Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I

by Laura Harris

  /Murderous beast is a little harsh. Seems more fitting for dragonslayers, don’t you think?/

  Contempt filled Corran and this time he didn’t listen to Gerard’s cries to persevere as he stood and walked away from the fire. He embraced the darkness that surrounded him – maybe now he might have some peace from that creature.

  /You think it is that easy?/

  Corran released a yell of frustration and kicked out with one foot. It hit a rock hidden by the shadows and he stumbled, muffling groans of pain. He was a warrior! Son of a dragonslayer! Why did he have to deal with this? Why had the dragon chosen him?

  /Why indeed… you think I chose to be surrounded by those who hate my kind? I would much rather have been left alone in my forest, but if I had stayed there I would be dead now./

  And good riddance!

  The only response was an exasperated sigh that echoed in his head. Corran scowled, looking around now his eyes were adjusted to the dark and dropping himself down to sit on a rock. It was damp and rough and uncomfortable, which summed up this whole journey so far. When would he be free? When might he return home? He had never expected this journey to take so long or that he would be putting himself through such terrible conditions. But he dare not to go home with a dragon within him.

  “Corden?”

  He lifted his head at the call, squinting in the moonlight and finding Henry pushing through the bushes towards him. Corran stared glumly up at the only person in this group he could call a friend – and even that was pretend, for he could not continue to mingle with dragon sympathisers. Henry settled down next to him, not saying anything at first. If these people had their way, he would end up facing Henry on the other side of a second dragon war. For now he forgot that and just let himself be somewhat comforted by the presence of a friendly figure.

  “I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to speak to your dragon,” Henry began, but Corran shook his head as the dragon’s laughter roared against his insides. He was so far from the fire that the smoke could not be affecting him now. How could the dragon still talk?

  “I don’t want to talk about dragons. Everyone here always talks about dragons,” he muttered. It was the closest he had got to speaking what he felt. Had anyone except Henry been there, he wouldn’t have dared it.

  Henry bit his lip, then nodded his acquiescence.

  “So… what do you want to talk about?”

  Corran shrugged. What could he say? He couldn’t talk about his life or his family or what he truly thought without giving himself away. Even before they had started this journey together, Henry knew little about him – except...

  “Tilda.”

  Henry nodded, his face solemn. “She left?”

  Corran sighed. He’d been trying so hard to avoid thinking about her but it had been a whole month now. He ached. The sadness he’d been holding off settled down on him like it had never left.

  “She didn’t want to,” he told Henry. “Her father decided it. He… didn’t approve.”

  The lie stung and the memory of his old tutor telling him he couldn’t risk his daughter hit him like a rock. Mr Benson had been fine with it himself – he had said that Corran was one of the best literature pupils he’d ever taught and that if it was just up to him he would give his blessing then and there. But the unspoken truth that had haunted the time he’d spent with Tilda was that Lord Huwcyn would never be so gracious. Tilda was not noble, despite her father’s status as tutor. She was not suitable.

  “Maybe when she gets older she’ll come back to you.”

  Corran could hear how Henry tried to be jovial about it, but he couldn’t even bring himself to smile in response. Henry knew that marrying without your parents’ blessing was bad luck for all involved. It might happen among merchants or peasants. But King Rhian must approve all noble marriages for them to be valid and he would never approve where the parents did not bless it. The idea of Lord Huwcyn accepting even his youngest, weakest son marrying the daughter of a tutor was laughable.

  “Well don’t think about the end – that’ll just make you sad. Remember the good parts of it. How did you meet?”

  Corran frowned. He didn’t think the good parts would make him feel any better either, but the memories battered at him to be told.

  “My brother introduced us. I’d met her before, but never properly until Wint’end Night before last.”

  He and Glyn had left their father’s party early and sneaked into town to join the celebrations there. The ale flowed more freely, the music was louder and no one was staring down their necks the whole time waiting for them to disgrace the family. He could only thank the stars that he had not been too drunk by the time they met – Glyn pulling him over to say look, it was Tilda the tutor’s daughter, all dressed up nice and singing along with the minstrels that filled the town. Her voice had been loud and ever so slightly out of tune but her laughter was gleeful. She had welcomed them like they were anyone else, not sons of the local lord. He’d seen her before when she helped her father in lessons, but never seen her.

  “The Wint’end with the jousting? When that horse got speared by one of the Dunslades?”

  Nausea rose up at the reminder, banishing his pleasant memories of the night and replacing them with too much blood. A horse screamed, made worse by Floyd’s drunken mumblings that it shouldn’t have got in the way of his lance. He should never have been allowed on a horse – but no one could say that to Lord Huwcyn when he had guests to impress.

  “Yep. That one,” Corran muttered, fighting off the bloody memory.

  “But… wait. I thought you said you were in Ostley that winter? To get those Mayelan dyes?”

  “Uh… no, I don’t think so,” Corran replied, wetting his lips. He’d slipped up. He’d opened up to Henry and this was what he got. “That was the year before. I remember the… the horse getting speared.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Henry nodded in acceptance but Corran rose from his uncomfortable seat. He shouldn’t continue this conversation. Talking had been a bad idea. Anyway, there was no point moping about Tilda. She was gone and they had reached the end he’d always known was coming. He had to focus on his life now. He had to prove himself – which meant ingratiating himself with these people as much as possible so they trusted him. No more slip–ups.

  He forced a smile on his face and clapped Henry’s shoulder.

  “Thanks, Henry. Just needed to get my mind off things for a bit.”

  Henry’s face lit up and he nodded, standing. “I’m glad I could help! My ma always says sometimes people just need a listening ear, reckon she was right about that.”

  They walked together back towards the distant light of the campfire.

  /I’m always listening, Corran. Don’t ever think you’re free from a listening ear./

  The dragon – Frang – had never spoken so seriously before, and a tremor of fear ran through Corran as he processed the knowledge that his every thought was open to this creature. It laughed. The sound like breaking glass raised goosebumps on his arms. He quashed it all a second later – he was not afraid of a dragon. He would be the dragonslayer to bring them to their knees and destroy them once and for all. And so what if Frang could hear his thoughts?

  It only added to his conviction that someday soon, the monster must die. The sooner he could do that and get away from these people before they discovered who he was, the better.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Gerard’s back!”

  Henry jumped up from next to Corran and waved an arm towards the bobbing lamp. Corran tensed, wishing he had a sword to grip. It probably was Gerard, back from his mysterious trip, but what if it was someone else?

  A face of shaggy hair came into view, illuminated by the flickering light. Gerard smiled and waved an arm back at Henry.

  Corran turned his back and took another bite of succulent meat.

  /I’ve missed the taste of deer./

  Half a skinned doe remained in the middle of their circle, with
Corran’s borrowed arrows lying bloody for cleaning later on. Maria had never thought to mention that she’d brought along a bow ‘just in case’. Feeling full of real food had overtaken his annoyance at that oversight, although Frang was determined to try his patience.

  Licking his fingers, he sat back with a satisfied sigh. Watery stew, stale bread and the occasional mushrooms could not come close to the taste of fresh meat.

  /See? You’d be an excellent dragon./

  He ignored Frang. The voice in his head got louder and more irritating as the days went by. Not even being away from Gerard’s fires gave him peace; Frang had woken and was determined to stay. Sometimes he kept up an incessant babble of nonsense as they walked north. Other times, he rested during the day and then took it upon himself to start talking the moment Corran tried to sleep, leaving him grumpy and exhausted. The headaches were incessant and Corran was certain that Frang was causing them.

  Gerard settled down opposite and everyone leaned in. He shook his head when Garth asked where he’d been, reaching for some meat.The grin on his face concerned Corran. What had he been up to? It was normal for him to be cheerful but he was normally more subdued about it. Just yesterday he had overheard Gerard tell the other Firesouls to be nice to him, because it must be hard to be the only one in the group unable to communicate with his dragon consistently. If only.

  /But where would you be without me, Corran? Lonely, no one to talk to…/

  I’d be back in Dunslade Town in my soft bed with hot food every day. No ugly burn on my neck and I wouldn’t have to listen to your incessant yapping!

  /You’d miss me./

  Corran snorted and Henry glanced over.

  “You okay?”

  “Wonderful,” he muttered, throwing the bone he had been holding so it landed in the fire.

  /Waste of a good snack there./

  That’s disgusting.

  /Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Bones are lovely and crunchy./

  You’re crazy! Corran thought at him in shock that he would even suggest it. I’m not a cannibal!

  Confusion floated towards him. /Cannibal? It’s a deer./

  Oh. You were talking about the deer.

  The confusion continued for a moment longer, then the dragon’s barking laughter ran through every muscle of his body.

  /You actually think dragons eat humans?/ he roared. Corran could picture him rolling around on the ground in hysterics.

  Everyone knows that, he thought back stubbornly.

  Frang continued to chuckle. /Oh Corran no, nobody knows that. We eat deer! And mountain cats, goats! Eagles! Not… humans,/ he snorted.

  Well why not? he demanded.

  /Even if I wanted to – which I don’t, that’s revolting – why would I bother? Humans fight with swords and arrows and wear cloth and little bits of metal that would get stuck in your teeth. Anyway, eating your neighbour is rude./

  Corran couldn’t tell if the last comment was sarcastic or not, but Gerard started speaking and freed him of the conversation he hadn’t meant to get sucked into.

  “I have news for you all,” he began, wiping his hands free of the meat’s juices. Interest buzzed around the circle. He had disappeared hours earlier, only saying he would be back later that night. Corran wished he had been able to follow because if Gerard was sneaking off without the Firesouls it must be important. “I have been in contact with an old friend who is meeting us tomorrow. Baltair has been found.”

  Corran’s eyes widened. Everyone else seemed as impressed as he was. Legends said Baltair had wings fifty feet wide and could tear down a whole watchtower with his fiery breath. His father had faced the monster and miraculously survived – even Lord Huwcyn the Dragonslayer had not managed to put more than a few scratches in its thick hide. Frang was laughing again.

  “We will be meeting him and his Firesoul tomorrow.”

  Baltair, stuck inside a human. He must hate it.

  /You know nothing of dragons, boy,/ Frang replied derisively, but Corran ignored him, his mind racing. The others were bombarding Gerard with questions about the legendary alpha dragon. He kept one ear open to hear their perspective on the beast that had burnt a hundred men to death at the Battle of Orvale Mine.

  If Baltair was stuck in a human body, he was weaker than he had ever been before. He would have no gusts of fire and menacing rows of teeth to hide behind. If ever there was the perfect time to slay him it was now. It would mean a human dead, too – but if they were anything like the rest of these dragon sympathisers it was no great loss.

  Henry caught his eye at that precise moment and a sudden wave of guilt and doubt flooded through him. He shoved it away. Henry was a nice guy. If they ever had to face in battle, he’d probably let him get away easy – but they would still be on opposite sides of that battle. He wished he could tell Henry that, to try and stop the boy being so friendly to someone who was entirely his enemy.

  But this was it. This was his chance to become the new great dragonslayer. Kill Baltair and his human, and he had forever sealed his place in history.

  *

  The sun was still rising when they reached their destination the next morning. Gerard had woken them all a couple of hours before to start walking to the small clearing where they would meet Baltair. Tess and Maria were trying to fish in a nearby pond, and Henry was enthusing about several herbs that his mother would love to use. Everyone else sat alone, trying to wake up.

  Corran tried to imagine what Baltair’s Firesoul would look like. He couldn’t help envisioning someone like his brothers; as giant and muscular as Floyd, but with the intelligence and cruelty of Huw. With that image in his mind he had to doubt how easy it would be to kill him after all. But who said being a dragonslayer was easy? Baltair must have defences against being killed in his sleep. He would not be able to do it straight away – he’d have to wait, bide his time and learn everything he could about the dragon. Then he could strike with the firm knowledge that he would succeed and rid the world of a monster.

  Gerard jumped to his feet from the rock he had been sitting on. He had been jumpy all day, and while everyone else dozed he had tapped his foot. He stared off into the trees and Corran swivelled to catch the first sight of Baltair.

  At first he didn’t see them – his eyes searched for a big, hulking figure, not two women in worn clothes. One was older, maybe forty. Her clothes had once been good quality but were now worn by travel, just like Gerard’s. The other person trailing behind her was just a slip of a girl, with ginger hair that might have been bright if she’d washed it once in a while. Instead it hung limply, straggling around her face. With the exception of the cloak wrapped around her, her clothes were ragged and not just from travelling. Fresh bruises spotted her skin and he could see the unmistakeable burn on her right arm.

  His eyes switched back to the older woman. She was not what he had expected. He hadn’t considered the idea that Baltair’s Firesoul might be a woman, although now he thought about it he remembered that Henry’s dragon was female.

  Gerard hurried over to them as the others around them raised their heads and embraced the older woman, then turned eagerly to greet the girl. Corran didn’t rise as they came closer, but tried to remain inconspicuous as he examined the woman he would have to kill.

  Gerard ushered them all closer before speaking.

  “This is Sarra,” he said, gesturing to the older woman. “And this is Giselle. She’s Baltair’s Firesoul.”

  Corran stared as he pulled forward the tiny, unsmiling redhead. That was Baltair’s Firesoul? That little girl?

  Her eyes met his and he slipped on the rock he was leaning on when she leapt forward.

  “You!”

  “W–what?”

  The pure anger in her gaze was enough to make him stumble off the rock and back away. Only the older woman grabbing her arm saved him from getting attacked.

  “Giselle!”

  “It’s the dragonslayer! Huwcyn!” she snarled, attempting to
rip her arm free.

  Corran’s jaw went slack at her words, but Sarra shook her head. “He’s just a boy, Giselle. That dragonslayer must be fifty by now.”

  Giselle panted as she continued to glare at him, creases of confusion on her face. Everyone else stared. He tried to roll his eyes and shake his head despite his heart beating manically against his chest, but that just made her snarl and jump forward.

  “He looks the same! His face… same ugly expression.”

  Ugly? She was calling him ugly? She was the one snarling like a wild animal!

  “His face is the same!” Giselle repeated, this time rounding on Sarra to look up at her with wide, desperate eyes. Her fists were still clenched. “We know that face!”

  It was unnerving to hear her talk like that – ‘we’. He didn’t know what to do. Even if they didn’t believe her right now, the others would think. It would put the idea in their heads – and some day soon, one of them would wake up and realise the similarity between Corran and Corden, or remember they’d seen him at a tournament one time. Why hadn’t he done more to disguise himself? And why had he ever thought Corden was a good alibi?

  /Beats me./

  For once he succeeded at ignoring Frang, but only because his mind spun with horrifying possibilities. This was it. His big scheme to be the next dragonslayer ended before it had even begun. Worse, he’d have this idiotic dragon stuck inside him forever.

  “I’m his son.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he’d even thought it through – but it still seemed the only way to go. Admit it now and try and talk his way out of it. The shocked expressions fuelled his words and as he spoke, he tried desperately to avoid looking at Henry. “But I’m not him! I couldn’t say because I knew you wouldn’t accept it. You’d never trust me knowing who my father is. But I’m still like you! I’ve got a dragon inside me, I… I’m a Firesoul.”

  “You’re Corran,” Henry murmured from his left.

  He turned to face the other boy, stomach like lead, and nodded. “But I’m not my father.”

  “He’s grown up around poison,” Giselle growled.