“It can’t, not if you want either of us to be of any use when the Pathfinders do catch up. Besides, where we’re headed should confuse their trackers for a time. What’s so special about this town, Harval, anyway?”
“The one chance to put enough space between us and the Pathfinders … a Travelshaft.”
Openmouthed, Ryne stared at her. “Those have been sealed for centuries. You would brave the mind-twisting of a zyphyl for a chance to escape?”
Galiana could not help the inkling of fear that passed through her at the mention of the gigantic, silver, worm-like beasts created to protect the entrances to the Travelshafts. Even asleep, they warped one’s perception of reality. Surviving the zyphyl was a test all on its own. “At this point, I will do anything to save Ancel.” Her heart ached. “With his father in the hands of the Exalted, he’s our only chance of keeping our people together.”
Ryne eyed Ancel then nodded. “There might be a way to give us more time if you can manage it.”
Galiana frowned.
“You said they will have trackers. Give them a different path to follow.”
“How do we-” She cut off as the answer dawned on her. “A construct.”
Ryne smiled. “Exactly. Give it my scent and send it in the opposite direction. Such a Forging won’t take much.” He pointed to the walls around them. “Not with all this material to work with. When you’re done, I’ll feed a bit of me into it.”
Galiana almost asked if what he suggested was possible: wrapping one’s own essence into another person’s Forging. But then, the man was an Eztezian. He should know.
Through the Eye, she opened her Matersense. The essences flooded her vision with their usual brilliance. Around Ryne, they shone even brighter. They flitted, roiled, and spun in half a hundred different patterns touching both his armor and flesh. Some disappeared when they did.
Ignoring most of them was disturbing all on its own, but she managed. As a mender, the essences that made up Ryne’s appearance grew clearer with each passing moment. With a subtle touch to keep her Forging hidden, she kneaded the earth and metals within the Forms of the rocky ground near her feet to match the man.
The ground trembled and shifted. A form rose slowly from the surface of a similar height and build to Ryne. For this, she didn’t need intricate details, which saved her from using too much power. She gave the shape the barest necessities for it to appear as Ryne from a distance.
As she made the construct, she noticed the strands of Mater easing out from Ryne to touch her creation. They writhed around it and eventually sunk inside. When they did so, a breathtaking change took place. Layers of earth peeled away from her construct and in its place stood an uncanny likeness of the man, down to much of his essences. She gasped.
“Send it where you will,” Ryne said in a strained voice.
Galiana pictured the mountains farther to the north and sent the image to the construct. The creature took a few lumbering steps before walking became natural. It disappeared out the cave’s mouth and into the dim morning.
Chapter 30
Each of Ryne’s steps became practiced agony, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. His breaths left his lips in wheezing gasps. Legs and arms on fire despite the freezing temperature, he carried Ancel on his back. He found himself hunched over to accommodate Ancel’s unexpected weight. What in Ilumni’s name did the boy eat? He didn’t look close to being as heavy as he felt. Careful to stay away from icy patches, Ryne strode forward, telling himself he only imagined the cold, the aches, and the soreness.
For a while, he thought the increased weight was simply a reflection of how worn out his own body had become. Until he realized the truth. His body was not healing. Both his energy and life were leaking away in small increments from the vasumbral’s touch. One side of his aura was a torn mass. Anguish accompanied each movement as his sela eased out through the rents despite him trying to force it into place by sheer will.
One chance for his survival existed. If they could reach it before he collapsed completely and another snowstorm buried them. He fought against the thought, concentrating on each step instead. If he failed this, Ancel would most likely die also. That was not an option. Determination not to lose his ward lent him strength. He surged forward.
Charra loped in front, often tossing its head as if trying to dislodge something from its shoulders. Snow and ice flew as the netherling manipulated the elements to clear a path. With his Matersense, Ryne determined what Charra did was not a Forging. It appeared as if the beast and the elements were one-they, an extension of the netherling-and Charra had some ability to shift them as if they were physical entities. The action reminded Ryne of watching a puppy at play.
A serrated blade of staggered cliff-faces made up the ridges on either side of them. Pockmarked with overhanging rock, crags, and precipices along the canyon walls they spread before disappearing in the light flurries that fell. Under most overhangs were deep hollows leading to caves similar to the one they left several hours ago. The phenomenon occurred every few hundred feet up the sheer, ice-coated walls. At the peak was a massive plateau, its edge jutting over the cliffs and offering protection to the gully through which they traveled. The occasional snow cornice broke off, tumbled into the passage, and left a dull rumble to accompany the mournful wind.
“The caves are from all the quarrying,” Mirza said from a few paces behind him. “The cliffs have been our livelihood for years.”
A rainbow of color reflected from the ice and the diamond glint of embedded minerals and metals. The sun shone at an angle well shy of noon, giving warmth to Ryne’s weary bones. He was unaccustomed to experiencing the cold, and he could no longer feel his toes. “Were you both miners?” he asked to keep his mind occupied.
“By the gods, no.” Mirza chuckled. “Ancel was too busy chasing the girls, and well, I had this habit of disobeying my father who happens to be the foreman at the mines. He wanted me to have no part of his old life as a Dagodin, but,” he touched his chest, “this uniform called to me. Everything about being a Dagodin fascinated me. Let’s just say my father wasn’t pleased.” He paused for a few moments, a faraway expression crossing his features. “And now they have him too.” Regret seeped from his tone.
Ryne could only imagine what Mirza was experiencing. To know the Exalted now held your last surviving parent after their followers had taken your mother must be tearing at Mirza’s insides. Ryne allowed silence to grow between them.
A quick look over his shoulder showed that Galiana still followed, keeping an eye on their rear. The passage continued ahead, the footing treacherous, but not as bad as it would be without the series of ridges protecting the lower areas from the worst of the weather. Although the wind crooned a doleful dirge, it did little more than ruffle his cloak. Snow and ice showered the passage behind as another cornice fell. The customary rumble chased it.
As the noise droned to a halt, another reached Ryne. It reminded him of a donkey’s bray, but then he realized the sound was a cracked howl. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite focus. He paused, frowning. “Wolves?” He should have been able to tell what they were, but too much had become skewed.
“There aren’t wolves in this part of the Red Ridge, not that I know of at least.” Mirza’s hand eased down to his bow as he scanned the ridges.
The howl came again, but this time another followed. And another.
“Rockhounds.” Mirza said, voice a breathy whisper. “I–It’s the trackers.” Eyes wild, he stopped and stared back the way they came. “I’ll never forget that sound. It’s the same as when they came for my mother. Those are Pathfinder hounds. They’re usually more of them, but they must have split to cover several directions.”