“Besides,” Henden opened his arms, palms upward, “we see you’ve already given up the light. You definitely have no chance.” He cocked his head as his attention shifted to Taeria. “I’ve never known who metal was, but I once thought it would be a Svenzar rather than a human.”
“Maybe, I don’t stand a chance,” Ryne said, ignoring the comment about Tae, “and maybe I do. Don’t forget I can sense that you two have also relinquished your essences to another.” Ryne knew that didn’t matter. Even as a shell of their former selves, Taeria posed no threat to them. Not when they could still summon Prima constructs. He might be able to defeat one but not both.
“False bravado as always, Thanairen,” Henden said.
“You can tell your master I don’t accept any of his terms.”
“Then we shall have to kill you and take your ward as we did his sister.” A wicked grin spread across Lestere’s face. “You need to die anyway for them to return.”
Ryne smiled to match, and then he grew serious. “It should have never come to this. We were to nurture the Aegae, not turn them against each other.”
Henden spat. “Why not? Why should they live to rule, live with power, while we succumb to madness? Because of prophecy? We chose the smart route. Let them fight the gods when they rise, and we survive to reap the rewards. Self-serving? Yes, but not much different from what you do.”
“No. I serve the Annendin’s will.”
“The Annendin?” Lestere scoffed. “A so-called god no one has ever seen. At least we can say we’ve met Amuni and the others, but this Annendin? Even the other gods do not admit to its existence. If it did live, it’s dead now or doesn’t care. That’s the only explanation as to why it would abandon Denestia.”
“Funny,” Ryne gave a deliberate shake of his head, “you don’t believe yet you created an Aegis.”
“No, we created someone to fight for us with power we could not wield.” Henden gestured to his own Etchings. “Tell me, Thanairen, don’t you grow weary of staving off the madness? Of wondering when it is death will come to take you? And for what? A people who know only treachery, destruction, pain, and suffering.”
“I wonder who taught them all that,” Ryne said. “We’ve only been misleading them into wars for the last few thousand years.”
Lestere shrugged. “Sheep are meant to be slaughtered.”
Ryne saw there was no way to sway his brethren. The realization saddened him. “You’re right. You allowed Kahkon to twist your minds away from your mandates. In this case, that makes you sheep.”
The two Eztezians reacted simultaneously. Their Etchings glowed, lighting up their skin and armor. Prima Materium roared from them. It spun in a mass, forming a roaring vortex filled with air and water. Stormy winds sucked at Ryne with such force that if he wasn’t held in place within the ground’s Forms, it would have swallowed him.
Despite the swiftness of their reactions, Lestere and Henden were too late. And too weak. They’d been too confident in their own power, and their assumptions about Taeria had been wrong. The second purpose of his shaded shield was to hide that she was only an Exalted.
Miniscule pieces of metal coalesced within the air and water currents the two men wielded. The shards shot straight down, thousands upon thousands of them, a rain of metallic death created by Kalvor, the Svenzar king, upon whom they stood.
Working in concert, the men Forged air and water into a nebulous container around them to slow Kalvor’s attacks. The earth, sprinkled with metal, flowed up to encase their feet. Not reacting, Sakari remained untouched.
At the same time, Ryne drew on the power within the Sanctums behind him. And also from the Great Divide. After all, it was home. His home. He’d have to be fast to prevent them from summoning their sentients. The Prima he expected from the Divide failed him, dissipating as someone else wrenched it from his grasp.
Ryne gasped. Such a feat should have been impossible. His heart sped up, beating in chaotic thumps that felt as if it would leap from his chest. Fear threatened to choke him despite his submersion within the Shunyata. Denestia’s essences screamed in his head. It took everything for him to beat them back, to find a room in the prison of his mind to lock his emotions away. Having to resort to such desperation stilled the blood in his veins. For Denestia’s Mater to have risen despite his connection to his Etchings and Prima should never have happened. They weren’t strong enough.
Laughter echoed. A solid bar of shade shot up from the chasm. It arced high in the air and then fell. When it crashed to the ground outside the torrent of Prima and the two Eztezians as they staved off Kalvor’s attack, it resolved into black flames. The fire danced and capered before eyes appeared followed by hands, feet, and finally a male torso. As the Mater subsided, the essences formed into material akin to living cloth. Writhing and twisting with a sentience of its own, the fabric settled around the man. Ryne knew better than to think it was something as simple as cloth. It was another type of netherling, this one more of a parasite not unlike a leech.
The netherling and the man’s outfit became one. In an immaculate gray coat adorned with silver scrollwork and pants to match, he was similar in height to Ryne. The way the width of his shoulders and back tapered down to his waist spoke of a physical specimen in prime shape. His black boots were highly polished with circular silver clasps on the side. A silver belt to match encircled his waist, the buckle of which was the shape of a maned beast. The same creature stood out on the shiny buttons of the coat. Etchings adorned the sword hilt that jutted from the scabbard at his waist. One hand on his weapon, the man stepped forward. The last of the shade shrouding his features disappeared. His hair ruffled with a life of its own.
Ryne tensed. His recognition was threefold. Familiar auras spilled from the man. The manner in which the newcomer and the creature residing within him had Forged were unmistakable. The memory of the battle against the one who’d created the Wraithwoods in Ostania rose fresh in his mind. Other recollections followed, most of them so painful Ryne wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. The man before him was not the child he’d portrayed all those years in Carnas, but the similarity of his face was unmistakable, the angular shape with eyes that often appeared to be squinting.
All the memories, the time spent; the stories he would read to Kahkon in the Skadwaz’s guise as a needy young boy who craved knowledge; the attachment he built; the promise he’d made to the boy’s mother when the lapra took him; the battle he and Sakari had fought that night to free Kahkon. It all came roaring back.
For him to discover this deception.
Ryne shook, his hand clenched tight around his sword hilt, and unlike before, he did not attempt to deny his emotions. He let the rage remain unbridled, drank it in, and fed it to his Etchings. They burned like magma, their glow bursting forth.
A grin split Kahkon’s features. With a confident swagger in his step, he strolled toward where Kalvor still tried to overwhelm the other two Eztezians.
“Now,” Ryne whispered.
When Sakari’s sword took Lestere’s and Henden’s heads, Ryne doubted they felt a thing. They never saw it coming.
Ryne pulled on light essences and Shimmered to Kahkon. With the Skadwaz holding the Great Divide’s power, he doubted he could hurt him with any Forge. Instead, he drew his sword, activated the Etchings along the blade, and struck.
Kahkon’s hair extended in a billowing mass to block the blow. Several tentacles snaked their way past Ryne’s sword as the netherling etched into Kahkon’s body responded.
Ryne summoned Damal, who appeared in a swath of light. The tentacles slammed into the construct, the impact throwing Ryne back through the air. In midflight, he Shimmered again, this time appearing above Kahkon and dropping with his sword pointed down.
As he expected, Kahkon attempted to dodge using Earthtouch. But Kalvor was already in place within the ground. The earth belonged to the Svenzar. Kahkon could no more manipulate the essences there than he could wield the Flows.