Cloud Warrior 05 - Forged in Fire (6 page)

Two other men stood on the far end of the line. One was slender and slight, with dull gray eyes. The other was of average build and seemed to focus anywhere but on them.

Tan stayed back a few steps as they approached, holding a shaping ready in case it was needed. Fire. He always defaulted to fire.

“I am Theondar Roardan,” Roine said as he approached. “I serve as king regent. There was a summons.”

Tan tensed as he waited for the response. The Aeta had been offered safety in the kingdoms, but summoning the king was something different. This was asking for help, unless Roine had read it wrong.

One of the Aeta stepped forward. She was small and older, though not old, with wide hips and a dress that hung limp around her frame. Her brown hair looked dull and had no gray streaking through it.

She leaned forward, pressing her hand across her stomach. “I am Meltha, the Mother of this caravan,” she started. Her voice was thready and barely carried across the distance. “Thank you for coming, but there was no summons. We are simply here for trade.”

She cannot shape
. Amia’s voice surged through their connection.

Tan studied Meltha, wondering how Roine would have been summoned if Meltha couldn’t shape. How would any of the Aeta send a summons and manage to reach Roine in Ethea?

He could think of only one way. There was an archivist among them.

Tan shaped spirit, letting it wash out from him, no longer caring who might recognize that he was shaping spirit. If there was an archivist among the Aeta, he would know.

None of the people standing in a line in front of them could shape. He stretched out with a combination of earth sensing and spirit, reaching toward the wagons. With earth sensing, he could sense all of the people within the caravan; with spirit, he could tell where there might be an absence.

He sensed it in the middle wagon at the back of the caravan. There were two people in the wagon, though spirit sensing only picked up one.

He’s in the wagon,
Tan told Amia.

“The kingdoms has offered protection to the Aeta. You no longer have to wander. We have seen the suffering of the People and would like it ended,” Roine said.

The Mother bowed her head. “Your offer is appreciated, but the People have wandered for centuries. There is no need for our travels to end.”

A shaping built from within the wagon. It targeted Roine but split and reached toward both Tan and Amia as well. Tan suspected that Roine had protected his mind from shaping but worried what would happen were the archivist as powerful as the First Mother.

Roine nodded. “Then we welcome your trade. As you no doubt know, the barrier has fallen. The ancient protection between the kingdoms and Incendin is no more. But we offer safety while you are in our lands.”

“We do not fear Incendin any more than we fear any other country.”

Roine paused and spread his hands. “No? Then perhaps I was mistaken in thinking that Incendin uses Aeta shapers to create lisincend.”

Tan jerked his head around to gape at Roine. Had he really said that?

The Mother paused and then looked to those standing on either side of her.

“You’ll excuse my bluntness, but considering that I was summoned, I would expect a certain amount of honesty from the Aeta.”

“You must be mistaken, Theondar. The Aeta have no shapers. We are simple traders—”

“The First Mother is a guest in Ethea. Would you like me to say more?” The façade of friendliness had disappeared completely from Roine’s face, replaced by a hard expression, one that met the eyes of each person standing in line. “Now. You will send him out.”

The Mother met Roine’s eyes. “My lord,” she started.

Roine cut her off. “Your wagons contain one of the archivists, a man who I know can shape spirit. If he thought he would be able to shape me, then he is mistaken. And if he thought he would be able to shape those with me, then he is a fool.”

Roine’s voice was hard and dangerous. Tan stood quietly, uncertain what to make of the standoff. He had thought that he would need to warn Roine of the danger, but he should have known better. Roine was a warrior, skilled and hardened by his experiences. He had learned to protect his mind from shaping. As a spirit shaper, Tan was naturally protected.

“He’s coming,” Tan said as he sensed movement from the wagon.

“Yes,” Roine said.

“That was for Amia,” Tan said.

Roine gripped the hilt of his sword briefly. “Of course. You will watch for signs that he tries to shape me?”

“He has already tried,” Amia said. She touched the gold band at her neck as she stared at the Mother.

“And failed, but if there’s another attempt, you will warn me?”

The man who made his way to around the wagons had dark hair and a youthful face. Tan hadn’t seen him before, though he hadn’t been in Ethea long when the archives had fallen. He was dressed simply, a dark robe bound with a loop of silk. His eyes widened when he saw Tan and Amia. Tan might not recognize him, but he recognized Tan.

The archivist paused and whispered to the Mother before approaching Roine. A spirit shaping trailed with him, touching on the Aeta, this time leaving Roine alone. He made a point of not looking at Tan or Amia as he approached.

Asboel.
Tan sent the request out with a sudden urgency, reaching for his connection to the draasin. He didn’t know where Asboel hunted, though he flew somewhere in Galen.

Maelen. You do not normally summon when you are with your woman.

Tan sent an image of the archivist to Asboel.
Have we seen this one before?

Asboel hesitated before answering.
There is more to this one?

He can shape spirit, like the one who shaped Enya.

He could practically hear Asboel snarl.
I have not seen him.

Tan pulled away from the connection, not wanting Asboel to linger on the archivist. After what the archivists had done, the draasin remained angry with both the archivists and Incendin. It was about more than what they had done to Enya, but also what the archivists had done to Amia and all of the kingdoms’ shapers.

“Theondar. Most thought you were dead,” the archivist said, not making any attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.

Theondar faced the archivist, staring at him with a glare heavy with the weight of his shaping. “Althem knew I lived. Seeing as how he was your master, that is all that mattered.”

The archivist blinked, another shaping building from him. “The king was never my master. I served the archivists—”

“Who served as Althem required,” Roine said before Tan had a chance to warn him. “You must think highly of your shaping skill to attempt to shape me with these two next to me.” Roine forced a wide smile. “It was clear when you saw them that you recognized them. Were you involved in what happened to her?” he asked. “Or to the draasin? Were you involved there? If you were, pray you are more skilled at running than you are at shaping. The draasin have a long memory.”

The archivist’s face blanched. “I was not a part of what happened.”

“Then you knew Althem was gone when you summoned?” Roine took a step forward, sliding on a shaping of wind so that he hovered slightly above the archivist. “From my vantage, it appears you summoned only because you sought help from your old master.”

“We came for safety,” the archivist said.

Roine frowned.

“You offered the safety of your lands to the People, did you not?”

“You will not attempt a shaping of my people,” Roine warned.

“You think that my intent?”

“I don’t know anything about your intent,” Roine said. “Nor why you bothered to summon if not to reach Althem.”

The archivist made a sour face at the mention of Althem and motioned to Amia. “I came for her.”

“She is no longer of the Aeta,” Roine said.

“Not her.
Her
. The First Mother. She calls to all who shape spirit as if it were a Gathering. That is why we come.”

Tan resisted the urge to glance over at Amia. The Gathering had long since passed. If the archivist came for the First Mother, it meant she had sent a new summons.

Did you know of this?
he asked Amia.

She has always been a delicate shaper. She would not have wanted me to know.

“The First Mother no longer leads the Aeta,” Roine said. “For her crimes, she is now the prisoner of Ethea.”

The archivist stared at Amia for a long moment. “Yes. And the summons states that a replacement will be found. As you are no longer of the Aeta, I presume that is not you.”

Tan already knew Amia’s thoughts. The First Mother might once have intended the replacement to be Amia, but that had changed. Could she intend for one of the archivists to replace her?

Roine stared at the archivist, the hard expression still fixed on his face. “You have failed to convince me of the reason you summoned,” he said.

“I have told all I can. You will tell her that we have answered the call?” he asked.

Roine didn’t respond.

The archivist his hands and waited a moment before starting back toward the caravan.

Amia watched him. Tan had expected anger or sadness, but the emotion he sensed from her was neither. She watched the archivist with uncertainty.

T
he change
from bright sun to the grey skies over Ethea was jarring but suited Tan’s mood as they landed in the circle at the university. Tan bounced off the stone, moving away from the circle before Roine arrived. Troubled thoughts trailed him, concern about why the archivists had returned and why the First Mother had summoned them. What did she hope to accomplish while confined in Ethea? What games was she playing at with Amia?

Roine returned a moment after them, landing in the shaper circle on a bolt of lightning. There was a pained expression on his face and he gripped his sword tightly.

“What will you do?” Tan asked.

“I’ve already offered my protection. That will not be rescinded.”

“Even knowing what she does?”

“Sometimes we need to do things that we wish we didn’t have to. This is one of those times.” Roine turned to Amia. “You will tell her that I know of her summons when you next work with her.”

“She will not force me to lead the Aeta,” Amia said, gripping the flowing white dress she wore. “And neither will you.”

“I have no intention of forcing anyone to do anything,” Roine said. “You should know me well enough by now to know that much.”

“I’m sorry, Roine. Working with her has put me on edge,” Amia said, sighing.

“Do what you can,” Roine said. “See what you can do with Cora. Use the First Mother if you must, or work alone if you’re strong enough, but find out what you can about Cora. If she’s a warrior, then we must understand where she’s from.”

She hesitated. What Roine asked meant that she would need to spend even more time with the First Mother. With the summons to the archivists, Tan understood her concern. “I’ll try.”

“And you,” he said, turning to Tan. “You will come to me in the morning. I have a task for you as well.”

He disappeared on a shaping of wind.

Amia watched Roine. “You might wish you had not committed to serving as his Athan.”

“I’m going to end up doing the same, service or not,” Tan said.

“That’s not entirely true. I know how you feel about Incendin.”

Tan tensed. He had purposefully been careful about his thoughts on Incendin. Amia would be the most likely to understand, but the history between her and Incendin was deep, deeper than what Tan shred with them. He dared not share it with Asboel. The draasin might understand, but he wanted revenge for what Incendin had done. There was a large part of Tan that did, too. Then there was Tan’s mother and Roine. Both had faced Incendin for years.

Only, Incendin served a purpose. Perhaps it always had. He might not
agree
with how Incendin did what it did, but there was no question that the threat of the lisincend, of the Fire Fortress itself, had kept the kingdoms safe from Par-shon.

“I feel the same as you about Incendin,” Tan said.

She smiled and leaned forward on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Not the same, but you do well to pretend. I can understand what you intend, but still not like it.”

“We don’t have to like them to use them. Even if it’s only long enough to figure out how we can fight back.”

Tan didn’t have a sense of how he would use Incendin, not yet, but there had been nothing but silence from Par-shon since the attack. They had time, strange as it seemed, almost as if they stood in the calm before the coming storm. If he could find some way to turn Par-shon’s attention solely onto Incendin, the kingdoms might be able to remain safe. Then, if his mother was right, they could rebuild the barrier. It had served to keep the kingdoms safe once. Perhaps it could again.

“They killed my family, Tan. They killed your father. Whatever you think they might have the potential to do doesn’t make up for what they
have
done.”

“I know you’re right,” he said, choosing to avoid conflict with Amia.

“I should check on Cora like Roine asked. Perhaps she knows something that can help, if only I can be strong enough to help her.”

“You’re strong enough,” he said.

“I’m not sure,” Amia started. “There’s something missing with the healing. Even the First Mother hasn’t managed to find the secret.” She hesitated and Tan squeezed her hand. “I think we have to prepare for the possibility that she doesn’t recover.”

They parted ways in the street, though with the bond they shared, they were never truly apart. Tan couldn’t imagine a similar bond with anyone else. He had access to the deepest parts of Amia, he could close his eyes and trace the bond and simply
be
with her, the same as she could be with him. There were no secrets for them. The connection was wonderful and amazing, but also terrifying. When he’d been in Par-shon, he’d feared the possibility of losing Asboel, but losing Amia would have been thousands of times worse. And there was only so much he could do to keep her safe.

As he made his way to the archives, he wondered if he would ever be able to keep her safe. Each time he thought they were safe, some new threat emerged. If not Incendin, then Par-shon. What would happen to her next?

Tan found the inside of the archives darkened, but there were shapers lanterns. He had only to shape a trickle through them and they bloomed into bright white light. He hurried toward the lower level, intending to check on the draasin, but he paused. Seeing Roine with his sword had reminded him that it was time to claim a new one for himself.

Tan entered the room where a row of hooks along the wall held warrior swords. He looked at them, considering each one. The archives had nearly a dozen for him to choose from. More would be found in the palace, though they were forged differently than these and didn’t have the same runes along the blade. None of them had reminded him of the sword he’d lost.

The first two he considered felt wrong. There was a strange heft to the blades, as if they were either made for a stronger or weaker shaper. The next was too long. Tan had grown accustomed to Lacertin’s sword. The length of it had felt perfect to him, so he wanted something similar. A few others had a wide curve of the blade and would be too cumbersome. Midway along the wall, Tan noticed one that reminded him of his old sword.

Tan unsheathed it and considered the runes etched into the steel. He recognized most of them, though there were a few that he didn’t. One looked something like the spirit rune he’d seen in Par-shon. The blade he’d carried had no rune for spirit. Tan had always added that to his shapings on his own.

He swung the sword carefully, then with more vigor. It felt comfortable in his hand, but then again, warrior swords were not really meant to be used like traditional swords.

He tested a shaping, pressing through the sword with a weak shaping of fire. Then wind. Water and earth were next. Last, he tried spirit. Each worked as he hoped, the sword augmenting his shaping.

As he did, his eyes were drawn to the case holding the artifact. He’d placed it in a simple case, making certain that it was protected, but hadn’t dared use it since returning it to this part of the archives. The last time he had, he’d felt tempted to attempt shapings that he should not.

Clutching the sword, he dragged himself away. Amia had wanted more strength to shape Cora, but the artifact was not the answer. Hopefully, the sword would be enough.

T
he First Mother
greeted Tan at the door to the small room holding Cora. “She should not be disturbed,” she said.

“I won’t disturb her,” he said.

The First Mother grunted and started past him, moving to the back room. She was confined here, not allowed anywhere else in the city, and would not be allowed outside the city to reach the gathering Aeta. Tan grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“You’re calling a Gathering.”

The First Mother looked up at him. “Theondar agreed to provide safety.”

“That’s not all this is about.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you so certain it is not, Tannen? You can shape me so well?”

Tan shook his head. “You know I cannot. Don’t think you can manipulate Amia—”

She shot him a look. “You think that I manipulate the Daughter? Surely your skill with spirit is strong enough now that you can see I do not. I seek only to provide guidance.”

“You want her to return to the People.”

The First Mother leaned on the wall and sighed. For the first time, Tan realized how weary she seemed. “I have always wanted what is best for the People.”

Tan released her arm and she started away. “Did you know about Par-shon?” he asked.

It was a question that had troubled him. If the First Mother had shaped the Doma shapers, if she had compelled them, would she have known the reason Incendin wanted them? But more than that, connected as she was to spirit, shouldn’t she have recognized how the elementals suffered?

“I knew that Incendin suffered. Much of it caused by their actions, but not all. And I sensed how they would do anything to protect their people. It’s a sentiment I shared with them.”

She continued down the hall and turned into the room at the end.

When Tan entered the room, he found Amia standing over the bed, hands on either side of Cora as she performed another spirit shaping. Cora lay motionless, no different than the last time Tan had seen her, only her cheeks were a little paler. The only difference was her hair. If anything, there was more color to it than before.

The window was open and a cool breeze blew in, carrying with it the sounds from the street below. That it was cool told Tan that ara infused the wind rather than Honl and ashi. He wondered why that would be.

Amia had been shaping constantly since their return from the Aeta, focusing on Cora with a renewed intensity. Even during his time in the archives, he had sensed that from her.

Amia sighed and stepped away from the bed. “I need more strength,” she finally said. “Working with the First Mother has helped, but I’m not strong enough. There’s something there, but it’s so deeply buried. I feel that if we can only reach it, I can draw her out, bring back the shaper she once was.”

“There might be a way to augment the strength of your shaping,” Tan said, thinking of the way the First Mother seeming increasingly frail with each day spent shaping. Amia must be feeling a similar toll.

She arched a brow at him. “I will not use the artifact. That’s more temptation than any person should have.”

“Not the artifact,” he started. Amia’s thoughts reflected those that he’d had while in the archives. The artifact
could
help, but it was too powerful for any shaper to attempt to use safely. “But there’s something else we could use that can augment shaping.”

Her eyes lowered to the sword at his waist. “You want me to use the sword?”

“I’m not sure that you can,” he said. “But
I
can. You can reach through our bond and use the strength of the sword, use my spirit reserves if needed. Maybe you’ll be able to finally heal her.”

Amia stared at the sword for a long moment before finally turning to Cora. “What you suggest will be dangerous. For both of us.”

From her willing tone, Tan suspected that Amia needed the success of healing Cora more than she realized. “We can try. If anything begins to go wrong, we can sever the connection.”

He felt her agree without her needing to say anything.

Tan unsheathed the sword. What they would do might work with the sword sheathed, but there was a reassurance to being able to see the runes along the surface as they shaped. He placed the tip into the stone of the floor and stood over it. He drew a spirit shaping through the blade, feeling how the weapon added to his own strength.

Then he pressed through the connection he and Amia shared. She gasped softly but quickly took control. She guided the shaping, adding her touch to spirit, twisting and weaving it so that it layered over Cora. As she worked, Tan began to recognize some of what she did, almost as if holding this much spirit gave him insight. It was healing, but it was more than that. There was a questing to what she shaped, a search for understanding.

He felt the shaping as it moved through Cora. There was resistance at first and then he detected a void, a sense of nothingness that should not exist. Wrapped around the void, he sensed a shaping of spirit, layered many times, built by Amia and the First Mother.

Tan recognized the emptiness, and saw how to heal Cora, suddenly understanding that Amia and the First Mother would not be able to do it alone. Drawing through the sword, he pulled on each of the elements, mixing them together and adding this to spirit. He sent this shaping through the connection, through Amia.

“No, Tan—”

The shaping settled in Cora, filling the void. There was a flash and she moaned. Her breathing stopped and, for a moment, it seemed her heart stopped. The emptiness filled, expanding with the addition of the elements. Amia lost control of the shaping—she could handle spirit, but the others were more than she could manage—and Tan took over, recognizing what needed to be done.

He pressed the shaping directly now. The void began to disappear, filled with elemental power, until only the shaping around the remnants remained. Drawing on spirit, he peeled the layers placed by Amia and the First Mother away. Spirit flooded through her, expanding outward, pulled by the draw upon the sword.

Tan lost control and spirit flooded from him. Awareness filled him, reminding him of the day he had stepped in the pool of liquid spirit.

What had he been thinking? He didn’t know enough to control this shaping. Amia might not even know enough to control this shaping.

Spirit continued to expand away from him, drawn by the sword. It exploded outward, flooding through Tan, through the sword, everywhere, until it faded.

Cora gasped.

Tan released the shaping. As he did, there was a familiar and distant sense, one he hadn’t heard in months. Tan wasn’t even sure he heard it correctly, but then it came again, echoing with his name, a sense of terror mixed in.

Elle?

He was certain it was her. As he thought he heard a response, he collapsed.