Ashlords

by Scott Reintgen

  He steps aside. Three familiar figures have appeared in the doorway: Etzli, Revel, and Bravos. The sight of Bravos turns your stomach. He looks rightfully embarrassed. You stare him down and the anger you’ll need to lead armies into battle rages in your chest. All three of the defeated riders step forward and perform standard bows of allegiance. It’s a small victory to see the man who betrayed you bend the knee.

  After a moment, the Brightness steps forward again. You know that he’s waiting for your answer. As if you could have ever said no. You nod to him before rising from your seat and knocking on the door. The sound brings stylists flooding back from the hallway. You hand the first one your safeguarded switch.

  “Bring me a real blade and make sure it’s sharp.”

  You turn back to the Brightness. War knocks on the door of the Empire again, and he looks youthful because of it. You realize the threat is feeding him energy. He’s not alone in that. You can feel the space Quinn left in your heart filling with hunger and lust. War is the natural state of your people. It is the calling of your kind. You are raised knowing it will come.

  A voice in the back of your mind whispers doubt. It almost sounds like Quinn. You have not quite cleansed the taste of wrongness you felt as you left Etzli behind in the caves. It is what your parents would have done. It is what the Empire has always taught you. Win at all costs.

  For now, you bury that voice.

  “We reign,” you say.

  “In fire and blood,” the others finish.

  Bastian marches me through the halls. He lost four of his men. They took time to bury them, and mourn them, and drink in their honor. Bastian even helped dig the graves. When the job was done, he offered once more to escort me deeper into the mountains. But a summons came first. The Longhand general who saved us at the last minute wants to talk to me.

  I’m thankful that Bastian is walking beside me.

  The Longhand troops are as rowdy as their captain is quiet. He camped them for a few days, but now they’re busy with movement. They’re ready to march on to the next strategic location. Bastian assured me that the Longhands didn’t come on my account. They came because the Reach is ready to rise up and rebel. They’ve been recruiting in the mountains for months. Pacts have already been purchased. Armies and supply chains are being prepared.

  The Ashlords will strike back, and they’ll do so with the gauntleted fists of their gods, but for now the rebellion has ridden out to a quick lead. It’d be easy to think of it all as a race if I could ignore the smell of burning bodies. Bastian turns a corner. Two guards part to allow him into their general’s office. The man stands over a map of the Empire. I can see some of the towns he has marked off. Pieces representing armies. Where will his troops move next? He sets his dusty hat over the etchings and takes a good long look at us.

  “Thank you, Bastian. I’d speak to the girl alone.”

  A piston in Bastian’s arm releases pressure with a hiss of steam.

  “She’s not as familiar with wartime arrangements as I am. I think I’ll stay.”

  The general considers him, nods a concession.

  “That’s acceptable. Imelda, my name is Antonio Rowan. I am second in command of the Longhand Legions. First, I wanted to thank you for creating such a perfect opportunity. Your flight from the Races allowed us to strike clean and early against the Ashlord army.”

  He pauses long enough for me to answer.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “With that noted, I would see the belt that you stole.”

  The words are bold and direct, but not unexpected. Bastian warned me it would come to this. I’ve known all along that my way through the mountains would not be easy, not with that kind of price attached to my hip. Too bad for him I expected this from the beginning.

  “Mountain rules,” I reply. “What I steal from an Ashlord is mine.”

  “You’re not from the mountains,” Antonio points out.

  “She is now.”

  Bastian speaks a new truth into existence. I take heart from his words. I set everything I’ve ever known on fire, but he’s offering me a new home, a new family. It’s mine if I want it.

  Antonio waves a lazy hand. “All beside the point. Our contracts with the mountain rebels carry weight, even with lesser known insurgents like Bastian. You might have stolen the belt yourself, but there’s a tax applied to all earnings during wartime. We won’t take from the hands of those who fight, but we have to fund our efforts somehow. You will find this is true of every man and woman in my army. You will find this is true of every man and woman who fights with us. There’s a tax taken from every spoil of war now. It is law.”

  “How much?” Bastian asks.

  “Thirty percent.”

  Bastian makes a disbelieving noise. Antonio Rowan doesn’t reply. He simply folds his hands and looks my way again. “We saw the components you chose. We know their values, especially during wartime. You keep seventy percent of the profits. That’s more than enough.”

  I could draw this out into a negotiation, but the general is already two steps behind.

  “I’ll give you all of it. The whole belt.”

  I hear the rustle of boots behind us, the shifting of weight. Bastian’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  Antonio Rowan leans forward hungrily. “At what cost?”

  “No cost. Free of charge.”

  “Imelda—” Bastian starts to interrupt, but a look from me cuts him off.

  I unclip the cubes from my belt and slide the whole thing across the general’s desk. He carefully opens the first latch. His eyes narrow, though, as he opens the second, and third….

  “These are not the components you stole.”

  I raise both eyebrows in surprise. “No?”

  “I do not have time for games.”

  “I think I just proved to the entire world that I don’t play games.”

  His lip quivers with checked fury. There’s a flash of danger in his eyes, and I brace myself, thinking he’ll reach for the pistol at his hip. Instead, he calls the guards back into the room. “Search her,” he says to the first. “And you search her things. Find the other belt.”

  I smile as they obey his command. Bastian looks a little lost. I smile, because I know they won’t find them. I made sure of it. I left the belt where only one person would know to look. The guard searches me roughly, finds nothing. Antonio Rowan looks up skeptically when he’s finished. The other returns to report the same. The Longhand general doesn’t hide his anger now.

  “Where are they?” he asks.

  “The belt on your desk is the only one in my possession.”

  He snaps each container shut, opens the nearest drawer, and dumps the belt inside.

  “Leave. Go now before I have you arrested.”

  Bastian offers a quick bow to the Longhand before shoving me back into the hall. He doesn’t talk until we’re beyond the Longhand patrols. The second we’re out of earshot, he breaks into laughter. “What’d you do with them?” he asks giddily.

  “They’re in good hands,” I reply. “They’ll get back to the right people.”

  He smirks. “The Alchemist. I’m starting to see it now.”

  And to my surprise, he throws a friendly arm around me. Heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks. My heart pounds in my chest. Mostly because I almost got thrown in prison, but some of it has to do with how comfortable Bastian’s arm feels around my shoulder.

  It feels like home.

  Outside the Longhand camp, his crew are packing saddles and preparing ashes. Like proper rebels, they look ready to move on to the next place on the map. We’re walking that way when Bastian pulls me to a stop. His face looks surprisingly serious for once.

  “Look, I know you want to go to your uncle’s,” he says. “Live a quiet life and all that. I just want
to square up with you. War is coming. The mountain folks aren’t exactly neutral. We don’t do quiet. We’re the sons and daughters of revolutionaries. Our parents delivered secret messages; they defied the gods. That’s who we are….” He locks eyes with me. “I think that’s who you are, too. We’ll take you to Dig’s place. If all you want is the quiet life? No worries. I wish you well, but someone like you will make a difference in what’s coming. Think about it.”

  He winks once before turning and barking orders at his men.

  I watch the crew rally to him, excited for new marching orders. The wildness of his invitation thrums in my chest. It takes effort to bury that rebellious voice. I know that a quiet life is the right choice. Some pasture up in the mountains with a couple of horses. My family visiting when they can. That wouldn’t be the worst life in the world.

  But my mind is drawn back to the map on Antonio Rowan’s desk. The next few months will transform those figurines into real armies. The towns he marked will become battle locations. I’ve known the names of some of those towns my whole life. There are Dividian people—my people—who call those places home. Who’s going to fight for them?

  The sun is rising over the mountains.

  I spread out my phoenix’s ashes. As I kneel over them, Luca approaches with the belt of components I requested. He stands there at my shoulder like he’s about to witness a miracle.

  “Finally get to see the Alchemist in action.”

  I smile. “I fell in love with alchemy when I was a little girl. It wasn’t the rebirths. Or the riding, really. It was the components. I loved that a pinch of onyx could summon a horse with shock-resistant hooves. But if you take a whole handful of the stuff?” Carefully, I start spreading the necessary powders, mixing them in perfect circles. “A whole handful will get you a horse with an armored hide. Just a few ounces. That’s the only difference between a proper country riding horse and one that’s ready to ride into battle. I love that even the smallest details count.”

  Luca asks the one question that matters.

  “Which one are you going to summon?”

  I rise, dusting my hands off, eyes to the distant mountains. We watch the sun cut through the valley and stir my ashes. I stare into that blinding light and smile.

  “Let’s ride.”

  On the first holy day after the Races, he returns.

  I knew I’d never have to seek him out. Instead, he walks around the ranch like he’s in mourning. Twice around the empty pastures, circling and circling before the sun’s even up. I warm some old coffee and watch, knowing how hard it must be, how lost he must feel without Imelda. My eyes roam the dark, checking for others, but he’s alone. The Empire’s too busy to have much interest in a kid like him. All the better.

  I throw on a coat and head out to meet him. He’s pulled himself up onto a fence by then. He sits, thumbing a hole in his jeans, acting like he’s seven again. Poor kid.

  “Farian,” I say. “This is unexpected.”

  He barely looks up. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “She’ll be back. You know that, don’t you?”

  For a while, he doesn’t say anything. Which is fair. I’m not sure I believe it, either. Every whisper carries war with it. There’s talk of conscriptions. Imelda’s name might get forgotten in all the mess, but there’s also talk that she’s the one who started what’s coming. One newspaper claimed she actually fought in the first battle. Sounded like a load of wash until I saw the location of the fight: Gig’s Wall. Just a few miles north of where she was planning on heading. It didn’t sound so impossible then.

  “Why’d she do it?” Farian asks. “Why not just try to win the right way?”

  “She wanted to break the rules. That was the whole point.”

  Farian shakes his head. “So now we look like cheaters. Ashlords can point at her and say, ‘Look what the Dividian do with what we give them.’ ”

  “Oh, wake up, Farian.”

  He looks a little shocked by the exhaustion in my voice.

  “Did you ever wonder at our people’s name?” I ask him, pressing. “The Dividian. It originates in Ashlord documents. It’s the history they gave us. A simple meaning: the divided ones. We arrived at their shores divided. We live in their land divided. It’s become second nature to us, almost like breathing. And I have no doubt it is how the Ashlords like us.”

  My eyes trace the distant land, hills that were never really ours.

  “Imelda took something back from them, Farian. We don’t live high and mighty. We live in their world, by their rules. One of those rules is that we’re never allowed to rise too high. They’ve been stealing who we are from us for centuries. Imelda defied that. For at least a few minutes, she united all of us. On their biggest stage, with the entire Empire watching, a Dividian outdanced the Ashlords. Don’t look down on her for changing their rules.”

  Farian breaks beneath the weight of that, shaking his head, on the verge of tears.

  “We don’t know if she outdanced them. She got over the fence, but then what? I think—I think I’m trying to be mad because it’s easier than being afraid. What if they killed her, Martial? What if they tracked her into the mountains and captured her?”

  I reach out and set a hand on his shoulder. “She made it.”

  “You know that?” Farian asks desperately. “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “I feel it. Down in my bones. Don’t you?”

  It takes a second, but he nods. “I’m just worried. Until I see her and know she’s all right, I’ll always be worried. Those components she stole are worth a lot, Martial. Even if she escapes the Ashlords, someone else might kill her for them. I’m worried I’ll never see her again.”

  I let out a sigh. “Well, I can help a little with that fear.”

  Reaching back, I remove the bills from my pocket. I’ve had them hidden in the floorboards for days. Farian’s cut of the winnings. I thought I’d have to scatter the sales, but with war coming on, vendors are positioning themselves for the long run and buying up what components they can. It’s been easy to sell off everything, except the Ivory of Earl. That one’s rare enough to get someone’s attention. I’ll sell it off when the time comes, but for now I’ll have to wait. I take the banded wad of money and stuff it into his hand.

  “Twenty-five thousand legions.”

  He stares at it. “What?”

  “That’s your cut. Twenty-five thousand legions.”

  “Martial…”

  “It’s not from me.” I smile at him. “It’s from Imelda. She said go to school. She better be invited to all your premieres.”

  He fans a thumb through the bills, stunned. “But…her family…”

  “Will get plenty of money. Don’t worry about that.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t get it. I mean…How could she possibly…”

  I smile again. “Might never know. But I have to say, you were spot on with your nickname for her, Farian. All Imelda did was snap her fingers. And here we are, enjoying all the something she made out of nothing. If I were you, I’d give up on trying to figure out how she did it and just be thankful she did it at all. Be thankful the Alchemist thought your pockets were worth filling.”

  He nods, keeps quiet, and pockets all of it. We sit and talk a little while longer, but he’s too excited to stay for long. He heads on home, talking about some video he’s already got in the works. I nod him off as the sun starts to rise. It’s quiet now. Later today, the Ashlords who board their horses here will start to arrive. They’ll come to collect their phoenixes so that they can ride them into the kind of bloody battles this world hasn’t seen in decades.

  There’s more than enough work to keep me busy, but I sit up on the nearest fence and watch the sunrise instead. I don’t know if Imelda’s alive. I really don’t. But today it’s e
nough to stand here watching the sunrise and hope that somewhere she’s setting out her ashes, adding all the right components, and resurrecting a beautiful new phoenix.

  I like to think that someday she’ll ride it back to us.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have to start by thanking the Reintgen boys. I’m the middle child in a set of three boys. My dad was an ACC championship wrestler at UNC. It should come as no surprise that the four of us competed at everything. My earliest memories are of racing my brothers through grocery store parking lots, knowing the first one to touch the car could claim shotgun. We were each other’s test subjects for every soccer move, every fadeaway jumper, every new video game discovery. The fire and competition that this book is built around was learned through a lifetime with each of them. Which reminds me, any of you have a sheep for trade?

  The second group that deserves thanks for this story is my writing group and beta readers. This particular story needed as much of their help as it could get. Back in 2013, I had an idea for a story about a young girl (you know her as Quinn) who has to race through four different dimensions to earn her freedom. It was a really fun story. When I finished, I sent it to my trusted writing group. Every early reader adored the phoenix horses. I’d always ask about the other races, and they’d shrug before continuing to praise the phoenixes. Eventually, I took the hint. With their advice guiding me, I cut the other races to focus on this world. This story would not be what it is without that brilliant group.

  As always, I have to thank the team at Random House, specifically the folks at Crown BFYR. I am always indebted to my brilliant editor, Emily Easton. Thank you for trusting me so much on this story, and as always, thank you for taking it beyond where I could have taken it on my own. A huge thanks to Samantha Gentry for being the reason the ball keeps rolling no matter how many times I almost drop it. Thanks to Josh Redlich for working to get this out into the world, and to the countless folks at Random House who have pitched this book to librarians and booksellers around the country. I’m always honored to call you my team.