by Tyler Krings
“What is his name?” the old man asked. “This commander?”
Ham took a moment to detract his attention from Rom. “Emersin, I think it was. He was a general at one point. That’s what they say anyway.”
They shook hands and said their goodbyes. As Ham prepped his horse, Rom pulled Jon to the side. “In all seriousness, Jon, they are looking for someone,” Rom said quietly. The sounds of Ana and the old man cleaning the table the only thing filling the air between them. “Someone new to town.” Rom gestured back to the house.
Jon shifted uncomfortably. “You think it’s her?”
Rom shrugged. “War criminal or not, she’s the only new face I’ve seen. If what you’ve told me is true, I don’t see how it could be her.”
“Rom,” said Jon, “everything’s fine. She’s from the north. We just haven’t made anything official yet. I’m sure we’ll clear it up with the garrison when we make it to town.”
Rom hesitated before he nodded. The door opened for the old man and the woman. Jon took Rom’s arm in farewell. Jon and the old man watched the soldiers, and their horses chase the remaining sunlight toward the King’s road. The pair waved fondly but their expressions were grim indeed. When Ham and Rom were out of sight Jon shook his head and huffed. The old man looked to him with somber eyes.
“Something funny?” the old man asked.
Jon replied, “That spirit, the one of the forest.”
The old man scoffed. “What of it?”
“He said something about the wolves circling. Among other things. Perhaps he does know something.”
“That meddling ghost should mind its business.”
Jon nodded in agreement, though he knew it was unconvincing.
“But,” the old man continued, “it’s not wrong.”
“It’s hardly coincidence,” said Jon. “Emersin, here, weeks after she arrives and leagues away from the capital. Why send him, though? Why make a human do the dirty work?”
“Anu can only extend its arm so far. They must use others as their eyes,” the old man answered.
“What do we do?” Ana’s voice spoke quietly behind them, sheathed in the shadow of the doorframe, holding her arms against an unfelt cold.
“We need tread carefully,” the old man gestured to the dust trails in the distance, “Those boys will spread rumors faster than a wildfire. Rumors that we will not be able to deny.” He looked at Jon. “Your ploy may very well be our salvation or damnation depending on how well we play our hand. But shaking the general’s suspicion will require more…elaboration.”
Ana took in a breath. “And…what does that mean?”
“He means we’ll have to sell the deception,” Jon answered. “I have to wonder though, how did he even know to come here?”
“He is not alone,” Ana answered. “I’ve heard his name in…places I was not supposed to be. Something rides him and has before, as well.”
“Yes,” the old man replied. “It was the same at Nathera’s burning.”
Jon felt Ana’s curiosity. “How would you know this?” she asked.
The old man did not answer. Jon sighed. “Because we were there. I’m Natheran.”
Ana turned slowly to him. She pointed a finger. “I knew it!”
6
Horses
The war in Anu raged.
Explosions of thunder and fire ravaged the Endless Plain, once fertile and green, now a torn and burning battlefield. The Coalition forces were split in the North, East, and Westguard, a combination of Lords, Ladies, and the willing, human souls electing to take part in the war for Anu. The Westguard had dwindled to nothing, and still the Angels bore upon the stragglers, their great beams of terrible light obliterating hopes of both advance and retreat. The Northguard charged the Holy Legion middle ranks with great warbeasts, horned and ancient, even as Angels continued to fly forth from the city’s gates in never ending numbers. The Eastguard held, just barely, against the horde of willing as they threw themselves before the mercy of gods and artillery. Fire blossomed in the crowded sky, throwing the bodies of gods and warriors alike to the ground in a bloody rain. The body on Arienaethin’s back grew heavier as she flew through the debris of war. Below her, concussions of power raked the front lines and beyond, flinging the Willing to eternal death and breaching the best laid defenses. Leisha, Lady of Thunder, unleashed another round of lightning, shattering Coalition war machines sending them burning back to the ground. Arienaethin flew under the cover of one such fiery hulk, deftly dodging the heavy fire of gods and falling machines. On her back, Arienaethin carried Maerko’s still breathing body, whose breath was now coming in ragged gasps.
“Hold on Maerko!” Arienathin shouted. Almost there. The lines of Arthen’s artillery lumbered forward, their outlines lit by their continuous explosions of gunpowder, ravaging both land and sky. She moved around the dying airship—its crew and complement most certainly dead and destroyed as it plummeted to the ground—and into what should have been friendly sky. Holy fire followed her and tore through her escape route. She weaved and dived, willing the current into more than it could offer as lines of light cracked and lit the air on fire. Come on!
In the end, there were too many. The Angels behind her did not fear the assault from below and flew without caution into the concussive blasts from the artillery line. Many perished, but as Arienaethin was to discover, even a few could cut hard. Angel fire ripped into her side, sending her into a limping spiral. Maerko fell from her shoulders, and she hit with a force that tortured the ground. She stood, dazed, but quickly noted the body a distance from her. She ran as the crash of Angels dropped upon her, their eyes of light finding her quickly and throwing beams of power into her path. She turned as she reached out her hand, calling forth Galeblade, the shaft of the spear alighting her palm. She heaved the spear at the nearest armored body, its tip punching through the Angel’s torso, the light of its armor and eyes flickering before fading entirely.
“MAERKO! Wake up!” Arienaethin ran the last few meters to the still body, noting the ethereal blood streaming from multiple cuts. She reached out her hand again and Galeblade returned to her in time to deflect another blast of power. Two Angels landed to either side of her, their eyes lighting in fury.
“MAERKO!”
A gentle pat on her shoulder and she woke violently, sitting bolt upright amidst disorderly sheets. The shadow of a man skittered from her vision with a small yelp and the sound of a door closing quickly. She eyed the door in confusion before it dawned on her that she was naked. The small laugh that left her lips banished the worst of the nightmare.
“It’s nothing you’ve not seen before. Besides, I think we’re married now,” she said joylessly. She hurled the sheets from the bed and lazily stretched before getting up to don her clothes, attempting to shake the dream from her thoughts. The farmer’s garb was starting to wear on her, and she began to wonder if humans ever wore anything else.
“Yeah. I…uh, I wanted to apologize for last night,” he answered through the door. “We probably should have discussed the plan first.”
She half smiled at that, though she would not let him see it. She shrugged on the shirt and struggled with the pants, tightening the belt through the new notches Jon had made. Both belt and the shoes they had provided had been his when he had been younger and fit well enough.
“So,” she said. “The old man is making you apologize?”
“He mentioned I might have been a little rash.”
She laughed softly. “In older times I might have flayed your skin for such a slight.”
There was a moment of silence. “Really?”
She thought. “I don’t know, I’ve never actually done it. Then again, before recently I’d never been caged and forced to marry.”
“Well now hold on, we’re not actually married. And you can technically leave anytime you want.”
She took her jacket from the floor and dusted it off before remembering which way the buttons faced. She op
ened the door and found him leaning against the wall. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
He cocked his head in confusion. “What do you mea—”
“No,” she interrupted. “The less you know the better.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
“It’s not your secret to keep. You and the old man have shown me kindness, for which I am grateful, but that does not entitle you to all my secrets.”
He lowered his eyes then nodded glumly. “Fair enough.”
“Oh, and by the way. I’m not going to sleep with you, o husband of mine.” It had the effect she intended, drawing a bright and startled laugh from her false spouse. She graced him with a smile.
“After today, you’re probably right.” He turned and headed to the stairs.
“Why?” she asked, “What are we doing today?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now come on, we’ve got stock to feed.”
She held to the saddle’s horn as though it the only line to life she had. The horse under her legs moved from side to side without provocation, and she pitched forward in the attempt to keep her balance. The reins had made a spider’s web around her wrists and tightly clenched fists, and the horse jerked its head to and fro, begging for some leave.
“Gods woman, grip with your thighs, and let go of the damn reins for a moment,” Jon said from his stump. The look on Jon’s face told her he was trying desperately not to laugh. It infuriated her.
“You get mad, the horse gets mad, so leave off!” He called.
“Lamen take you!”
“Very mature. I’m telling you just drop the reins and he’ll stop.” She dropped the reins in exhaustion and exaggerated anger, but the horse did, in fact, stop moving. She sat still in the saddle, afraid the slightest movement would send the animal into a frenzy, and enjoyed for a moment the marvel of staying upright.
“See? You can do it,” said the boy.
She nearly retorted but the horse shook its mane. She took it as a sign to stay silent. The boy strode to her and calmly took the reins. He melded them into his fingers and gestured toward her. “Hold them like this; not so loose as to lose control, not so tight as to piss him off.” He casually handed them to her, and she attempted to mimic his grip. He reached up and gently took her hand to correct her. His callused palms rasped against her unblemished skin, and she eyed him coolly. The horse stomped a hoof, and the boy met her glare for glare.
“He can feel your tension,” he said. “Just relax.” She breathed noisily through her nostrils. She despised being told to relax or calm down, but she decided his knowledge might be superior to hers in this matter. She shook her shoulders free, unknotting her tightened muscles, and made minute changes to more comfortably fit her rear in the saddle. The horse seemed to take this without notice. She held the reins firmly, careful not to jerk or make any sudden movements. She looked to the boy with expectation.
“Heels down,” he suggested. “And tell him to walk.”
She said nothing but could not keep the annoyance from her face. She decided she would take her time—no need to be hasty—and squeezed her thighs gently, careful not to knee the horse’s ribs. She let out a breath as calmly as she could and told the horse to walk.
The horse did not move.
She sat still as stone as she waited, only to have the horse turn its head and flutter his lips in her direction. Her anger rose like a storm.
“Don’t get angry—” Jon started to say.
But she was tiring quickly of men and flippant horses. “I told you to walk!” She kicked the horse as hard as she could muster from such an awkward angle. The horse cried out and leapt into the air. She barely had time to get a decent grip in the saddle as the horse bolted at Jon.
His surprised face would have made her laugh were she not terrified. The horse hurtled toward the fields, and she soon lost sight of anything not immediately in front of her. They passed the storage shed and house in short order, crashing into the fields with the finesse of a wild boar under the lance. Jon’s shouts were lost as the wind rushed past her ears, and the horse’s hooves thundered against the ground. The shorn wheat stems whipped at her legs, pain that would have been minor had there not been quite so many of them. She ground her teeth and leaned into the horse’s neck, bringing her butt out of the saddle. Her balance immediately improved, but it seemed to encourage the horse to go faster. For a long time, she could not take her eyes off the dirt passing hastily below. With her rear in the air and balance redressed she realized that she could move without falling. She looked up, taking her face from the horse’s mane and the earth beneath them to admire the world passing by.
White towers of clouds lazily floated in a blue sky, casting shadows on far off fields and mountains alike. Forests in autumn colors bordered fields of rolling hills, both cultured and wild. A lone river lolled in the distance, snaking its way in and out of the forest, occasionally cutting a path through the valley. Flocks of birds sang and danced in keeping with the beat of the hooves. Men, women, and children dotted the fields, working the rows with wooden tools and guiding machines drug by mules. At the horse’s speed, Ana thought they would reach the white capped mountains before the sun set. The Wind rode next to her and smiled.
Almost there, it laughed.
Ana found herself smiling back. It will do.
She stood up in her stirrups and leaned over the horse’s neck. “How fast can you take me?”
She could have sworn she heard the horse give throaty laughter at her challenge before he lowered his head and charged. They rounded the top of a hill, and Ana had but a moment to take in the valley, patches of woodland and farms surrounding a clump of buildings in the distance. They descended at a speed that took her breath away and made her stomach leap to her heart. She laughed as they crossed fields, jumped creeks, and invaded forests. Small animals scampered at their sudden appearance, and a woman had to pull a child from harm’s way. Ana’s shouted apology went unheard as the horse whisked her away. They hurdled fences and roads and logs and ditches and all the while the Wind laughed. She was enjoying herself so much that when the horse suddenly stopped, she flew head over heels out of the saddle and landed on her ass in a patch of tall grass.
Her breath was so thoroughly taken from her that she could only look at the equine with an expression of utter betrayal. The horse, who seemed enamored with his newfound stockpile of snacks, paused from his grazing to grant her a noncommittal, apologetic shrug. Too winded to hurl insults, she simply fell onto her back and stared at the sky. A small bird circled her figure and tweeted something humorous. She smiled and started to laugh.
What fun, said the Wind.
Aye, she replied.
The old man came upon the boy at the southern tip of the back quarter; standing on a hill and shielding his eyes, “Teaching her to ride?”
“Aye.”
The old man grunted. The fields extended for miles well into the horizon, with no sign of horse or woman. “You have tracks?”
“Aye.”
“Which way did they go?”
The boy pointed south across the hills. “I was hoping Irving would bring her home by now,” he said.
The old man nodded, then paused. “You put her on Irving?”
The boy shrugged. “He seemed in a fine mood this morning.”
“Huh.” The old man started back for the house. “Might want to try Isca tomorrow.”
“Thought their tempers might clash.”
The old man laughed.
General Ivan Emersin walked along the edge of the crater nearly a league away from the town. The trees had been blown backward and blackened, and with summer gone no greenery had made its way back into the area. Just a couple thousand fallen leaves that had been blown from elsewhere. Captain Tao Magrin walked with him; his trackers had fanned out into the surrounding woods looking for any sign of the woman’s passing. In the center of the crater, the Ambassador examined a vaguely human shaped scorch ma
rk.
“Whelp,” said the Ambassador, “she definitely fell right here.”
Both the captain and general gave identical groans. Emersin looked at the Magrin, “Anything more substantial?”
Captain Magrin waved to one of the trackers who made his way over. “Solas, anything?”
The tracker, Solas, stood from where he had been admiring tracks and answered, “Lots of tracks, sir. Deer, rabbit, cat, what have you. If she landed when you say she did then we’ll not find anything worthwhile unless they’ve had no rain, which judging from the state of things seems unlikely. Errol’s Fortune is the closest town, and the next closest is leagues away.”
“Oh, she’s definitely here,” said the Ambassador as he climbed from the crater.
“You’re sure of that?” Emersin asked.
“Call it a feeling.”
Magrin rolled his eyes. “That’s not much to go on.”
“But,” the Ambassador held up a finger, “it’s not nothing to go on.”
Captain Tao Magrin was a man who dealt in absolutes and details. His belief in the gods had been minimal at best, but looking at him now, the disbelief in his eyes and the last hours’ worth of desperate inquires to disprove the supernatural, led Emersin to believe the captain’s faith shaken. “You all right?” Emersin asked.
The captain growled. “People don’t fall from the sky.”
Emersin gestured at the crater in response. “Something did. Back to town. We’ll start interviews and have the outlying farms inspected. She’ll need food, water, shelter.”
“If she’s human,” the captain admitted quietly. “And if she fled after securing basic needs, she’ll have weeks of a head start.”
“Then we had better pray she did not flee.”
“Lost, miss?”
Ana turned to the wary voice and sat up immediately. An old farmer regarded her as he leaned on a hoe and chewed languidly on a thin shoot. He wore much the same garb as the boy and the old man: short sleeves and rugged pants with a broad brimmed hat perched on his head. His eyes widened when she stood and, for a moment, he stopped chewing.