Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Sakari’s iron grip on her hand stopped her. She flexed against his hold, but his fingers never budged. She met his gaze, and he shook his head. He didn’t release his hold even after she relaxed.

Ryne regarded her with narrowed eyes, his back stiff. His deep voice was steel. “What do you mean you sent a message to Bertram about the lapra?”

Irmina chose her words with care. “I sent Kahkon to tell him I’d seen the infected lapra. To keep his people away from the forest. I also sent a warning about a golden-haired woman I saw. She was always near where they would find those bodies.” The confusion on Ryne’s face registered with her. “Bertram didn’t tell anyone?”

Staring off at something distant, Ryne shook his head.

The night air hung heavy and again the grunting bark sounded. This time closer. Irmina wiped the sweat from her forehead with her other hand.

Finally, Ryne spoke. “You mentioned Jaecar. What did you do with him?”

At the mention of the man’s name, the attack in the office came roaring back. Irmina squeezed her eyes shut for brief moment and took a long breath. “N-Nothing.” She opened her eyes and steadied her shaking voice. “Although I wish I had. He tried to kill me in Ranoda. He brought an army of shadelings and Amuni’s Children down onto the town.”

Ryne was shaking his head, brows drawn together in a lumpy frown. “I saw no ill aura around him except-. His aura was as normal as-.”

She gasped as his hard fingers engulfed her arm, replacing Sakari’s, and snatched her to her feet. She hadn’t seen him or Sakari move.

Misty warbled a warning.

The grunting barks came again from multiple locations almost on top of them-too many to count. Irmina’s eyes narrowed. She recognized those noises.

Ancel’s daggerpaw made the same sound when he hunted.

“Pay attention, woman.” Ryne’s eyes bored into hers as he held her by one arm. “They’re here. Don’t do anything. Don’t even speak.

Ryne’s fingers were coiled into a steel bracelet of tight control that dwarfed Irmina’s arm. The woman’s golden-brown eyes flashed, but she said nothing. After a moment, he released his grip. Wincing, she rubbed at her arm.

The realization Bertram was somehow involved in the attack on Carnas had rocked him to his core. The mayor’s aura had appeared so perfect to him-same as it had been around Jaecar-except for those few times that he’d attributed the slight shift as a trick of the light or an emotional reaction. How could the man have hidden his intentions for so long? All the smiles, the banter, the annoying yet welcome arguments. Had Bertram really taken his hate for the Tribunal to such a level he doomed Carnas in the process? Ryne balled his hand into a fist and focused on the present danger.

Atop the hills, scores of daggerpaws appeared. Soon after, men in dark armor rose beside the beasts as if they grew from the earth.

Battle energy thrummed through Ryne’s body. “Remember, do not move or speak.”

More men riding horses or dartans crested the hill in front of him. Two dartan riders guided their mounts down into the hollow while the others stayed at the top. There had to be over a hundred of them by now. Upon reaching the clearing’s edge, the two dismounted.

Full helmets made from hard leather, dyed green, hid their faces. Silver rivets covered the interlocking leather plates giving the helms a layered effect. Only their eyes showed between six thin straps connecting one side of the helm to the other and serving as a faceguard. They were equipped as well as any soldier in Varick’s army, with deep green chestpieces and spaulders. Spiked bracers adorned their arms and fists. Cuisses at their thighs covered kilts that looked more like an apron, and under the kilts, leggings showed, all made from the same hardened leather in layered plates. Their soft leather boots made little noise against the clearing’s black stone and sandy shale. Short, double-bladed axes hung from hasps at each hip.

Both men pulled off their helmets. The taller of the two reached Ryne’s shoulder. He was a young man with an angular jaw, squared chin and a black braid wrapped in a small bun. He shook his head and the braid fell down his back. Hard, golden eyes studied Ryne. His aura writhed about him with a strength few possessed. Something about the man’s face seemed familiar.

The other man had long, white hair done in numerous, small, intricate braids. Unlike the young man’s smooth features, scars marred this man’s face on both sides before they disappeared under the leather at his neck. His left side lacked an ear. On the same side, his eye proved nothing more than a closed lid. The old man gazed at Ryne without blinking. The man’s single golden eye with its few silver flecks reflected the flames.

Ryne knew that eye, and the smooth aura, even if it was sixty years later. Tension eased from his shoulders.

The old man smiled. “Ryne Waldron, the Lightbringer. If I hadn’t seen you with mine own eyes, or is that eye?” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have believed.” His voice came in slow, raspy gasps, stretching into a hiss at every pause. Not like Ryne remembered. “So I left relative safety to see for myself. And here you are, looking as if you haven’t aged a day since you saved my people.”

“Edsel Stonewilled,” Ryne said with a shake of his head and a smile, his battle energy seeping from him.

“Yes, my old friend.” Edsel pointed at the young man. “This is my son, Garon. I’ve told him more times than I can count he wouldn’t exist without you.” He gestured around the hilltops. “None of us would.”

Garon bowed. “May Ilumni’s and Humelen’s blessings always shine on you, Lightbringer, for what you’ve done for the Setian.” His deep, strong voice emphasized the reverence etched in his words.

Irmina gasped, and they all looked to her. The Ashishin’s hand edged toward her sword. Garon’s eyes narrowed. Ryne shook his head, and her hand stilled, but her face still creased with worry.

Breathing easier, Ryne shifted his attention back to Garon. “Please, just call me Ryne. I told your father the same thing sixty years ago.”

Edsel nodded toward Sakari. “I see you still travel with the silent one.” He turned his head and his good eye to Irmina. “Who is the young Beastsinger?”

“Irmina, Irmina Nagel,” she answered before Ryne could reply.

Ryne grimaced.

Edsel circled her. Every step included a small limp. “What’s your business here Nagel Beastsinger? My son has watched you following the Lightbringer. He also saw you Forge. By your skin and eyes, you’re a Granadian Ashishin. Did you know this, Ryne?”

“Yes. We were just discussing it when you came.” Ryne paused and shot her a meaningful glance. “Edsel, she’s a friend for now. Extend the same protection to her as you would for me and Sakari.”

Both the Setian’s heads snapped around to Ryne. Edsel’s one eye stared for a moment, and then he bowed. “As the Lightbringer wishes.” Edsel’s gaze brushed over the corpses. “I see you took care of what drew us here in the first place.” He pointed at the daggerpaws. “They’re drawn to the shade like rot flies to decayed flesh.” His eye shifted to Ryne. “It must be the Chronicle’s work to find you here. Come, there’s something you must see. On the way, you can tell me how you survived when you were taken by the Ashishin.” His eye shifted to Irmina, and he smirked.

“Give me a moment,” Ryne said.

Edsel nodded, signaled to his men and they mounted and rode up the hill.

“You’re not considering going with them, are you?” Irmina cast a venomous glare at the back of the Setian.

“If Edsel says there’s something I must see, then it must be important. It would help if you either shut up or chose your words more carefully.”