Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) by Terry C. Simpson, D Kai Wilson-Viola, Gonzalo Ordonez Arias

assassin’s daggers striking nothing but air where Ryne’s stomach had been. In the same motion, Ryne pulled himself straight, knocked the blades to one side, drew his hand back, and stabbed.
    He used the momentum from his lean to whip forward with Lightstrike—a direct lunge.
    The Alzari managed a grunt when Ryne’s greatsword tore through leather, cloth, flesh and scraped past bone as it exploded from the assassin’s back with a shower of blood and viscera.
    Ryne drew his sword back and flicked it to one side to rid it of the blood. He spun, ready to help Sakari, but the fighting was already over.
    A few feet away lay the other Alzari, his daggers still gripped in his lifeless hands. His only wounds were two precise slices, one across his stomach and the other across his neck. Blood pooled below his body, leaving the grass and fallen leaves slick.
    Several cuts in Sakari’s armor revealed his tan skin. He gave Ryne a reassuring nod.
    Sightless eyes staring into the sky, the dead lapra lay between the hunters. Deep rents marred its fur in several places, and even dead, the monstrous body, black with blood, appeared too big for the beast’s six skinny legs. Putrid fluid leaked, the stench overpowering the smell from the rotten flesh.
    Denton, the youngest of the five hunters who had left from Carnas, nursed claw wounds to his chests and arms. His torso heaved and his pale cheeks labored with each ragged breath. Lenka limped severely, his armor ripped from waist to knee. Torn muscle exposed white bone through the holes where blood trailed down and painted his leather red. The other hunters bore no injuries.
    “Since when could Alzari tame these things?” Dren nodded toward the giant lapra’s corpse.
    “Since when the beasts be leaving the Rot be a better question,” Keevo added. The grizzle-faced man kicked at the lapra’s mutilated leg.
    Dren’s square jaw tightened as he regarded the Alzari assassin then Ryne. He nodded toward the corpse. “I thought the Tribunal had given up on you.”
    “So did I.” Ryne shrugged. His chest and arm throbbed.
    Dren continued, “Now, we find two Alzari mercenaries here. With the bodies we’ve found the last few weeks, this makes for a strange coincidence. But I guess now we know who killed those men in the kinai orchards.”
    “Alzari weren’t responsible for those deaths,” Ryne said.
    “Really?” Dren bent to take a closer look at the Alzari’s corpse. “How’re you so sure?” He poked at the war paint on the assassin’s face before he straightened.
    “They always leave a ritual dagger as proof of their work. Plus, no weapon of theirs could have made the wounds on those men.” Ryne’s gaze shifted to the infected lapra. He stroked the scars on his face as he eyed the elongated claws and teeth. No lapra could leave the gashes on those bodies either. He decided to keep that to himself.
    “Do you really believe this beast could’ve killed them?” Keevo’s scarred face puckered with doubt. “It was so infected with rot, it moved like mud. Amuni’s balls, the tamer ones on the plains could have taken this.” He spat at the remains.
    “If the Alzari accompanied it, then maybe,” Ryne said. “Alone, I’m not sure. But who knows what can happen when you underestimate what you face.” He cast a sidelong glance toward the wounded men.
    “Malka.” Ryne gestured toward the man.
    Malka turned to regard Ryne. His nose and eyes peeked out from the brown bush that covered his face.
    “Gather some kinai and help Sakari tend to the others.” Ryne nodded to the sweet, red fruit growing in thick clusters within the stand. “Keevo and Dren, check for signs of the boy. Shout if you see a woman with golden hair or that so called Devout, Mariel.” The men nodded and hurried off to do as he bid.
    As Ryne surveyed the clearing, he removed the paste the sisters had given him and applied some to his wounds. The mixture had a sweet smell, but it stung enough to make him