Guards rounded a corner ahead only to be buried by a wave that traveled under the carpet and along the walls. It knocked paintings and tapestries from their perches. Bone hackles erect, Charra loped at his side.
“Try not to Forge unless you must,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir,” the Pathfinders answered in unison. Three surged ahead while the others guarded the rear.
Oddly, they met little resistance. The enemies they encountered proved to be no more than a nuisance for the Pathfinders. Blades bloody, they gained the stairs to the tower. Outside, steel rang amid battle cries and commands.
“Kendin, is there a way for you to carry us up? I need to get to the top as fast as possible.”
The Svenzar’s massive head formed at the first landing. “Yes. Step onto me and hold onto the supports I provide.” He dissolved.
Seven poles grew from the landing. Without hesitation, Ancel strode up the steps and held onto the one closest to the middle. Charra bounded up next to him. Their faces masks of concern, the Pathfinders joined them.
“Hold tight,” Kendin’s voice called from below them and the surrounding walls.
The floor lurched forward, taking them with it. Ancel sucked in a breath. The platform they stood upon moved faster than a sprinting man, steadily gaining pace.
Guards occupied the first three landings. Miniature walls formed and crashed into them. Bodies toppled into the hollow in the middle of the winding steps.
By the time they made the next two landings, air rushed by Ancel’s face. They shot up, the balustrade and steps a blur. He squeezed his eyes shut yet still exhilaration spilled through him. If they met more soldiers he couldn’t tell. Within moments, they eased to a halt. When he opened his eyes, they were at the top, a closed door in front of them.
As they got off the platform, the bricks around the doorframe shook and fell. The door crashed outward. Sword in hand, Charra at his side along with his Pathfinder escort, Ancel strode outside onto the battlements.
Unnaturally black, clouds covered the sky. Lighting illuminated the mass before streaking down into the city. Thunder rumbled. Up here, the cries of man and beast carried on the swirling winds. Cloak billowing, he headed toward the pull of power, and the spires that marked the temples dedicated to the gods of Streams.
The plaza was worse than he expected. Dagodin and Randane soldiers battled outside the castle. Shadelings writhed before the temples. The Sven formed a wall, the earth quaking at their feet as they prevented that seething mass any purchase. Ashishin stood with them, their Forges ripping into the enemy ranks. More than half the Sven were rubble. He could pick out numerous bodies of his own army. The clansmen and their pets fought in groups among wraithwolves and darkwraiths, their savagery giving the shadelings pause.
Daemons and darkwraiths screeched. Black tentacles whipped out to strike down any of his men within range. Darkwraiths struck in blurs, their swords swift and deadly. Black lightning streaked sideways toward his forces.
Leukisa was repelling them with shields of his own, Forging faster than Ancel once thought possible. His skill kept them from being overwhelmed.
A bellow tore the air. The cobbles swelled and blasted up. Kendin’s form exploded through the opening. The shower of rubble became one with his body. Arms outstretched, he threw stones as big as a man into the shadeling ranks. The enemy lines buckled. When he stomped, a circular wave swept out from his feet. Any creature it touched, it entombed.
The power Ancel had been feeling spiked. He snapped his head around.
Atop the temple’s steps, next to the statues of Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni, and Rituni, a woman in leather armor was dragging Kachien’s limp form by her hair. He recognized her.
Jillian.
Once he’d learned of Irmina’s skill, he’d suspected someone had controlled the wolves that day in the Greenleaf, but until Jillian went missing he hadn’t been certain who the person could have been. He snarled.
A man in black armor had his hands outstretched. Shade essences billowed from him, consuming several Eldanhill folk. The Mater coalesced into thicker bands, growing stronger from some connection within the temples. Ancel could never forget the feel of those Forgings. They were the same as those the night his mother was taken. Darkness did not shroud the man’s face this time.
Rage seethed inside Ancel until his vision filmed red. The man was Mensa, Mother’s head servant.
The voices outside the Eye screamed. Sword in hand, he leaped from the tower wall.
Chapter 51
Ryne stood where the Great Divide’s black chasm began, not far from the towering edifices of the Sanctums of Shelter. The spires rose at his flanks, their tops hidden in the clouds. This close to them he felt the various essences at use throughout Granadia and near any Bastion. It was like stepping in front a blacksmith’s bellows then being thrust onto a mountain top in the dead of winter. He didn’t need to link with Ancel to identify the young man’s Forgings. They burned through him almost as if he was standing next to his ward.
Denestia’s Mater was somewhat odd here, concentrated. The elements whipped and coiled more violent than the worst of winter storms, their colors prismatic. The air gave off a melange of smells that made him want to retch and savor them at the same time. Bloated clouds bubbled overhead. This location being the point where Denestia’s power touched the Prima unleashed first by himself and then Ancel, the occurrence did not quite surprise him, but it was no less troubling. Although the elements from both types of Mater thrived, they were at odds with each other, like two siblings who believed each was the more dominant and thus needed to fight.
“Are you sure it was wise to let the boy face a Skadwaz on his own?” Taeria’s voice, or rather, Trucida Adler’s, was a raspy whisper. Appearing frailer than before despite her robes, skin splotched, she hunched beside him. Discovering she kept an eye on him in Carnas had been a welcome comfort.
“It takes the heat of battle to develop the best crafted weapons.”
“What if he loses himself?”
“Then we will have to kill him and start anew.”
“Let’s hope he passes then,” she said tiredly. “From what I sense, he might be able to best a few of us even if we’re linked.”
“Indeed.”
Power surged again from Randane and the Iluminus. He frowned at that last.
His cloak flapped from a sudden gust. As the wind grew, the material streamed out behind him. Snow swirled like white petals. Rain pattered, first a few drops, then a torrential downpour. He raised a hand, drawing on an Etching. A shield of pure shade, yet still transparent, formed a dome around him and Taeria. It served two purposes.
“They come. Cocky as ever,” she said.
He smiled. “Just the way I like them.”
Through the rain and from the Great Divide’s edge strode three forms. They stopped within shouting distance. As abruptly as it began, the storm died.
“Yow two were always full of yourselves,” Ryne called, “even after Cardia and Astoca split.”
“We didn’t come here for insults,” Lestere Cadem replied, voice carrying without raising it. Ryne expected no less from the air guardian. Dressed in a blue coat with matching britches, face hard and angular, Lestere kept a hand close to his sword.
“Just to accept your surrender,” added Henden. A pillar of water coiled around the graying man like a giant snake.
“What makes you think that’s what I’m here for?”
“Because,” Lestere stepped aside to let the third man through, “two Eztezians might be a stalemate, but with a netherling on our side, one you attacked, you have no hope of winning. Especially now that the guardian of cold has abandoned your cause.”
Sakari took his place between them. Face expressionless as always, he dipped his head.