Embers of a Broken Throne by Terry C. Simpson

the men draw up beside her and shift into knots of ten, swords and shields ready. “A good day to die,” she said to Ancel when he stepped up next to her.
    “Who said anything about dying?” He replied, and she knew without looking that he smiled.
    Power surged from him, prickled across her skin. All around and in front of them dirt, stone, and grass shifted as if alive. And then the combination did live, pushing up from the ground, quickly becoming warriors clad in white and gold, wielding spears.
    She released her Forge. Lances of light rained down, tearing into the charging shadeling ranks.
    Ancel uttered one word. “Begin.”
    His constructs sprinted meet to the enemy, spears whirling. With defiant screams, the Dagodins, Mirza, Charra, and Ancel followed. The battlefield became a sea of chaos, blades, blood, and death.
    She lost herself in the heat of battle. With expert precision she chose targets away from any friend, and made certain to keep an eye on Ancel if he should need her. Time seemed to stretch as they fought, and despite heavy limbs and ragged breaths she continued to Forge until there was nothing left on the ground to attack.
    Every shadeling but the vasumbral was dead. Of the over four hundred men and women in the Dagodin cohort, a mere fifty still lived, and ten of those would have to be killed, their wounds from darkwraiths’ tainted blades too grievous for her or Ryne to mend. Thankfully, Mirza and Ancel had either been lucky or skillful enough to avoid the worst.
    Ancel’s entire construct army moved among the downed shadelings, lopping off heads. Although the majority bore injuries that would fall any normal man, they went about their business as if unscathed. Upon completion of their task, Ancel released them, and they melted into the ground, a part of the Forms once more.
    “Any word of Ryne?” she asked as Ancel set fire to the entire field, the heat such that she had to back away.
    “He had his own battle in the woods, but it appears that’s over now.”
    The words had barely left his mouth when Ryne appeared at the forest’s edge. He peered at the burning field, and then cast his gaze up to the vasumbral and the zyphyl. The two beasts were still tearing at each other, locked in a coiled mass of black and silver. Ryne Shimmered to Ancel’s side.
    “I feared one of you might be lost in that trap,” Ryne said. He eyed them for a moment, nodding his approval. Screeches and wails echoed from the two combatants above. “For this to end quickly the zyphyl will need our help.”
    “There’s nothing we can do,” Irmina began, before she noticed Ryne’s attention had settled on Mirza.
    “Your kind, the Dagodins, are the bane of creatures like the vasumbral, beasts that either devour Forges or are impervious to them,” Ryne said.
    “You must be mad,” Mirza scoffed. “You two are Eztezians, she’s as a strong as a High Shin, there must be something you can do.”
    “Anything we do, that any Forger does, would only make the creature stronger.”
    “But—”
    “I can explain the finer points explain later,” Ryne interrupted. “But your divya ,” he nodded to Mirza’s sword, “unlike ours, does not require Mater or a Forge to be activated, just a Dagodin’s touch. I will Materialize you to the right location. All you need do is drop with your blade pointed down.”
    Mirza opened his mouth.
    “Delay much longer and we will have more than one of those things to fight.”
    “Fine.” Mirza inhaled long and slow. “Whenever you’re ready.”
    With his gaze on the two creatures in the sky, Ryne opened a portal a foot away. It twisted from horizontal to vertical. Through the opening the shadeling and her pet battled below her, the ground a great distance under them. She gasped at the sight. Ryne had opened a portal in the sky above the creatures.
    “Remember, sword pointed down. Irmina, if you can manage to tell your pet to hold in place?”
    She closed her eyes and touched her