Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

A stiff wind rose at Ryne’s back, and a distant rumble echoed in the air. Ryne Shimmered to a new position, eyeing the northern sky. Onyx thunderheads with blue lightning radiating within them rolled across the heavens. Ryne grunted his concern. When the blanket of clouds crossed the moons, they would cast the land into darkness. Shade would envelop everything. Whoever his hidden adversary, the man was no fool.

Ryne knew he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

He Shimmered twice out onto the plains toward the wraithwolves. The smaller one rose up onto its legs as he landed. In one fluid motion, Ryne unsheathed his sword and triggered its Scripts. He took the shadeling’s head before it stood fully erect. There was no sense of impact as the body crumpled to ash.

The bigger wraithwolf Blurred away to the forest’s edge. Sheathing his weapon, Ryne faced the beast. The shadeling Blurred, this time toward Ryne, its form appearing to stretch into a long silhouette. Ryne’s gaze followed. Only one patch of shade was big enough to hold the creature. It emerged from Ryne’s shadow.

As the shadeling appeared, Ryne drew his sword and sliced through the shadow. The wraithwolf issued a plaintive cry. Still wreathed in shadow, its body shriveled, the ash of its remains dissipating on the storm winds.

Ryne spun in anticipation of his hidden foe. But no attack came. Eyes shifting from side to side, he rotated slowly.

The thunderheads began to cross the moons, lightning radiating from within them in ever increasing beats in time with the growl of thunder. Rain pattered to the ground and darkness swept in. Ryne’s Scripts writhed about him, pulling at his skin as if they could peel from him. The two warring voices came screaming into his head, and his bloodlust rose in a vicious torrent that almost made him stumble, but he made no attempt to calm them, instead reveling in the power they bestowed.

Disturbed Flows of air and the interruption of the raindrops’ steady rhythm was his only warning. He swung his sword up.

Light met shade in an embrace of white and black sparks. Steel rang with a reverberating echo, the impact vibrating through Ryne’s arms.

Illuminated by the glow from Ryne’s sword, a black-armored assailant darted away, hooded cloak billowing, then circled. The man’s height brought him past Ryne’s shoulders, and he appeared powerfully built matching in Ryne in size. Not even his eyes showed. In one hand, the stranger held a wide, five foot-long blade with distinctive glyphs.

How is it that I can’t sense this man’s Mater or see his aura?

Lightning flashed and the man struck again. Low then high. Ryne parried the blows with ease. His attacker leaped back before Ryne could counter.

Ryne’s eyes narrowed. He ignored the raindrops drumming his head and water dripping down his face. The stranger moved faster than anyone he’d ever faced. But why was he using the most basic strikes?

Again, the dark man swept in, this time with four strokes alternating from torso to head to legs. Still, just the basics.

Ryne parried each strike and swept in for an attack. The man Blurred away. Ryne hadn’t felt him draw any shade when he used his ability. Worry chilled Ryne’s bones and crawled down his back. His heart raced. Whoever this attacker was, he possessed skills beyond any Ryne remembered encountering.

The black armored man circled once more and shifted, this time into a more advanced Stance-Earthtouch. Ryne countered the man’s Stance with Voidwalk, ready to use air’s weightless Styles to counter earth’s solid strength. Ryne smiled inwardly. Now he knew who’d taught the Alzari he fought.

Before Ryne could move, the man disappeared again in the darkness. Ryne sensed essences being drawn in a Forging he recognized. Unable to Shimmer, he sprinted in the direction he felt the Forging.

As quickly as it began, the thunderstorm ended. The clouds bypassed the moons, and moonlight illuminated the field once more. Able to use his power now, Ryne Shimmered to the location of the Forge.

The man was gone, and from the residue left from the Forging, Ryne knew he wouldn’t be back. For a moment, Ryne stood surveying the valley and its forests. Life, he knew, had just become more difficult than he could’ve imagined. With a sigh, he Shimmered to the north and the relative safety of the Vallum of Light.

Ryne stood in a field below the Vallum with his sword in hand, the white stone and steel wall stretching several hundred feet above him. It had taken him another hour to reach Irmina and the others. The Setian camp spread behind him, close to the towering divya wall, but out of sight of any Bastions. There were no tents, just bedrolls containing sleeping people and guards patrolling with daggerpaws.

Dawn hovered on the air, but the sun still lay beyond the mountains and horizon to the east. The silver-blue moons had already deserted the sky, leaving a slate-like blanket of gloom. Loose strands of hair fluttering with the wind, Ryne adhered to his own regimen and practiced the sword under a gray cloudless sky, feet swishing through wet grass. Sakari watched his every move.

Ryne flowed through every Stance and Style memorized from years of unending practice-most of those years hidden in a fog of lost memories. Thoughts of his murderous past, of Carnas, of Bertram’s betrayal, of Taeria’s secret, of his failure to save Kahkon, haunted him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t banish those memories this dreary morning. He brought his sword work to a halt as Edsel, Garon and Irmina strode to meet him.

“Glad to see you’re alive and well, old friend.” Edsel’s golden eye shone as he spoke. He clasped his hand over Ryne’s when he reached him.

Ryne returned the gesture. “Yet, I failed,” Ryne said solemnly. “I managed to destroy the wraithwoods, but the man escaped.”

“How?” Garon asked with an incredulous stare.

“He was stronger than a High Ashishin. I too couldn’t sense when he drew Mater. I could only sense what he Forged after the fact.”

Garon’s eyes widened even more. Irmina’s expression radiated fear.

“You’ll have to take your people away from here. He will come back,” Ryne stated.

Edsel nodded. “I figured as much. I had already planned on it. What do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to warn Knight Commander Varick. He needs to inform the Tribunal about the Vallum’s breach.”

Irmina scowled. “So much for your promise.”

“I promised I would come, I never said when. Besides, warning Varick is more important than going with you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Ryne stared her down. “That man could be anywhere by now. He Materialized,” Ryne said in a soft voice.

Irmina’s mouth went slack. “But, but only High Ashishin or Exalted can use that ability.”

“Exactly, my point.”

A blast of icy wind swept down from the snow-capped shoulders of the Kelvore Mountains. Shin Galiana shivered. The air was too cold by far for summer, unnaturally so. The gale cut through cloak, cloth, leather, and mail alike as it chased bloated, gray clouds before it, harrying them across the dark sky. Steamy breaths rose in the air as men shifted uneasily or stomped their feet, shoulders hunched, intent gazes focused across the battlefield. Bonfires along the lines of archers did little to stave off the chill, their heat swelling for a moment before the wind swept the warmth away into the night. Knight Captains barked commands at the soldiers to remain vigilant, to ignore the cold. Often, the response was chattering teeth and stomping feet. Although used to the harsh winters northern Granadia brought, their bodies were not prepared for the sudden change of weather.