Plates of its black armor honed to a fine edge, the gigantic beast stepped through the portal. Tentacles split into four along the ribs, shortening and solidifying into arms with skin so shiny it glowed. Claws tipped each four-digit hand. Slits opened where a head should be to reveal eight milky-white eyes. The face formed, jaw stretching into a fanged eel-like countenance. A horn stood out on the forehead, and two others stretched back where there should have been ears. Wriggling worms-like beings swarmed around the creature, floating in the air, each about five feet long, their facial features matching their giant counterpart.
“Ancel. Ancel. Stop. Release your Matersense now.”
Ryne’s frantic voice and a hand shaking his shoulder broke Ancel from his daydream. He shook his head, trying to focus. Finally, Ryne’s massive form appeared, hovering over him.
“What happened?” Ryne asked. “One moment you were fine, and the next you opened your Matersense and began drawing on the essences. You held more power than you can control. More power than you have naturally.”
“My, my mother,” Ancel said, his head throbbing. One hand squeezed tight around his mother’s pendant. “Sometimes I get these dreams of her. More like memories of what happened that night but as if it’s happening right now. I repeat what I did then, drawing on the power of a divya they kept in our home. Through it I–I connected to the temples and drew on the Mater they stored.”
Ryne leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “An amplified link and Forge. One of the reasons I first came to the Setian. They used Forgings well beyond their means.” He appeared lost in thought, frowning as if he strained for something. “Hmmm,” he continued absently. He scratched at his long hair. On the back of his hand, a creature with features like one of the great mountain cats stood out. “To make such a link, there needs to be a catalyst.” Eyes shifting from side, he sat staring into the distance.
“A catalyst?”
“Yes,” Ryne said. “To create an amplified link or Forge, something must connect the Matii, the divya, the essences, and the resources used. Usually the catalyst is made from natural sources as they work the best. For example, to create a large enough Forging to alter the weather, the Matii would need to reach through each other, a divya, the Flows, and an extraordinary pool of water or heat depending on what change they wished to accomplish. In this case, the water or heat would be the catalyst. I never discovered what the Setian used when I was among them.”
Ancel frowned. If you were in Seti at some point, how did my father not recognize you? Since the revelation that his father was one of Seti’s most brilliant Knight Commanders from before the Shadowbearer War, they often engaged in conversations about those times. His father taught him as much concerning military strategy as he knew, often quoting Henden’s Disciplines of Soldiering. Stefan would talk about all they’d lost and the times and peoples he remembered before the majority of the Setian perished in the Tribunal’s final assault against Nerian. Not once had he ever mentioned a giant warrior with tattoos covering his body.
Memories of his father’s stories made him consider Stefan’s age again. Several centuries at the very least. He remembered something else. “The kinai.”
“What?’
“That’s the catalyst,” Ancel said. “Galiana told me. The kinai. They used the juices and wines my father was famous for along with my mother’s Gift to extend their lives, Forged through the divya at the winery.”
“What time of day did they pick the kinai?”
“Either at dawn or dusk.”
“The Spellforge Hour.”
Ancel frowned. He’d never considered it before, but now it made sense. The Spellforge Hour was the time the essences were at their strongest. No wonder the kinai juice was more portent.
“Can you take me to this divya?”
Excited by the prospect, Ancel answered quickly. “Yes. It’s about half a day’s ride by horse.”
“I’m a little … large for a horse,’ Ryne admitted.
“Well, the dartans are in hibernation so we can’t get there any faster unless you ask Shin Galiana to Materialize us. And I doubt she’ll do that, not after ordering the Matii to rely on less powerful Forges. She fears Pathfinders will come here.”
“An honest assumption,” Ryne said. “Although sooner would be better, there’s some training you need before we go.”
A bit disappointed, Ancel asked, “When then?”
“A few weeks. Gives me time to get some much needed rest, and you, your training.”
“Which reminds me,” Ancel calculated Ryne’s massive body where he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, “where are you going to sleep? I doubt any inn has a bed big enough for you.”
“Stables are fine.”
“Master Javed’s,” Ancel volunteered. “He has space to spare, and he also keeps most of the dartans. You should be able to find a decently warm spot next to one of them.”
“Sounds as good a place as any.” Ryne scratched at his unkempt beard, hanging almost to his chest. “Hopefully I can borrow a butcher knife from him and kill this thing.”
Ancel chuckled. “I’ve grown quite fond of mine, but I understand how you feel.”
Ryne’s face grew serious. “So tell me, when did a netherling attach itself to you?”
Ancel eyed Ryne. “Charra? How did you know? His aura?”
“No,” Ryne said, “his lack of an aura.”
“So anything without an aura is a netherling?”
“No, not necessarily, but no aura often signifies a creature not of this world. I had a friend who …” A pained expression crossed Ryne’s face for the briefest of moments. “That’s a story for another time. Let’s just say over the past few months I’ve come to the conclusion missing auras or ones that appear perfect mean something isn’t right. Nothing is perfect. In those cases, it’s best to be careful. With Charra, I guessed his origin.”
“But how did you know he belonged to me? He defended Kachien.”
Ryne climbed to his feet but remained in a stooping position, his head a foot shy of touching the ceiling. “Charra told me. Come. Take me to these stables of yours.”
Chapter 17
Despite the room’s warmth, Shin Galiana huddled inside her cloak. The hearth crackled at her back, the scent of the wood used within it almost making her relax. Lamplight brightened the meeting hall’s interior. The remaining members of the Eldanhill Council sat at their seats around the oak table. After the Sendethi attack and the subsequent shadeling encounters, they were down to ten instead of thirty. The number included the four who she’d sent with the other townsfolk to Torandil. The time to act was drawing closer than any of them suspected.
Irmina sat in the chair next to her. She wondered if the woman had accepted all she told her concerning the Dorns. It appeared so for the most part, but whenever Irmina glanced in Stefan’s direction tiny creases formed at the corner of her eyes. To what extent she would take her animosity, Galiana wasn’t certain.
The situation with Ancel served to make things worse. She’d hoped the boy had grown past his anger and had at least a little love for Irmina. His open dislike didn’t go over well. Irmina had returned as an Ashishin and an assassin, but her love for Ancel was still evident. The pain in her face when he said he hated her had almost been too much for Galiana to watch in silence. How his loathing would affect Irmina’s actions remained to be seen.
With some luck, Ryne could continue to keep him in check. The Eztezian himself presented his own set of problems. What she saw from Irmina toward him amounted to nothing less than hate. The kind of hate that drove people to kill. But that didn’t make sense unless there was something they were both hiding. Which brought her to her other concerns about the man. Who or what could have such power to control an Eztezian? The only answers were the gods themselves or a netherling. She quickly ruled out the deities. As much as she believed in them, she had yet to see proof that they could touch the world. A netherling, on the other hand … Lips pursed, she listened to the council discussing their options.