“There’s only one reason I can think of. The Bastion. Whoever controls the city must be able to use its power.” Robes swirling about him, Jerem paced back and forth across the carpet. “It makes what the Assembly did even more worrisome.”
Galiana waited for the man to sort his thoughts.
Jerem continued to pace, head down, brow furrowed tightly. He stopped and looked at her. “Why would the Assembly withdraw their forces from Randane knowing the possible threat a Bastion in the hands of its enemies might cause?”
“They did what?” Galiana couldn’t hold back her shock. A Bastion in the wrong person’s possession could be used to circumvent the Vallum’s protection.
“The only Tribunal forces close to Randane are those stationed at Eldanhill under Exalted Leukisa and Ordelia.”
“Two of our own,” Galiana mused. “Your orders or the Assembly’s?”
“Theirs, which means they know where their allegiance lies. I believe the others are of the Shadow Council.”
“That or they belong to the Nine. What do you think, Ryne?” She glanced at the giant man who’d stood silent as he listened.
“It could be worse than simply belonging to the Nine,” he said. “One of them could be one of the Nine.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked, even as she prayed for Ryne to be wrong.
“Too many coincidences, too many pieces moving in concert, too many things in favor of the Nine’s goals. It’s like watching a senjin game without rules unfold. They’re overwhelming us because they can cross zones they aren’t supposed to be able to. We’re stuck in our area while they have us outnumbered and outmaneuvered.”
“You sound as if you’re saying we do not stand a chance,” Jerem said.
“If we don’t change the rules, maybe. At this point, it’s in our interest to assume there are no rules. The Nine intend to replace the gods. The White Council’s primary purpose is to release Ilumni. The Shadow Council wants the same for Amuni. Those don’t exactly fall outside of what the Nine need. The Gray, on the other hand, wish for things to remain the same, for the people to rule themselves, beholding to no gods.”
“Which is no different than it always was,” Jerem pointed out.
Jerem’s lack of surprise or questioning of what the Nine might be registered with her. As usual, the old bastard knew more than he was willing to reveal. She would take the issue up with him at some point, but now was not the time.
“Yes, which supports my line of thinking,” Ryne said. “In order to replace the gods, the Nine need an influx of power. I believe the conflicts started by the Tribunal over the years were more than to just increase the longevity of the Ashishin. Suppose, that like Amuni’s daemons, the Nine have been siphoning sela into the Nether?”
“What made you think of this?” Galiana asked, skeptical but still pondering if it all of it was possible. If it happened to be true, then this Nine Ryne spoke of had been gathering power for millennia.
“What I saw in the zyphyl.”
“And you believe those dreams, those temptations?” Jerem’s expression made his opinion clear.
“Mere dreams for those not an Eztezian.” Ryne let out a breath as if releasing a great weight from his shoulders. “For us, they are the futures, the past, the present, the many possibilities that exist.”
“The Chronicles,” Galiana whispered in awe.
“Yes, and they can get a hold of you, drive you in ways you might not wish. It’s why we banished the zyphyls o the farthest reaches of Everland.”
A knock at the door stopped Galiana from offering her opinion. “Who is it this time,” she called.
High Shin Cantor strode in, his face a mask of worry. “Word has come from the Iluminus. They are ready to act now.”
“They cannot possibly be,” Galiana protested. “This is too soon, much too soon.”
“Time waits for no one,” Jerem said.
“Why though?” Galiana pursed her lips. There was no way Quintess should be ready to make her move. Neither the refugees from Eldanhill or the other Mysteras were safe in Seti as planned.
“According to the reports, the Assembly has summoned the majority of their armies from all over Granadia.”
“To what end?” Galiana asked. “And if so, it only makes Quintess’ position in the Iluminus even more a risk.”
“Let me guess.” Furrows lined Ryne’s forehead. “They did not send them to the Iluminus. They deployed them in Ostania, either at Felan Mark or at the entrance to the Vallum itself.”
Cantor nodded.
Now, Galiana understood. “They are planning to stop us. The only other access through the Vallum is from the Iluminus itself.” Her mind continued to work. The Matii from the Mysteras in Redemia, Konil, and Torcal combined with the ones she’d sent ahead to Torandil months ago, made for a force of over forty thousand, at least half of who were Forgers. That was without counting what the Svenzar brought or the thirty thousand from the Dosteri. An imposing army against many an adversary. Not so in relation to what the Tribunal could muster.
“A bold move, but it does make sense,” Jerem said. “Why come after us when we have to go to them?”
“What should we do?” Galiana was not frightened in the least, but she would rather face the Tribunal’s Matii without risking the refugees.
“Attack,” said a raspy voice.
Everyone turned to Ancel’s bed. His Etchings rippled across his chest and arms as he sat up, sunlight glinting off the intricate artwork.
“That’s madness,” Cantor hissed.
“No.” The hoarseness in Ancel’s voice made it crack. “Think on it. They expect us at the Vallum or at least in Felan Mark. More than likely they have spies among us, Listeners, just like you have among them. By pooling the majority of their army there, they tell us two things. One: they fear the threat we’ve become. Two: the Iluminus is now their weakest point. I overheard much of what you said. You already have people within the Iluminus. Surprise will be your advantage.”
Those words made Galiana regard Ancel in a new light. He might be as much a strategist as his father.
“Not only will you save the thousands here in Torandil, but you will be able to free my father, or at least try.”
Galiana glanced at all the others, not quite certain what she was hearing, but Ryne’s and Jerem’s intrigued expressions matched her own suspicion. “It sounds as if you have other plans.”
Ancel’s eyes were hard, glinting emeralds. “I trusted, Kachien. If this is how she repays that trust, then there can only be one outcome. My father left our people’s fate in my hands. I will not disappoint him. Whatever I have to do, I will get them back or die trying. When I’m finished with Randane, whoever or whatever is there, will find no cobble to hide beneath.”
“Have you given any thought to it being a trap? That this might be exactly what they want? For you to rush off and play savior.” Galiana kept her gaze fixed on Ancel’s face for any sign of doubt, but she saw none.
“I know it’s a trap. King Emory or whoever owns him, wants me, even more so now that I escaped his grasp last time. I’ll give him what he desires, what the shade desires … me. I will let them have a taste of what I bring.” For an instant, his Etchings glowed. “We fight while we take our people to safety. It was silly to think we could do this without losses, without sacrifice. We paid in blood in the past. We will pay now too. But from them we will take what matters most. Their hearts.”
Moments passed in silence as not only she, but also the others stared at Ancel. Pride shone from Ryne’s expression, and she was certain hers might be showing as plainly. She regarded Jerem, who appeared oblivious to all around him as he stroked his wisp of a beard. She could picture Ancel’s suggestions growing in her old mentor’s head, expanding as he analyzed possible outcomes.
“Well said.” Jerem strode over to the window and looked out. “I will send word to Leukisa and Ordelia to assist you at Randane. As for myself, I cannot return to Calisto. The Exalted have already made a decision concerning me. Several High Shin and Raijin loyal to them invaded the city.