Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Stefan stroked his gray-streaked beard. “Yet, what we do to fight them hasn’t proved to be much different, Galiana. What makes what we do right?”

Galiana leaned on her staff, the scented incenses and the lightstones inserted at regular intervals along the walls reminding her of where she was and her purpose. “We have never killed a single person in Ilumni’s name. We were forced into this position. Seems the burden of what we do has made you forget. How could we fight near immortality without doing what we have done?”

“Saying we’ve never killed anyone is Ilumni’s name is stretching the truth just a little don’t you think? Even so, it doesn’t make what we do right.”

“Sometimes, it is not doing what is right that saves man, but what is necessary.”

Stefan gave a snorting chuckle. “I’m sure they would say the same.”

“What they’ve done to remain in power all these years is evil, dating back to what Nerian began with the Erastonians. What he forced upon you, the lives he snuffed out with his wars. Sometimes you have to fight shade with shade. Isn’t that what you once said to me?”

“I’m just weary of it all.” Stefan sighed. “All these centuries planning and waiting and to see light at the end of the tunnel, only to have things start to spiral out of control. If we allow what the Tribunal has done to continue, Denestia will be forever mired in darkness. They must go. The fact they've abused the Chronicles to choose the path they did only proves the point more. I want this to end already.”

“Patience. The Setian will be the spearhead of the war to come. The Chronicles do not lie,” Galiana said in an effort to soothe Stefan’s frustration. “We need to be strong for when the shade does come. If that means dealing with the Tribunal a little longer, then so be it.”

“Maybe. But you and Jerem keep so much hidden it’s hard to keep the faith.” Stefan pointed out toward the massing army. “I doubt it’s a coincidence they’re here at a time we may actually gain the upper hand. And who is to say what other allies they have? Barson, for sure. They’ve always made their hate for the Tribunal clear. Maybe Danindad or Calvar? Who knows? Then there’s the Dosteri. All signs from our agents point to them knowing the importance of our kinai.”

“When surrounded by enemies, choose a path no one expects,” Galiana quoted from the Disciplines.

Stefan shook his head and gave a wry smile. “Is there such a path? Crossing too far down the Kelvore leads to territory caught up in the battles between Doster and Sendeth. The mountains, as you well know, leads to the feuding clans. We could ask them for help, but why should they help us? Giomar’s failed attempt to demand their obedience to a King they don’t recognize may have ruined that chance. Going west would be to enter Barson, which is forbidden territory for us. Has Jillian sent eagles to the Iluminus?”

“Yes. As soon as word arrived about the army. It will be at least a week and a half before the eagles arrive and we get help.”

Stefan opened the looking glass and studied the opposing forces once more. “A week and a half we don’t have. This has been almost perfectly orchestrated. The Tribunal is so blinded by their schemes in Ostania they’ve missed the real threat.”

“But we cannot afford for them to lose beforehand,” Galiana added. “So for now, we need to do what we can. We need them as much or more than they need us.” Although she wouldn’t admit all to Stefan, Galiana agreed with everything he said. Events were falling out of their control. Without word from Jerem, her hands were tied. They would need to sit and wait and hope reinforcements from the Tribunal arrived in time. Their outlook was bleak.

“Have you heard from your agent about my son?” Stefan closed the glass once more and turned to face her. He looked as if he aged ten years as he mentioned Ancel. Even within his crimson uniform, she could tell his shoulders slumped. Bags marred his face under his eyes.

Galiana sighed. She’d hoped Stefan wouldn’t bring this up now. “No. Not yet.”

Stefan’s eyes hardened. “So not only are we faced with this, but Ancel may be hurt or imprisoned for all we know. How can we save the people if we can’t even save my son?”

“Well, we know he is not dead.”

“I thank my wife for that every day,” Stefan muttered,

Galiana’s heart ached to see Stefan this way, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Has the Access Key changed?”

Stefan touched his sword with its hilt of chased gold. “No.”

“And Thania has not felt him pass?”

“No.”

“Then he is not dead. Held captive would make more sense. It would give another reason why Sendeth’s army has given us a few days to make our decision. They could be bringing him here to bargain.”

That set Stefan’s eyes smoldering. “Or they could be waiting for the arrival of their own Matii. The Pathfinders may have done a good job culling those without control, but we all know they didn’t capture every single one. Regardless, if Sendeth has my son, I will give up Eldanhill for him.”

“As would I,” Galiana said. “He is too important not to. But I fear if they do have him they will not surrender him.”

“I’d announce my rule and flay them all if they tried to keep my son from me. Or if they hurt him.” Stefan’s hands balled into fists.

Galiana didn’t doubt the man. He’d lost one family before to the Tribunal’s schemes with Nerian. She’d spent too many centuries plotting with him not to know the look his face bore. People were going to die. A great many, if they harmed Ancel. “I beg you to be patient. Wait and see what other terms they send while we build our defenses here. In the meantime, you plan a way for us to escape.”

“I’ve been thinking on that.” Stefan’s forehead furrowed. “There’s no way for everyone to escape. The best we could hope for is to defend Eldanhill until we find out where Ancel is, collect him, then you Materialize him, Thania and the Access Key somewhere safe.” Stefan’s gaze met hers in an intense stare.

“You know what you’re asking?”

“Yes.”

Galiana’s shoulders slumped bonelessly. To use Materialization, she would break the last bonds of her control. The Pathfinders would come and put an end to her. “If that is my fate then the sacrifice would be worth it for him, for the world.”

Stefan nodded, reached out, and gave her a firm squeeze. The sadness of her possible death radiated from his eyes. What’s done is done. She prayed that somehow Kachien had taken Ancel to safety.

Ryne took note of the Astocans, with regalia on display, who had continued to talk and partake from the supply of food available as if no one had announced the presence of an encroaching force. He allowed his lips a slight twitch. So, Voliny still keeps his Advisors and Generals mingled within the crowd, and he obviously knew of this army’s approach beforehand.

Speculation still ran rampant despite the announcement the reported army was Granadian. Many fidgeted or dabbed at sweaty foreheads, and hushed murmurs swept through the room. The anticipation within the air grew palpable, and all heads faced the wide door to the chamber.

Marching footsteps sounded from the hall, the door swung open, and a gold liveried servant with the Waterwall insignia stitched to his breast entered. “Knight Commander Varick of Granadia, Your Majesty,” announced the servant. He shied away from the entrance.

A sweaty Lieutenant Rosival entered and stepped aside.

Following Rosival was a wide-shouldered man in silver armor filigreed with an embossing of the sun and lightning bolts striking in front of it on his chest plate. Short, gray hair, interspersed with white streaks, perched on his head and matched the scraggly growth on his chin. His hair bounced with each robust stride. Eyes like flint stared straight ahead at the King as the man strode down the hall. Varick had aged since Ryne last saw him, but those hard eyes remained the same. The Knight Commander carried a silver helmet under one arm. Although unarmed, he moved with a predator-like grace in his calf high sabatons, his gait and his expression daring anyone in the room to challenge him. The man’s eyes gave a slight twitch when his gaze crossed Ryne.