Terry Simpson: Etchings of Power

Red-faced, Forian dipped his head and avoided Ryne’s cold stare. “All I know be what I saw her do. And it be said when the rot leaves the forest, the shade will walk the land.” He peered at the faces around him. “Well, the rot left the forest. An infected lapra. If what she did not be of the shade then what be?” He paused for effect. “This be the first time I seen any beasts leave the Rot. And it happens when she be here, after she speaks to the same type of creature.” He turned his hands palms up as if the conclusions were inescapable. “I don’t call that chance.” A few in the crowd nodded their agreement.

Concerned mutters followed from the elders before Hagan spoke up. “You should be careful what you say, Forian.” He kept his voice low, but it still carried. “We wouldn’t want wind of words she might consider blasphemy to get back to her ears.” He peered in the direction of Mariel’s last camp.

“Why should we care what she thinks is blasphemy?” Bertram shrugged, his one-eyed gaze taking in everyone. “Even if she is a Devout, none of us here worship her gods.”

Murmurs of agreement joined the nods, steadily increasing. Someone else yelled Humelen was the true god.

Glowering, Ryne drew himself up, causing those nearby to take a few steps back as he loomed even larger. “Most of you here have been a part of the War of Remnants. You helped drive the last of the shadelings from your lands. Yet, your lands wouldn’t be your own right now if not for the same people you rebuke. Take a look around you.” He pointed at the rolling plains, then he gestured to the squat wooden buildings along the alleys and lanes within Carnas. “Look at your children, your neighbors, your friends.” He kept his eyes fixed on the villagers until they did as he commanded. “Without Granadia’s help, without the Devout,” he grimaced even before he said the next bit, “without the Tribunal, you may not be here today. They saved you from the shade. Remember that.”

The unrest died down.

“You be the reason we be here today,” Hagan said, his voice quiet.

Bertram cocked his head to regard Ryne with his good eye. The burn scar tissue covering the left side of Bertram’s face puckered, but he said nothing.

Ryne ignored Bertram’s expression and continued, “The most important thing right now is seeing Kahkon to safety. Debate these outlandish stories and accusations another time. Return to your homes. Make sure your children are safe. No one is to venture near the Fretian Woods.”

Few grumbled protests followed, but after a look at Ryne’s hulking form and hardened face, the villagers dispersed in small groups. Ryne waited to make sure the village square was clear.

“A moment if you will, Master Waldron,” Bertram said. “Hagan and I would like to speak with you.” He gestured toward the door of the inn.

“I’ve more important things to do,” Ryne snapped. “As do you. You should be seeing to your people.” He took in the mayor’s glare with a look akin to frozen steel.

Bertram growled something under his breath and spun on his heels. The elders followed.

Ryne signaled to Vana and Vera. The serving women ambled over to him. “I need you two to take Miss Lara home. See to her needs and make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Vana said.

Vera held out her hand. “Lord Waldron, take this with you.” She handed a pouch to him, and he leaned forward to see what it contained. “It’s the best kinai we could find. We had the mender make a paste just for you. It may also be useful when you find the boy.”

“You should eat some now too,” Vana added. She tiptoed and brushed her hand on the scars that striped the left side of his face. “There’s never anything wrong with a little extra energy.” She gave him a sweet smile.

Ryne sighed. He almost told them again he was no lord, but he knew his words would come and go like a fluttering breeze. Instead, he accepted their gift, acknowledged them both with a nod, and admired their shapes as they curtsied and hurried off with Miss Lara in tow.

A hunter’s horn wailed from within the woods.

Ryne dashed off toward the sound. Villagers scrambled out of his way as he bounded along the main road before he veered off into one of the many alleys, startling a few dogs foraging among garbage, the foul odor of piss and other undesirable waste permeating the air-the result of almost two weeks without rain. He leaped over the clogged drains and past the homes that lined the alleys, his leather boots making soft, rhythmic thuds as he ran. More than once, children at play jumped from his path. Emerging from Carnas’ eastern exit, he dodged past the gate in the low wooden wall. When he glanced out to his left, he growled.

Mariel watched him from across the plains. As usual, she maintained a distance where he couldn’t see her aura.

Ryne focused ahead and made a straight path toward the Fretian Woods. As he ran, he took a quick peek over his shoulder.

Mariel followed.

Irmina Nagel studied the giant man racing across the grassy dips and slopes of the terrain. Just watching the giant with the sun beating on him while only the slightest of breezes whispered through the air made her wish for a drink of water. With the back of her hand, she flicked away dark strands of hair stuck to her face and wiped at sweat streaming down her brow.

The thick fescue and blue and red flowering brush of the Orchid Plains offered little resistance to the man’s massive legs. His two-handed greatsword’s wide scabbard bounced on his thigh before he brought his hand down and kept it in place. He ate up the distance in great strides, three times a normal man’s full stretched leap.

She kept a careful eye on him and his tattoos. With his every move, they glinted like precious stones where they caught the sunlight. Any change in direction could be an attempt to capture her again. He’d tried three times since she came to Carnas, and she’d quickly learned to add more distance than her master had advised.

Birds fluttered from his path into the sparse trees, their sharp squawks announcing their displeasure. The one time he’d looked over his shoulder was his only acknowledgment of her existence, but she knew better than to think he forgot about her presence. As he closed in on the woods, Irmina’s vigilance increased. The man’s strange bodyguard and two others had passed that way. Soon after, she’d heard the horn from the same direction.

Are they trying to save the boy or hunt the creature down? She frowned. Even she wouldn’t want to confront the infected lapra within the forest’s confines. Her brief peek into the creature’s head revealed a mind as decayed as the rest of its body. The beast refused her attempt to command it to release the boy. Despite the day’s warmth, a shiver ran through her.

When she saw the lapra spring from the woods, she’d been tempted to try save Kahkon in a more direct manner. She almost did, before she realized it would be a fatal mistake. The giant man would see the power she used. High Shin Jerem had been explicit in his orders. At no time should she reveal herself to the man. Not if she wished to live.

Another question nagged at Irmina. What was the boy doing near the woods anyway? She’d sent a warning to the mayor about the golden-haired woman and the lapra’s presence. Why would they still allow the children-or anyone unprotected for that matter-to venture near the forest after those who already went missing? Her brow puckered. Unless Kahkon didn’t deliver my message.Maybe he forgot? No, he wouldn’t. Maybe, he didn’t understand? But that didn't seem likely.

Two things surprised her since coming to Carnas in her guise as Mariel the Devout. The first was many of the Ostanian youth in the village spoke Granadian to some extent. The second was the giant man had taught them. Her stories about the gods mesmerized Kahkon, and he never missed a chance to visit her each day. She’d promised him more stories if he took her message directly to the mayor. He hadn’t returned since.