last look back at Carnas. The village itself was now a huge pyre with a black pall darker than the night rising into the air to meet the dark clouds rolling across the sky.

He turned away, his face as hard as silversteel, and his heart ice.

Irmina Nagel gestured to the rockhound, sending an image of what she wanted along her link with the creature. The beast padded behind her to guard her back.

Undergrowth wreathed in darkness and silhouetted tree trunks that wore their leaves and branches as black mantles surrounded her. They provided easy cover for the short Ostanian man with the painted face to remain hidden while making his many surprise attacks. Ever since the giant and his companion left, this had become his pattern. After graduating Eldanhill's Mystera and attending the Iluminus, she had placed at the top of her class when it came to scouting and using her surroundings to mask her presence. Yet her stealth was a pale shadow of this man’s.

Painted Face had gradually moved toward the outskirts of the Mondros Forest as evening drew to night and clouds moved in to obscure the twin moons. Not once did he allow her to come close to his family.

The multiple howls and screeches within the woods spoke of creatures much deadlier than any Irmina saw during the day. Once, when she heard nearby thrashings from one such animal, she allowed her innate sense for living beasts to reach among the trees. The animal repulsed her touch as if she were some paltry annoyance.

Through her link, she sensed the rockhound react to a feathery landing on sodden leaves. Luckily, the beast did not rely on its nose to track Painted Face. He’d hidden his scent well using mud, and the fresh smells from the earlier rain only served to help him. Still, his precautions didn’t matter. Any touch he made that connected to the earth gave him away.

The rockhound’s growl warned Irmina of the impending attack. She spun, but the hound pounced into position to guard her, ducking its head, its stoneskin hardening.

The short man’s daggers bounced off harmlessly, falling to the ground. Irmina met the man’s eyes for the briefest moment to see them flash with frustration before he slid among the undergrowth once more. She knew it made no sense to chase, not if she wanted to stay alive.

Hours playing this game had proved fruitless. She needed some way to force Painted Face to speak to her. Watching him meet with the giant convinced her this Ostanian and his family held the key she needed to approach her target. How else could he have convinced the giant and his bodyguard not to kill him? There must be another way to get through to this man.

She surveyed the land through the trees, casting her gaze out onto the road meandering next to the forest. Something about the lay of the land, the short hills, and the rolling plain beyond tickled her memory. Lights peeked back across the dark terrain like lightflies at play. Could it be? She weaved her way to the road. Sure enough, in the distance was the farm where she left her mount before making her way to Carnas. She couldn’t suppress her smile.

She sent an image across her link to the rockhound to track the man. The animal snorted and bounded away. Irmina cut across the road and jogged toward the farm.

An hour later, Irmina returned to the Mondros with her dartan, Misty, and two other mounts in tow. She trilled twice to Misty-a sound similar to what the dartans made. In response, Misty swung her long snake-like neck out, cocking her head to one side at the sounds within the forest and shifted closer to the other mounts. Like all dartans, she was taller and wider than a horse, but her bulky form belied her grace. The green hump of her shell was slick from the light drizzle falling, and Irmina hunkered down in the saddle carved into it. Beside her, the other two larger dartans mewled nervously, tails flicking back and forth. The farmers had been ready to give the extra mounts to her at no charge, but she’d shushed them and offered payment.

A smile on her face at the intimidating effect of her Devout uniform, she dismounted and carried herself with her head held high and back straight. The lamp she carried lit her path as she entered the forest. Leaves and twigs crunching underfoot, she followed her link to the rockhound.

This time, the man and his family were no more than twenty feet in. Both he and his wife stood with blades bared toward the rumbling hound.

When they saw Irmina’s silver uniform, the trousers and tunic bearing the stripes of her station, they gaped. She held up her lamp to make sure they could see the insignia of the sun encased in a halo on her breast. The symbol of Ilumni’s Devout glittered with its own light. Weapons lowered, and the two Ostanians bowed from the waist.

“I’m Devout Mariel Nagella. In the name of Ilumni and Granadia’s Tribunal, you will both come with me.” She indicated the other two mounts, one with extra saddles carved into its shell to carry the children.

Painted Face cocked his head to her then looked at his woman. He said something in Ostanian. Irmina knew the language by sound. Outside of a few names, she didn’t understand the language, nor did she care to.

The man stepped forward. “I, Jaecar,” he pointed to the woman, “this Melina, wife.” He said something else in garbled Granadian Irmina couldn’t quite grasp but took to mean they would follow her.

Irmina dropped the reins of the extra mounts and waited for the Ostanians to gather their belongings.

Flickers of lightning illuminated the leaden clouds shrouding the twin moons. Moments later, thunder offered its response in continuous growls. Irmina didn’t bother to wipe the rainwater running from her hair. Instead, she allowed it to caress her forehead and cheeks as she held her face to the sky and smiled at the clouds that leaked the light drizzle. Next to her rode Jaecar, his wife Melina, and their two children. Jaecar’s odd looks and cold eyes made her regret releasing the rockhound before they left the forest.