32

Adimora

“SO RIHNEMIN ARE THE remnants of tiellan power?” Winter asked.

She and Mazille walked alone around the large rihnemin at the center of Adimora’s upper level. It was early morning, and the sun had yet to rise. Winter was due for another sparring session with Urstadt in an hour or so, but had asked Mazille to walk with her for a while. There was still so much she wanted to know.

“Not remnants,” Mazille said. “Receptacles.”

“Receptacles of power,” Winter whispered. “Like voidstones?”

“In a way, yes. But how they hold power is altogether very different.”

Mazille looked up. Winter followed her gaze to see the countless stars above, barely visible as the sky turned from black to a dark, purplish hue. “All the power that tiellans once had still exists,” Mazille said. “Just have to learn how to access it.”

“Have you tried?”

Mazille laughed. “Course I’ve tried, many times. I’ve sent tendra into the stone, and made a rune or two glow briefly on the surface, but only for a moment.”

“You’ve made runes glow? Like the runes beneath the Undritch Mountains?”

“Aye,” Mazille said with a smile. “Nowhere near that many, but aye. Seems to be a connection there.”

“What kind of connection?”

“If I knew that, I’d tell you.”

Winter wished she could trust Mazille, but there was so much she still didn’t know about the woman.

“Do you believe the stories you have told me?” Winter asked.

“Course I believe them, child. That’s why I’m recounting them to you—”

“My mother did not believe them,” Winter said. “Is there any real evidence one way or the other?”

“Our existence ain’t evidence enough?”

It was not enough for my mother. “Were the two of you friends?”

“We were… close, for many years,” Mazille said. “But we also had our differences.”

“What was she like?” Winter asked. Her father had told her, of course, but she could only glean so much from a few stories told over and over again.

“I’d be lying if I said she was a kind woman,” Mazille said, after a long pause. “She… she spoke her mind, without regard to how her words might affect others. More often than not, she was right, though. She had a softer side, too. A side reserved only for those closest to her. I suspect your father got the large part of that side of Effara, as much as so many others would have wanted it.”

“Would she… would she have made a good mother?” Winter asked.

Mazille barked a laugh, her whole frame shaking. “Effara would have made a wonderful mother, my dear. And, at the same time, she would have been abysmal. No mother is perfect, and yours certainly would not have been. But she would have been good, I believe.”

She burned with a desire to know more. And yet, Winter was not here to talk of her mother. Another confrontation with Khale was imminent; Urstadt thought it might come within the next few weeks. Scouts said nothing of any forces on their way, but Winter felt it in her gut, too. Something was about to happen.

She needed to be prepared for it when it did.

“You mentioned the human king’s dagger, from the Age of Marvels,” Winter said. “The Blood Dagger. This weapon nullified psimantic ability?”

“So the legend states.”

“What do you know of the Ceno Order?” Winter asked.

Mazille frowned. “The ancient Rodenese religion?”

“It is not ancient anymore. The religion has resurfaced.”

“Wasn’t aware of that,” Mazille muttered, her eyes glazing over. Then, quickly, she refocused on Winter. “Roden’s the least of our problems, ancient religion resurfacing or no.”

“The monks of the Ceno Order can block psimantic ability,” Winter said.

Mazille stared at Winter. “You cannot know such a thing.”

“I’ve been to Roden, encountered these monks, and they’ve blocked my power. Is there another way to block psimancy? Other than with the dagger?”

Mazille shook her head. “The stories from the Age of Marvels are not clear by any means. The power may have rested only with the dagger itself, but there may have been a way to extract its power. To share it with others.”

Winter stopped walking. They stood at the base of the rihnemin, which was taller than any building Winter had seen, save for the imperial palace in Izet. Now that she’d been into the gorge and seen the real Adimora, she knew this was only a fraction of its true size.

“Mazille, it occurs to me that you could help me with something.” She took a frost crystal out of her pouch, slipping it into her mouth. “Do you have faltira on you?”

Mazille eyed Winter’s pouch. “You must have a large store to take it so casually.”

Winter frowned. “I told you, I have enough for my needs. Do you have one of your own?” She could tell the woman was thinking about how to respond. Mazille’s eyes did not move from the pouch at Winter’s waist.

“I… I have one of my own,” Mazille finally said, reaching into a pocket within her dress.

“Take it,” Winter said. “I want you to show me what you’ve attempted with the rihnemin.”

“No need to be so hasty,” Mazille said, shaking her head. “We will have time enough to—”

“Do it,” Winter said. “We are going to start now.” If she was going to be able to use the power of the rihnemin, she wanted to figure out how sooner rather than later.

With a deep breath, Mazille took the crystal she’d pulled out of her dress pocket.

“Now show me,” Winter said, the rage of frostfire burning through her.

“Give me a moment,” Mazille grumbled, glaring at Winter. “You can’t possibly tell me you’re already feeling it?”

Winter shut her mouth. She’d forgotten how quickly frost affected her. Nash had told her that others had a significantly slower response rate, but it had been so long since she’d interacted with any other psimancers at all.

When they were ready, Mazille approached the rihnemin. “I haven’t tried in some time,” she muttered. “I don’t even know if it will work.”

“Try it anyway,” Winter said.

Mazille stopped, looking up at the massive stone. “Goddess help me,” she whispered.

Thought she didn’t believe in the Goddess. Winter would have said as much, but she didn’t want to distract her. They had already wasted enough time.

Winter tasted blood. She concentrated, trying to discern Mazille’s tendra. She could not see them, but slowly she became aware of their presence. Two or three of them, but not more than that. They snaked around the rihnemin, searching. Probing.

Above them, a light shone in the pre-dawn dark. Winter looked up. One of the faded runes carved into the massive stone had begun to shine a dull orange color, pulsing gently. Winter looked in awe at the rune, now emblazoned on the stone’s surface.

Then, simultaneously, two other runes lit up the early morning. One a faded yellow, blazing up near the first, and the other, by far the brightest of the three, almost directly in front of Winter’s face.

Winter stared at the blood-red rune before her, mesmerized. A series of hard, straight slashes were etched in the stone in a circular design. She had no idea what it meant; no one, not even the tiellan elders, could read or speak the ancient runic language anymore.

Slowly, Winter ran her hand along the stone where the red rune shone. She felt nothing; the stone was cool, and no different than if nothing had been burning on it at all.

Then, abruptly, the lights disappeared. Winter looked over her shoulder, and saw Mazille take a step back, breathing heavily.

“That’s it?” Winter asked.

“I told you…” Mazille gasped between breaths, “I have not accomplished much. There’s… a reason I stopped trying… so long ago…”

Winter frowned, looking back up at the rihnemin.

“Besides, the only crystal I had with me was of poor quality. Perhaps if you’d let me try one of yours…”

Winter ignored Mazille, instead taking a step back herself. Then, she launched a dozen tendra towards the great stone. Behind her, Mazille gasped, but Winter paid the woman no mind. She ran her tendra along the stone’s surface, as she’d sensed Mazille do a moment before. She felt nothing.

Nothing, until suddenly she did. One of her tendra moved past a carved rune, but Winter felt pulled back to it, as if by a magnet. Winter retraced her tendron, and almost of its own accord it attached itself to the rune.

Immediately, the rune lit up in a blazing bright blue, far brighter than any of the runes Mazille had revealed.

In quick succession, each of Winter’s other tendra—she restrained herself from sending out more, wanting to keep Mazille ignorant of how many she could actually wield—found other runes, and in moments the dawn sky was ablaze in a rainbow of bright blues, reds, greens, oranges, and purples.

“Goddess rising,” Mazille whispered.

The runes blazed, but nothing else happened. Winter’s tendra certainly felt no more powerful than they had before attaching to the rihnemin. She itched to send more tendra out, to scour the thing and light up as many runes as she could, but she refrained. Now was not the time.

She withdrew her tendra, and the rihnemin fell dark once again.

* * *

As Winter was on her way to find Urstadt, Selldor stopped her.

“I have news from our scouts, Commander.”

“Walk with me and report.”

“A massive army is approaching, from Triah. Our scouts estimate at least eleven thousand infantry, and four thousand cavalry. When they join the Steel Regiment, they’ll be twenty thousand strong.”

Winter tensed, but kept walking. She knew this response would come. They had only fought bits and pieces of the Khalic army so far; this approaching force was a much larger contingent.

“How close?” Winter asked.

“They’re nearing the southern edge of the Eastmaw Mountains,” Selldor said. “Likely be here in two weeks’ time. Three at the most.”

“Two weeks,” Winter repeated. She shook herself. “Marshal our forces. We will convey this information immediately, and begin preparations for battle. We will ride out to meet them.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“We will choose our own battleground, just as we did with the Setso,” Winter said. “We have defeated the Legion twice, now. We will do it again, twenty thousand soldiers be damned.”

Selldor bowed his head. “Yes, Commander.”

“Good. I have a sparring session, Selldor. In the meantime, after my session with Urstadt, summon the Ranger captains and the clan chiefs. We’ll need to discuss strategy.”

“Aye, Commander.”

“Gather the Rangers we still have in the city, and as many new recruits as you can round up. Tomorrow morning, we ride for our main camp in Eastmaw Valley.”

Winter walked with purpose now. This would be her moment. She thought of the look on Mazille’s face. There was nothing she could not do with faltira—and that included besting the most powerful armed force on the Sfaera.

Winter was about to demonstrate her value.

* * *

Winter walked away from the strategy meeting with adrenaline coursing through her veins. The feeling was almost as good as faltira. Not quite, but good enough for now.

Urstadt, however, was cautionary. “The coming weeks will be long and tedious. The weight of the force moving upon us will sink in, and morale may be difficult to maintain.”

“Then we will do what we need to do to maintain it,” Winter said curtly. She frowned at Urstadt. The woman could not allow them one evening of energy, of strength, without pointing out where they would become weak?

“Of course, Winter.”

They walked in silence for a moment, and slowly Winter accepted the truth of Urstadt’s claim. “I believe our strategy is sound,” she said. “Our discussions this afternoon were productive, were they not?”

“They were,” Urstadt said. “And riding to meet them is the strongest option, I am sure of it. Nevertheless, time is the greatest enemy of any force. Everything erodes with time.”

In a few moments, they reached Winter’s quarters. “Thank you, Urstadt,” Winter said. “I will see you in the morning, for our practice session.” They intended to meet before sunrise, before they left Adimora for the Ranger camp in Eastmaw Valley.

“Of course. Until then, Winter.” Urstadt saluted, then turned and walked away.

Winter took a deep breath, opening the door to her quarters. They were small and practical, but she did not care for much more than that.

She suddenly realized she had not seen Mazille, or any of the other tiellan psimancers, since early that morning. She had been so busy with preparations for the oncoming campaign against Carrieri that she had almost forgotten about them.

Winter had too many questions for them. And, of course, she would require them to join the Rangers. She would need as many psimancers as she could marshal to meet the force that marched against them.

Pouring herself a goblet of water, Winter sat down at the bare wooden table in the middle of her room. She pulled the faltira pouch from her waist, checking the contents. Three crystals. She would take one tonight, she had already decided, in celebration of the way she had handled the news about Carrieri and his fifteen thousand legionaries. But she wanted to refill her pouch first; she preferred to keep five or six crystals on her at all times, just in case. Winter moved to the chest she kept beneath her bed, and stopped cold when she saw it.

The chest was open.

Winter tore the box from beneath her bed. Open, and empty.

Winter gasped short, shallow breaths. She looked underneath the bed, but there was nothing else. The majority of her faltira stash—upwards of sixty crystals—had been in that chest, and now it was gone.

Winter turned to the cabinet where she kept the rest of it. Her pack, the one she’d carried with her since Izet, was there.

It, too, was empty.

Winter stood, empty pack in hand, breathing fast. Her faltira—all but the three crystals she had in her pouch—was gone. And there was only one person she could think of who would’ve taken it. She bolted from the house, envisioning what she would do to Mazille and the tiellans who had betrayed her. Death would be a mercy for them.

She burst into the tents the tiellan psimancers had occupied, only to find them empty. Mazille and her band were gone, as were all of their belongings. She ran from the tent and grabbed the first person she saw. “Have you seen Mazille? The people in this tent?”

The woman shook her head, eyeing Winter warily.

“Commander?”

Winter whirled to face the Ranger who spoke. “You’ve seen them?” she asked.

“Aye, saw ’em this morning,” he said. “Looked like they were packing up and heading out.”

Winter stumbled backwards, the world spinning around her. Mazille would be a day’s ride away, now. Winter could send riders out after them, but Mazille and her band were still psimancers. Even if her Rangers found them, they might not come back.

Winter’s faltira was gone, and that was the cold reality.

When she made it back to her quarters, she did not bother closing the door behind her. She shivered, her skin sticky with dried sweat.

Somehow she found herself with her back against one wall, facing her open door. She slid down to sit on the wood-paneled floor, and stared emptily out into the night. She had three frost crystals left, and a force three times their size was advancing on them.

I can do anything with faltira, Winter thought to herself, unable to stifle a crazed laugh.

Without it… I am nothing.