Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

His gaze passed over Charra, and he lost a hold on the Eye. The glow around everything melted like snow into a geyser. But he knew what he witnessed, what caused him to lose his grip on the Eye in the first place.

Charra had no hues. Looking at the daggerpaw had been like looking at a blank slate. How could there be nothing?

A groan from Kachien broke Ancel from his thoughts. Her eyes opened.

Danvir and Mirza rushed to her side. Ancel looked on, not quite sure what to do now he’d seen the suffering existing around her. After a moment, and one more glance at where Charra lay, he joined his friends.

They prepared a meal for Kachien and helped her get comfortable. She ate, and before long, she was shooing them away.

“You three remind me of Tae, one of the old menders in my village. Fussing over me as if I am about to die. I am fine and strong.” Kachien stood.

As Ancel and his friends watched, she closed her eyes and danced. First left, then right, back, front, a side step, her shoulders dipping or rising with each rhythmic movement. Her movements were achingly slow at first, mesmerizing. She swayed delicately, but not as sensual as the Temtesa. Her movements were sharper, more pronounced. Ancel found himself smiling as he recognized what she did. The Bonadotors, but in a more flowing way than he’d ever seen, like the lapping movement of tiny waves on a calm sea. In tiny increments, she sped up, until she flitted so quickly he could no longer follow her movements. When she finished, he and his friends stood jaws unhinged in awe. Kachien bowed.

How she could perform as she did with what Ancel witnessed around her, he didn’t know, but for now he possessed no desire to question it. She appeared fine for the moment.

“Now that you three are done staring, it is time to go. The dartans I have hidden are not far from here. They should still be safe.” Kachien headed to the door. “Come, we must hurry. The other part of me is in need.”

Ancel squeezed his eyes shut. Although she hadn’t said it, he knew. Kachien’s power needed to be fed.

Just before dawn, Ryne received Varick’s summons. Twilight tinged the cloudy horizon to the east in deep orange, while above the encampment, the skies remained dark, the moons having already fled from view to the west. The camp bustled with preparations of a mass exodus. Firepits smoked and smoldered, and the sweet aroma from early breakfast lingered on the air. Already soldiers on horseback, followed by those on dartans, formed a long line, all facing west. Behind them, Dagodin infantry stood in neat rows, most appearing bored and impatient. Varick’s tent was the only one still standing.

With a nod to the two guards, and a signal for Sakari to wait, Ryne ducked inside. Varick, in his resplendent silver armor, the Lightstorm insignia engraved into the chest plate in gold, stood at his table tracing a finger along a map next to his helmet. He glanced up when Ryne cleared his throat.

“Ah, you’re here. Good,” Varick said. He went back to his map for a moment. “What do you know of a town named Ranoda?” His attention remained on the map as he spoke.

“Small town as Ostanian towns go.” Ryne joined Varick at the table near the tent’s center where he could finally straighten to his full height. “Up northwest, not far from the Nevermore Heights. There’s a Granadian barracks there. Well fortified from what I could tell the last time I passed anywhere close. Why?”

“The Tribunal has ordered us back to the Vallum. There’s been trouble at Ranoda.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Varick looked up then, his face grim. “Shadeling and Amuni’s Children kind. According to the report, the entire town has been wiped out.”

Ryne sensed there was more, so he waited. Ranoda was less than a day’s travel from where he’d left Jaecar, his family, and this Ashishin, Irmina. Being able to strike there as well as destroy Carnas and raid the farms along the Astocan border meant this army now moved on several fronts, and still their forces had been sizable enough to take a town with an entire Dagodin legion as well as one Ashishin.

“This Irmina I told you about delivered the report at the Vallum. She was the only survivor.” Varick’s blue eyes hardened, his gaze grew distant. “Lost a lot of good men. Men I knew. Some I trained myself. Her report claims your Alzari and his family were involved in the attack. According to her, she barely escaped the man.”

Ryne frowned. “I saw the man. He’s an assassin, sure, like all Alzari, but an ally of the shadelings? No, nothing I saw about him indicated such.” As he said the words, doubts skittered across Ryne’s mind. What about the golden-haired woman and how her aura simply disappeared? What of the recent odd sightings of auras that came and went like flitting shadows? Auras he somehow didn’t remember when he’d not forgotten a single one since he woke. Until now.

“Be that as it may,” Varick said. “I have little reason to doubt the woman if the Tribunal believes her. I’ve been given orders and I obey. We leave this morning. I called you here because they sent a High Ashishin to take me and my Knight Generals to the Vallum. They want us there yesterday. I want you to make the trip with us.”

The muscles along Ryne’s jaw tightened with his grimace. Varick was asking not only to expose him to a High Ashishin, but to allow the Matus to Materialize him. The last High Ashishin Ryne encountered, he’d killed the man. That act and the scores of Ashishin he’d killed in his refusal to be captured were part of the reasons the Tribunal sought him. Varick’s intervention had bought him a pardon until he decided he no longer wished to work as the Tribunal’s hand of vengeance. Until he made the choice to atone for the many atrocities he committed under their orders, for the deaths he reveled in when his power took him.

Varick paced to the tent’s entrance and peered outside. “I knew how you’d feel. But this man you can trust. He has no interest in what the Tribunal seeks you for.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Look,” Varick turned to face Ryne, his eyes pleading. “I need you. I’m getting old. I fear I won’t survive another war. I have a wife and a son back in Eldanhill. I’d like to see them again. Near eighteen years since I last saw them.” Varick paused, regret written clearly on his face. “There’s not been a greater warrior than you since the days of the Shadowbearer War when Nerian struck down all before him. Watching you fight always reminded me of him. The difference is you’re on our side. Not only will I need you to train the men, but should this army attack as soon as expected, we can use you at the front lines. I can use you and that brain of yours.”

Ryne closed his eyes, mulling over the choices. The very reason he intended to head to the Vallum lay before him. Vengeance for Carnas’ people. Now, he was also being offered a chance to repay an old friend who stood for him when no one else dared. But could he take such a risk? If he suffered one of his recent cracks in control when in the presence of this High Ashishin, there was no telling what he would do. Would the control he’d found first in Halvor’s Entosis then in the one Sakari nursed him back to health within, hold?

“Besides,” Varick added. “This way you’ll get to Imbuer Adler faster than you thought.”

Too many chances were converging at the same time. Ryne shrugged off his lingering doubts. A step lay before him to be sure he could master himself in the way he’d found in the Entosis. And another led to a possibility of discovering the past that haunted him. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

Varick let out a deep breath. “Good.” His teeth showed in a relieved grin. “Well, now’s as good a time as any to meet High Ashishin Jerem.”