Ancel drew on his stubbornness, his steadfastness. The boy had that to spare in droves to go along with his will.
Ryne smiled at the way Ancel grasped the concepts so easily. The continual practice had paid off. “In your mind, picture the Chainin. Exactly how it looked. Delve into what’s left. Connect to the Forms that created the divya, and those of the earth beneath it.”
Eyes closed, Ancel’s brow furrowed tightly.
“Excellent. Remember, for any Forging to work, there must be a base, a model of sorts for the essences to draw upon. A source of heat for fire or cold for ice. Once you have a model, you then add or subtract, using the essences to create the Forge you want. Now, holding the image, tell your Etching to construct what you see.”
Moments passed and nothing happened. Then, the ground rumbled.
A smooth-sided earthen spire rose up from beneath the melted metal. The silversteel toppled to one side with a resounding crash. When the construct reached the appropriate height, it stopped.
Ryne smiled. Ancel was better than he dreamed.
“The metal is malleable. Think of what you saw before and cover your construct’s surface.”
Screeching and bending, the noise grating against his ears, the metal rose and wrapped around the earthen spire. It became identical to the real divya.
Ryne broke his link. His vision receded to only his once more.
Sweat pouring down his brow, Ancel panted heavily.
Kachien and Mirza gawked at the new structure, their gazes shifting from Ancel to Ryne.
“Perfect.” Ryne beamed. “Congratulations. You have created your first construct and completed your first major class in Materforging using your Etchings.”
Chapter 22
Darkness came early to Whitewater Falls and Eldanhill as it often did this time of year. The sky bled orange and pink. Shadows lengthened and prowled the land. Through the looking glass, Shin Galiana watched the changes from where she stood before the half-open, stained glass window on the Streamean Temple’s topmost floor. Next to her, Irmina wrung her hands, her expectant gaze locked on the northeast.
Any Matii with enough power felt the elements unleashed earlier. The Forges originated from two locations Galiana knew well. One was from the glen Stefan and his cohort marched off to that morning. The other came from the direction of Stefan’s old home. The latter had been far more powerful. Ryne’s request for kinai made sense now. He’d gone, most likely taking Ancel with him, to the divya at the winery.
Did he use the boy to activate the Chainin once again? If so, for what purpose? She dismissed any need for him to lengthen his life. Being an Eztezian negated such a possibility. Who he was should have lent her comfort, but instead she couldn’t help the uneasiness prickling at her thoughts. His race had broken much of the world before. What would he do with such power as the Chainin held?
One problem at a time, she reminded herself. Deal with the issues you can handle.
Her thoughts swung to Stefan, his Dagodin cohort, and the dozen men and women with him powerful enough to be Ashishin. A few of them once were. In fact, some among those had been Alzari and after that, Setian. She sighed. Her people had lost so much. What had once been a title of honor was now no more than a handful of assassins and fighters who wielded a fraction of their former power and were exiled to ravaged clanholds. The Tribunal had altered the Alzari’s true history in all the Iluminus’ records. Outside in the world, the Devout spread the same teaching. Now, the name Alzari referred to the outcasts, the half-breeds like Kachien. The Setian might be alive, but little existed of their proud heritage.
Yet, here in Granadia, they found a new life in the Mysteras. With Stefan once again leading, there might still be hope. So why did she feel this knot in her gut? The crawling fear that told her something was horribly wrong?
Both parties should have returned already. To make matters worse, the eagles she sent out to the glen had not come back either. None of this boded well, so she had prepared.
Dagodin lined Eldanhill’s walls, interspersed with any other Matii strong enough to Forge. Torches highlighted their forms, set every few feet for easy access to the archers. Several bonfires illuminated the Seifer, Nema and other soldiers waiting inside the ramparts. Even from where she stood, the odor of burning pitch was strong. The remainder of the folk not related to the Setian were well on their way to Old Paltz. They would continue on to Descane and take a ferry across to Dosteri lands. Their exodus gave her a sense of relief.
The shadows continued to lengthen, the colors in the sky giving way to ghostly hues with the rising of Denestia’s twin moons.
AWOOOOOOO! The sudden wail of a horn jarred her.
Two more short reports followed, then another longer bray. Eldanhill’s Dagodin were returning.
Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat as she waited. Another short blast meant they had been victorious.
AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
She hissed. The men were in trouble.
From below rose shouted commands and barked orders. Galiana strained her eyes in the direction of the horns. They blared again, two more long notes, somewhere northwest within the Greenleaf, not far from its edge.
Several flaming arrows lit up the dark sky. Aided by Forges, they flew farther and faster than any bow could manage. At the perimeter of the forest, they bloomed, lighting the trees and the fields.
Dagodin galloped from among the ice-covered woods. Galiana began to count, but stopped as she realized how few they were. Many of the mounts carried two soldiers. Another group on foot ran from the tree line.
Stefan Dorn brought up their rear. He stopped and the men on foot with him. Each one wielded a bow.
A keening wail echoed from the woods. Howls quickly followed. Galiana’s mouth dried. An ear-splitting shriek made her cover her ears. What in Ilumni’s name…?
Stefan and those on foot formed a line. Wielding a gigantic longbow as tall as himself, he drew fletching to ear and loosed. The other archers did the same, firing in concert.
Galiana let her gaze follow the flight of arrows by the power imbued into them. They shot among the trees and disappeared.
Hollow booms resonated moments later. The forest lit up as miniature explosions toppled trees and kicked up bursts of snow.
A gasp escaped her lips.
Blackness boiled within the woods. Shadelings by the thousands advanced, their bodies rippling like an undulating, obsidian serpent.
Another volley from the archers. Another series of explosions. Then they turned and ran for Eldanhill’s walls.
“They won’t make it if we don’t do something,” Irmina cried.
“We will. Link with me.”
Galiana felt the power Irmina already held reach out and touch hers. The essences caressed, then became one.
Through the link, Galiana led Irmina to what she wanted. The other woman responded as if she’d done it a thousand times. Galiana shrugged off her initial surprise and continued.
Within the stones of the Streamean Temple, she and Thania Dorn had worked for years to store light essences, imbuing them into the rock as the workers constructed the building. Now, she called on that power. Mater flooded up into her in an incandescent torrent. When she gazed over at Irmina, the younger woman’s eyes glowed.
Galiana directed the Streams across town to its counterpart: Eldanhill’s ramparts. From there she reached farther, to the next connection: the pillars that appeared to be simple supports for an unfinished wall or fence encircling Eldanhill. The builders had hewn the bricks from stone that belonged to the same quarry.