Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Impossible,” Irmina whispered.

Her haunted memories flashed again. Word of her parents’ death to shadelings in the War of the Remnants felt as if she just heard it. That night her life had shattered, and remained in shambles even after the Dorns took her in. Somehow, she’d managed to patch herself together with the love they showed her. Through it all, she’d fallen in love with Ancel. Then came her last Ashishin trial when she’d discovered who the Dorns were, the part they played in the War of Remnants and the Shadowbearer War before it. The part they played in her parents’ deaths, in the demise of much of her family.

“Devout Irmina?”

Irmina looked down. She was standing with her unsheathed sword in her trembling hands. “I–I’m fine.” She took a deep breath.

She hadn’t noticed the heat flowing through her. The same heat Jerem taught her to control when she touched Mater. The same heat that brought a craving to kill. She forced the feeling into the coldest part of her mind until it dwindled to nothing.

Neither Jaecar nor Melina had moved, but a still air hung in the room. Irmina met their gaze and slid her sword into its scabbard. Jaecar’s lips parted before he gave a simple nod. Ormand sweated profusely, and he wrung his hands several times.

“Continue your questioning.” Irmina paced across the room.

With a nervous nod, Ormand turned to Jaecar, and their conversation resumed. If Jaecar was telling the truth, an army possibly several hundred thousand strong was sweeping across Ostania. Those numbers must be an exaggeration. Yet, she needed to consider the worst. She would get word to High Shin Jerem and the Tribunal regardless.

“Ormand, did he say which way they were headed?”

“Yes. Southwest, toward the larger cities beyond the Orchid Plains. It’s why he came this way. He’s trying to reach the Vallum of Light to warn our armies there, and to get his family to safety.”

Irmina pondered the news. If indeed the invading army headed across the Orchid, it would only be a matter of time before it reached the Vallum itself anyway. She needed to get a warning across as soon as possible. She stopped pacing. “Where are the closest Envoys or Heralds?”

Ormand shook his head, reading her thoughts. “There are none before the Vallum of Light.”

Striding to a window, Irmina stared out at the twin moons and another set of thunderclouds. She would have to do it herself then. Misty would have to run like she never ran before. Granadia’s fate may well depend on it.

“Ormand, gather the men,” Irmina commanded. “Let them know what was said. Also dispatch several eagles with messages of these tidings. Tell Jaecar he can leave with me if he chooses, but I won’t be staying with them. I’ll push to the Vallum to warn the army and pass word to the Heralds for the Tribunal.”

“Devout Irmina,” Ormand said, his tone a plea. “I mean no offense but, it’s one thing to speak to us with your authority as a Devout, your holiness, but the laws prevent you from commanding any military into action. Knight Caden is most…particular about the laws.”

Irmina’s mouth curled into a devilish smile. She strode to her desk, reached down, and clicked a hidden lever. An extra draw slid open. She removed a rather skimpy crimson uniform and two pins, one in the shape of crossed lightning bolts and the other of the Lightstorm.

Ormand gaped, his eyes shifting from the clothes to Irmina. Her gaze met the man’s as his recognition of a Raijin’s uniform changed his eyes from those of reverence into fear. As the elite assassins among the Ashishin, Raijin could command anyone at anytime and their rank fell just below a High Ashishin. Irmina had not noticed a reaction to her real name from Jaecar earlier, but the Raijin garb brought a gasp from him and a hiss from his wife. Both dropped to the floor with their heads down.

Snapping to attention, Ormand rose to his feet. This time when he bowed, it was from the waist, and his eyes never left the floor. “I shall inform them, Shin Irmina.”

Outside, lightning flickered and thunder rumbled. A scream sounded. Then another. A trumpet wailed.

Irmina swung her head around toward the window. Instead of Ranoda’s lights or the dark curtain of clouds crossing the moon, blackness greeted her in a raspy whisper.

Hands sticky with blood, Ryne moved with practiced efficiency. Cut, contour, split, pull, followed by a wet tearing sound. Fluids dribbled to the ground like viscous red wine as skin and hide parted from flesh. He raised his head from the work, tossed the useless fur to one side, and dropped another lapra’s hindquarter onto the pile of meat near the fire.

Gray lined the skies, a remnant of the storm the night before, and mist crept through the forest as if the clouds had descended among the trees surrounding the glen. A nearby stream gurgled its soft song.

Cocking his head, Ryne listened to the thrashing within the undergrowth for an imminent attack, but none came. Growls and snarls announced predators stalking within the woods drawn by his work’s pungent aroma, their eyes often glowing among the trees. However, none of the animals had attacked since he and Sakari slaughtered the first few. The beasts now resorted to challenging each other.

The night before, Ryne and Sakari had found Thumper alive and well at the glen. The dartan lay next to a stream, his extremities retracted into his shell, his olive carapace a giant, rounded rock. Scattered remains, mostly from plains lapras that had hunted Thumper, littered the ground. Among them lay a few of their bigger forest lapra cousins. To cause such devastation there must have been at least four forest lapra packs defending their territory. Although, a few carcasses did the show the results of Thumper’s enormous fangs.

Thumper hadn’t moved since Ryne and Sakari found him with his claws protruding at the six openings for his legs, his head tucked where only the carapace on its crown showed, and his tail curled snug under his shell. He could remain this way for days when he felt threatened.

“Do you think you have enough for him now?” Sakari asked as he dragged a fourth carcass over through the muddy leaves.

Ryne studied the meat next to him. “Yes. He won’t be able to resist this. Skin the last one for me to roast. I’ll go feed him.”

Sakari nodded and dropped the remains next to the fire. A knife appeared in his hand, he sat cross-legged on the ground, pulled the lapra by a leg, and began cutting.

Ryne dragged the meat to where Thumper lay, leaving a bloody trail through soggy leaves. Calling Thumper’s name in situations like this never worked, so with a great heave, he sent the chunks tumbling under the dartan’s head. The meat struck the shell with soft thuds.

After a few moments, Thumper’s shell rocked back and forth. Legs eased out, revealing mottled, blue-green skin. When the claws touched the ground, all movement halted. The dartan remained motionless for a moment before his legs eased farther down and pushed up until he stood twenty-four hands from the ground to the rounded top of his shell-the same height as Ryne. The dartan’s tail uncoiled at the same time that his head stretched forward. Thumper mewled when he saw Ryne.

Ryne stepped up under his dartan’s head, a smile on his face. “Good boy. You missed me? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a good meal.”

Thumper’s neck curled down, and he rubbed his head against Ryne’s arm. Rows of sharp teeth clicked against each other in a face too small for the dartan’s girth. As he sniffed at Ryne’s hand, Thumper’s tongue flicked out and licked the blood. His bulbous eyes rolled, and his gaze shifted to the meat.

“Go ahead, enjoy,” Ryne said. “Wish I could’ve found you some kinai to go with that, but this will do for now.”