“I cannot reassure you that anyone will be safe. They are making a choice they have to live with.” Ryne paused. “As for our forces, Kendin and some of his Sven will accompany you. The Dosteri refuse to let you go without several of their cohorts. And apparently, while you were training in the Entosis, the remainder of the mountain clans, both Nema and Seifer made their way here. Half of them demanded to be a part of that battle. The other will fight at the Iluminus.”
Frowning, Ancel faced Ryne. “Why?”
“I noticed it when I first arrived in Eldanhill. Many of the Dosteri, the Nema, and the Seifer are of the same bloodline. They were originally Erastonians.”
“From Everland?”
“The same. It is because of your father’s actions that they still live. If not for the preparations he made right before the Shadowbearer War, the Dosteri as we know them would not exist today. They owe him a life debt they say. It extends to all his immediate family. They feel they owe him even more now with some of their people’s betrayal.”
A memory sparked within Ancel’s mind like a lamp blinking on at dusk. He recalled the entire passage from the Chronicle of Undeath, of the Dosteri’s rise and the essences. “So it seems one of your Chronicles is true.” If indeed it referred to him, then he still lacked fire, ice, and shade. That last brought apprehension creeping through his body.
“Unfortunately, yes.” The big man’s features saddened. “Do you know why I named it Undeath?”
“After the zyphyl, I think I do. I saw what happens when daemons harvest sela. The zyphyl showed me what will become of the people in Randane. Not just the ones from Eldanhill, but everyone not aligned to the shade.”
“It’s the fate most of us will suffer if the shade wins out.”
“And the Nine?”
Ryne shrugged. “Who knows, but from what I have seen, it wouldn’t be much better. At least not for us. Slavery, used as cattle, or worse.”
Ancel didn’t want to imagine what could be worse than that already mentioned. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to help me in Randane?”
“What I would rather do, and what I must do, are two different things. We all have a part to play. I believe you’re strong enough for this. Don’t doubt yourself. It’s a precursor to failure. Strike hard and fast.”
“Even if it means I must kill some of my own? Or someone I love?”
“Then so be it.” Ryne’s gaze was cold and unwavering. “People die so others may live. It is a harsh reality, but a reality nonetheless.”
As much as Ancel agreed, he couldn’t find the words to say so. He turned away from Ryne and gazed outside once more. “Have them bring the preparations to an end. We must attack before word of our exodus reaches anyone.”
Chapter 48
Irmina knew stealth would be of no use here. Even within the Iluminus’ dungeons, no shadow existed. Light radiated from the walls. Besides, she was a Raijin. What she needed to do was be herself. Dressed in the black, form-fitting uniform with crimson sleeves of her calling, she approached the dungeon guards with an expression that screamed she’d gut anyone who stood in her path. So much so, that not only did they avert their eyes, but not one among them questioned her. The score of Dagodin following behind her marched in a rhythm to challenge the finest army.
These weren’t the deepest cells-those were reserved for the more violent offenders, those the Pathfinders had captured-but they still stunk of piss, shit, unwashed bodies, and blood. A hallway lined with metal doors stretched before her. Moans, groans, and muttering echoed along its length in odd counterpoint to her soft footsteps and the louder leather on stone thud of her Dagodin complement. The dissonance was a grim reminder of the impressive number of prisoners the Iluminus kept. As tempting as it was to free many for sheer chaos, she’d come here for a select few.
Although she knew the cells by memory, she stepped to each one she needed anyway, slid back the metal grate over the solitary window, and peered inside. Refusing to cringe at the stench, the half-healed wounds, yellowed and scabbing patches of skin, and disheveled, torn clothing on people she barely recognized anymore, she gave commands to remove each Eldanhill Council member.
Guthrie Bemelle was a sliver of his former self, clothes hanging loosely around what was once a barrel of a belly, his cheeks withdrawn, jawbones protruding. Devan Faber wasn’t much better, the mining foreman having lost the slabs of muscle that marked him. If Javed was old before, his current appearance leaned toward senile, the once robust kennel and stable owner now feeble, his skin drawn tight over his skull.
Irmina frowned at the next two cells. Of Edwin Valdeen and Rohan Lankon, she found no signs. An awful feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach.
Stefan’s condition was by far the worse. She couldn’t help the involuntary hiss that escaped her lips. Jaw lopsided, his face wore a mask of purple and black. Scrawled across his back was a tapestry of cuts, welts, and scabs. Blood crusted his missing fingernails. The usually well-groomed gray hair was dirty and matted brown; his unkempt mustache and beard formed a bush. Not once did Ancel’s father raise his head when the two Dagodin entered and picked him up under his armpits. He didn’t even groan.
Fighting hard to maintain an uncaring facade, Irmina spun on her heels and strode back to the exit. It took all of her composure not to lash out at the dungeon guards as she passed them. She led the way upstairs, wincing every time she heard a moan behind her.
“Traitor.” Underneath the painful rasp, she picked out Devan’s voice. “Why don’t you just finish us off? There’s nothing more left to tell.”
Irmina continued on as if she hadn’t heard the man. Once up several flights and out of earshot from the guards, she stopped. “Where’s Edwin and Rohan?”
A coughing laugh rattled from Devan’s chest. He spat out blood that landed near her feet. “Edwin’s a traitor like you. From what the questioners said, Rohan’s gone. You fucks tortured him to death.”
Both Guthrie and Stefan appeared to be unconscious.
After saying a quick prayer for the old man, she said, “I’m here to rescue you. And I didn’t betray you.” She gestured to the Dagodin holding Devan. “As planned, get them on the wagons and head to the Travelshaft. I have to find the other one.” If Edwin had betrayed them, he would pay with his life.
The men gave slight nods. They headed up the last flight of stairs and into the courtyard. After a futile search, she rejoined them. Moments later, they were heading down a wide avenue with their wounded charges in the back of a wagon drawn by two horses. The usual crowds on the street cleared a path for them, some stopping to whisper or point. As they walked, Irmina got the niggling sense that something wasn’t quite right. Her escort must have felt it too, because they grew more vigilant and kept their hands on their swords.
When they rounded a corner onto the Shining Way, the avenue was empty. Irmina stopped. The busiest road in all the Iluminus over the past months, she’d never seen it without its traffic. The mesh of walkways directly above her were the same. She spun, glancing in the opposite direction. In the distance, folk crossed several other paths, but they were hurrying. The shuffle of feet behind her and the occasional moan were the only sounds to break the silence. The empty eyes of the buildings and towers around them watched, the doors open but without a single patron or hawker. As always, the air within the Iluminus was still and motionless.
“Be ready,” she said to the nearest Dagodin. She gave the signal and strode forward.