Ryne stood in a field below the Vallum with his sword in hand, the white stone and steel wall stretching several hundred feet above him. It had taken him another hour to reach Irmina and the others. The Setian camp spread behind him, close to the towering divya wall, but out of sight of any Bastions. There were no tents, just bedrolls containing sleeping people and guards patrolling with daggerpaws.
Dawn hovered on the air, but the sun still lay beyond the mountains and horizon to the east. The silver-blue moons had already deserted the sky, leaving a slate-like blanket of gloom. Loose strands of hair fluttering with the wind, Ryne adhered to his own regimen and practiced the sword under a gray cloudless sky, feet swishing through wet grass. Sakari watched his every move.
Ryne flowed through every Stance and Style memorized from years of unending practice-most of those years hidden in a fog of lost memories. Thoughts of his murderous past, of Carnas, of Bertram’s betrayal, of Taeria’s secret, of his failure to save Kahkon, haunted him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t banish those memories this dreary morning. He brought his sword work to a halt as Edsel, Garon and Irmina strode to meet him.
“Glad to see you’re alive and well, old friend.” Edsel’s golden eye shone as he spoke. He clasped his hand over Ryne’s when he reached him.
Ryne returned the gesture. “Yet, I failed,” Ryne said solemnly. “I managed to destroy the wraithwoods, but the man escaped.”
“How?” Garon asked with an incredulous stare.
“He was stronger than a High Ashishin. I too couldn’t sense when he drew Mater. I could only sense what he Forged after the fact.”
Garon’s eyes widened even more. Irmina’s expression radiated fear.
“You’ll have to take your people away from here. He will come back,” Ryne stated.
Edsel nodded. “I figured as much. I had already planned on it. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to warn Knight Commander Varick. He needs to inform the Tribunal about the Vallum’s breach.”
Irmina scowled. “So much for your promise.”
“I promised I would come, I never said when. Besides, warning Varick is more important than going with you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Ryne stared her down. “That man could be anywhere by now. He Materialized,” Ryne said in a soft voice.
Irmina’s mouth went slack. “But, but only High Ashishin or Exalted can use that ability.”
“Exactly, my point.”
CHAPTER 44
A blast of icy wind swept down from the snow-capped shoulders of the Kelvore Mountains. Shin Galiana shivered. The air was too cold by far for summer, unnaturally so. The gale cut through cloak, cloth, leather, and mail alike as it chased bloated, gray clouds before it, harrying them across the dark sky. Steamy breaths rose in the air as men shifted uneasily or stomped their feet, shoulders hunched, intent gazes focused across the battlefield. Bonfires along the lines of archers did little to stave off the chill, their heat swelling for a moment before the wind swept the warmth away into the night. Knight Captains barked commands at the soldiers to remain vigilant, to ignore the cold. Often, the response was chattering teeth and stomping feet. Although used to the harsh winters northern Granadia brought, their bodies were not prepared for the sudden change of weather.
Shin Galiana’s dartan mewled behind the lines of its fellow cavalry. Ahead of them, row upon row of armor clad novices and trainees interspersed by spear and sword wielding Dagodin formed. She wished she had all Matii for the task at hand, but such wishes were miracles the gods granted. In her time, she’d seen too little of miracles. Barely enough for her to keep her faith.
At least the supplies they’d collected for years would finally be put to good use. Not at the original time as they’d planned, but that made no difference right now. Plans of men were inconsequential things and made to be changed. Resplendent in new green cloth, painted leather, shiny chainmail or glittering steel, a full legion of Dagodin stood ready. In contrast, the retired soldiers, novices, and trainees had to resort to whatever armor they could muster or what could be hastily crafted. One cohort still wore the crimson of Granadia’s Tribunal.
A white battle standard depicting a forest split down the middle by a great quake flew high in the air-the colors and insignia of the Setian. A long time since she’d seen such. A somber smile touched her lips. Despite her regret at days long gone, she still found herself riding with her back a little straighter, and her chest out. The standard was a pronouncement of independence, of a return of an old kingdom, of a reclamation.
Stefan had insisted on the display. Why, she wasn’t certain. He’d assured her it was worth the risk if Eldanhill and their people was to survive the siege and the uprising of the other Granadian kingdoms. Eagles had been dispatched to the other Mysteras to make them aware and begin their exodus before any repercussions or suspicions took place. She’d also sent word to Jerem so he could activate and dispatch the Sleepers within their network to begin their whispers while relaying tidbits of proof that would point to the Tribunal’s many atrocities over these long years. Whether the Setian were ready or not, war had once again come and no way existed to avoid it. When warranted, strike hard with subversion, fire, and steel and let those in your way tremble at your bold stroke.
Again, she wished the time could’ve been more ideal for this revelation. Indeed, many in Eldanhill had been in shock. But after seeing the few who’d surrendered to the encroaching Sendethi forces have their heads removed and hung on tall pikes, they’d understood their plight. Fight or die.
The Tribunal would be none too pleased by Eldanhill’s proclamation or King Emory’s actions, but faced with rebellion from so many other fronts in Granadia they’d have to consider who to take on first. Their reaction may well be one of immediate retribution. Of course, there was the chance the Granadian kingdoms banded together to crush their old enemy the Setian. Another risk the Tribunal couldn’t afford, and yet they couldn’t be seen to openly support the revival of the Setian. Ah, well, one worry at a time.
The problem at hand lay several thousand feet on the other side of the makeshift palisade where thousands upon thousands of Sendethi soldiers gathered. Twice the battle standards as before flew high, buffeted by the strong wind. Flying not far from those were a few Barsonian banners. More than she’d expected. This was to be the first statement in overthrowing the Tribunal’s iron grip, it seemed. Eldanhill was to be the example. Her lips curled in a cruel smile at that last.
She eyed the sky above once more. Of all times, this Sendethi army had chosen the Spellforge hour to attack. They were playing into the strength of the Matii. Whoever led this army hadn’t done their research. The strategy may be sound against a normal army, but not Eldanhill’s. Could Giomar really be this stupid? Her forehead creased with lines. No. The man didn’t appear the type. After all, he’d already outmaneuvered her once.
Emerald eyes shining from within his silver helmet, icy flecks dotting his beard, Stefan brought his dartan closer. “Something isn’t quite right, Galiana.”
“Yes. That’s what I was beginning to think.”
Stefan signaled for Guthrie, Devan, Jillian, Rohan and Edwin to join them. All now appointed as Generals, they rode over and formed a small circle, misty breaths of men and mounts rising in the air, leather and armor creaking. The musky smell of dartans filled the area.
“Why would you choose to fight Matii at the Spellforge hour?” Stefan scanned the Sendethi forces.
Jillian cocked her head in that odd way of hers, the beak upon her leather helmet making her appear as aquiline as one of her pet eagles. “Maybe they have Matii of their own?”
Edwin snorted. “Where would the Sendethi acquire Matii? The Pathfinders have weeded out every single one who’s come into their power.”