Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I

by Laura Harris

  “I don’t want to be my father!” He ignored Giselle’s insult and reached for semi–true evidence to back him up. It came with surprising ease. “I don’t want to be the best like him – okay I do sometimes, but not all the time. I’d never let a horse die to prove I was so rich it didn’t matter because I could just buy another!” His eyes met Henry’s and he thought he saw understanding. “I wouldn’t make my kids fight to make them tough.” I wouldn’t be so scary I’d terrify Tilda’s father away. Ideas that he could actually use were running out – and he was in so deep why not spout a full–blooded lie. “I want to see a dragon more than just the skull on his gates!”

  He fell silent, panting from the exertion of shouting at everyone in the clearing. Frang was quiet but sent waves of derision his way. It was making him nauseous.

  “We know how much he’s been trying to contact his dragon. We all see it,” Henry said. The fact that it came from him prompted guilt instead of victory at duping him so well.

  “He helps us by hunting. He doesn’t have to do that. If he was like his father he wouldn’t do that, would he?” said Maria.

  That’s not for you, that’s because I want decent food, Corran thought to himself, but on the outside he just nodded. He could see the others nodding too. His heavily beating heart slowed.

  “He’s just a kid anyway.”

  That, he resented a little – but he realised with surprise that despite his grumpiness and despite his private plans to destroy their dragons, they had accepted him. First as Corden the merchant and now, somehow, as Corran the dragonslayer’s son.

  “What will Lord Huwcyn say when he finds out his own child is a Firesoul? His son is going to undo the work he did,” someone else said with a gentle laugh. The others joined in, until chuckles rippled through the whole group. Corran forced himself to laugh too, but the girl Giselle was still glaring. He stared straight back this time and watched as Sarra leaned down to whisper to her.

  Giselle, Baltair’s Firesoul. This was the girl he would have to kill. Somehow, it was even more terrifying than if she had been the hulking figure he had imagined just half an hour ago.

  CHAPTER 11

  The dragonslayer’s son was watching her. She bared her teeth and his eyes darted away, pretending to be looking elsewhere.

  She chuckled, ignoring Sarra’s glare, and Baltair laughed with her. The memories that had pounded down on them the moment they caught sight of the boy were still fresh, and Giselle was in no mood to play nice. His father had killed Baltair’s mate and although sixteen years had passed since then the new memory made it feel fresh.

  The dragonslayer’s blows landed again and again on Eilidh, tearing into her flesh, carving her up like common meat. Her soul had long left her but he’d only just arrived – too late…

  Fury bubbled like lava in Baltair and transferred to her. Since the incident at the mine they had been sharing emotions more. It made it easier to control and at least now she understood why she was angry – but it didn’t stop her wanting to tear out the boy’s throat in revenge for what his father had done. Sarra had pulled her aside earlier when Giselle had edged too close to him and told her that she could not act as justice, and neither could Baltair. Corran had done nothing except be born in the wrong family. Baltair had grudgingly accepted this, so Giselle had too – but they could still dream.

  The chattering of the other Firesouls was not improving her mood either – she didn’t like being around so many people. Why did they have to meet them anyway? She and Sarra could have carried on up to the mountains by themselves much faster.

  “Miss Giselle?”

  The old man Garth had hobbled over to sit next to her and held out some bread.

  “Would you like it? You look like you need a few good meals.”

  She stared back at him. There were huge bags under his eyes and earlier she had heard him coughing up a storm. What was he doing? Why was he offering her food?

  “It’s… okay… you keep it,” she mumbled.

  He held it out a few moments longer as if she might change her mind before bringing it back and nibbling at one corner.

  “Is it true how huge Baltair was?” one of the women – Maria – asked. The other woman at her side leaned in and suddenly everyone was waiting for an answer.

  Giselle shifted uncomfortably. How was she meant to know how big Baltair had been? She’d only ever been around his soul.

  He pushed a memory towards her; one she’d glimpsed before but not paid too much attention to. It was from his eyes as normal, but he stood in a field, with horses and riders. He could feel his Flier on his back, but nothing more than that came through.

  /Pay attention Giselle./

  She remembered what she was looking for and peered around at the horses. They were smaller, but not by much – looking straight ahead, Baltair’s eyes focused above their ears. Giselle had always imagined dragons being massive; as big as a house.

  “Dragons aren’t as big as you think,” Sarra said, the tetchiness clear in her voice. She must have got tired of waiting for an answer. Her patience had been thin ever since the events at the mine. “They’re slightly larger than horses. Baltair was no different.”

  “And can he burn down a house in one breath?” asked another person, directing the question at Giselle despite Sarra’s answer. They were all staring at her with wide eyes and curious expressions – except Corran, who now avoided looking in her direction at all.

  Hearing Baltair sigh, she shuffled a little further out of the circle. “I don’t think so.” She was not used to having this much attention focused on just her. Baltair didn’t seem bothered by it – if he was alpha he must be used to this.

  “And how do we help the dragons get their bodies back?”

  Giselle tried not to change her expression too much at that question. She had been warned by Sarra not to mention anything about Baltair’s memory loss or how they didn’t know how to get the dragons out – they didn’t want to panic the other Firesouls. But how was she meant to respond to a direct question about it? She couldn’t talk loops around people like Sarra could.

  “Can’t say,” she mumbled, searching for inspiration for the inevitable ‘why’.

  “Why?”

  /Say I want to keep it secret./

  “Baltair wants it secret.”

  “Did he just tell you that? Are you speaking to him now?” Maria asked.

  She nodded cautiously and it was like they hadn’t even heard her negative answer a moment before – they just leaned closer.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “Is it true he lived at the summit of a mountain?”

  “Is it true a sword never touched him?”

  /I think I’ve actually become more famous since I died,/ Baltair murmured.

  Lucky you, Giselle replied, focusing on not saying the words aloud and directing them at him. Just yesterday Sarra had taught her how to communicate with Baltair in her head rather than out loud. Giselle had been quite put out to realise that she’d left it so long just so she could eavesdrop on her conversations with Baltair.

  “I don’t know about swords. He got hit by arrows at least.”

  “What does he think about being trapped in a human?”

  Giselle had never thought of it as ‘trapped’. He’d just always been there.

  /It’s not trapped. It’s… constricted./

  She frowned, considering how much he was stuck. Sixteen years in someone else’s body couldn’t be a good feeling, especially when she’d been a child. How many times had he wished to be free?

  /Giselle, listen to me./ His voice was like gentle rain water, calming her panicky thoughts. /It’s not your fault we’re in this situation – apparently, I was the one to come up with all of this. We understand each other and I’d rather be in your mind than anyone else’s. Especially his…/

  Their attention turned to Corran, who now watched with a glum expression. He’d been left out of the circle as the others had shu
ffled closer.

  “He says it could be worse,” she replied, staring at Corran. He glared back for a second. She met his challenge gleefully, letting the anger rise to the surface. He looked away.

  I still don’t trust him.

  /I will never trust a son of Huwcyn Dunslade. But we’ll watch him. They can’t stop us killing him when he gives himself away./

  Tinglings of discomfort shivered through Giselle at his words but she nodded, one hand touching the knife buried in her clothes. If he tried to hurt Baltair, she would be ready.

  *

  /Giselle! GISELLE!/

  She stumbled out of dreams of flying.

  /Get up, there’s something out there!/

  She dragged herself to her feet, long since used to paying full attention to Baltair’s warnings, and peered through the darkness.

  “What are you doing?” Sarra mumbled from the ground next to her – the same moment that men poured from the trees.

  “Wake up!” Giselle screamed at the sight of flashing metal, diving back to the ground to hunt for her knife. She should never have taken it off!

  Shouting filled the area but it was too dark to see what was happening. She spun in the direction the fire had been and almost fell into the glowing embers. She kicked it, overturning a log to allow it to spurt up and give them some light – then one of the men reared next to her and grabbed her wrist. She brought her arm up and bit as hard as she could, pulling away the moment his hold lightened and running away from the fire.

  It was chaos – there were people stumbling about everywhere and she couldn’t tell who was a Firesoul and who was… whoever these people were. They had swords and to her right some people seemed to be rounded up – but she had no intention of staying and finding out. She tried to flee into the woods but tripped over something after only a few footsteps and went sprawling. She pushed one hand down to find sticky rope around her ankles and pushed it off.

  Someone cried out behind her and as she climbed to her feet she turned to see Sarra grappling with a grizzled man just a few feet away. She battled with herself for a moment, but in the end it was no choice – this woman had looked out for her non–stop since they had left Tyrun and she couldn’t abandon her now.

  She barrelled into the man’s legs in an attempt to knock him off balance. She could never win fighting properly so she did the best she could – biting and scratching and kicking, trying to ignore the blows he got through to land on her as well. Something pulled on her arm and she turned to fight that off as well, but it was Sarra. They fleed into the woods – but then Sarra got caught in the same rope that Giselle had and went straight over. Giselle ran back, brandishing her knife to cut it free.

  “No! Go, don’t wait for me!”

  Giselle ignored her, pushing the rope aside and pulling Sarra back up. This time they ran together and neither fell as they disappeared into the trees.

  “Who are those people?” Giselle panted.

  “I don’t know. Keep running!”

  “I’m running!”

  They ran as quietly as they could, ragged breathing and heavy footsteps the only noise. Even Baltair did not notice the man waiting in the darkness until he lunged out, ramming into Giselle and pushing her down to land face–first in the mud.

  /Fight! Get free!/

  She elbowed back as hard as she could but it seemed to do nothing except produce a little grunt. Her arm was shoved down too and she felt a knee dig into her spine, pinning her to the ground. Panic filled her lungs as she breathed in the dirt and plant debris. She could see nothing and all she could hear was scuffling. That must be Sarra.

  “Stay still y’little rat,” the man yelled above her as she wriggled. Something hit the back of her head and her vision went even blacker. She felt like she was about to be sick.

  /Giselle, stay awake!/ Baltair roared, sending a rush of heat at her. Her eyes flashed open. /The knife! Where’s your knife?/

  Something rose and got stuck in her throat as he spoke, but she scrabbled for the weapon. She must have dropped it when he ran into her! She’d never used it before though. Food, climbing. It was a threat – she waved it around and no one came too close. It was meant to protect her – not stab!

  /Giselle you’ve no choice! Be brave, find the knife!/

  The man kneeling on her lifted his weight and she scrambled to get free, but a large hand caught the back of her dress and held it tight as he lifted her. Her hands rummaged through the forest floor as fast as she could until her left fingers were cut by something sharp. She wriggled free enough to grab the handle, but he caught her again.

  He wrenched one arm behind her back and she could feel the rough texture of rope being pulled around her wrist. She had no more time. Leave it any longer and he’d find the knife and take it.

  /Do it!/

  It wasn’t just her being captured. It was Baltair as well.

  Her one free arm spun around and slammed the knife into him. It met more resistance than she had expected – the sensation it sliding through flesh and muscle was repulsive, but she held on as tight as she could. Her fists wouldn’t work against this man, so the knife was all she had.

  It seemed to take an age, but the moment he started yelling time sped up again. She pulled the knife free and tried to run, but he still hadn’t released her. She was just pulled higher till her attempts at running meant kicking her legs about in the air. She caught him in the chest and then he dropped her, but it was more of a push so forceful it winded her.

  /Run!/

  Can’t…

  He lifted her by the arm with one hand, and his fist flew into her face.

  CHAPTER 12

  It felt strange but comforting to have a sword in his hand again, although the blood was an unpleasant addition. Despite all his training in fighting, Corran had never killed a man before tonight and it had been the opposite of glamorous.

  Henry traipsed next to him, glancing all around as if the raiders might jump out at any moment. They had stayed together throughout the night, fighting back to back against the raiders. Corran had tried to find Giselle – he didn’t want his prey slipping out of his hands – but she had disappeared into the night. Everyone had, even the raiders. Now, the forest was silent. The sun rose, finally leading the pair back to the grim sight of their campsite.

  Several raiders were sprawled out dead on the floor – but so was Walter. His new beard was matted with dark red liquid that had leaked from a gash deep in his head. Lifeless eyes stared out of a gloopy pool of blood buzzing with flies. Corran lashed his sword out at the tiny creatures, waving it around to try and get rid of them. They darted away from the body but then just settled back down.

  “He had a kid,” Henry whispered. “He told me one night. Born last year. It’s why he was so grumpy, he missed his kid.”

  Corran turned his back on the gruesome sight, trying to stop his own feelings of sadness mixing with Frang’s to become overwhelming.

  It had been strange, fighting last night with Frang’s consciousness alert the whole time. He’d called out a few times to alert Corran to someone sneaking up on them and that unnerved him – but not as much as the silence now. Since they’d killed the last raider who’d attacked and hadn’t come across anymore, Frang hadn’t said a word.

  “Where’d you think the others are?” Corran asked, wandering through the empty campsite and stepping over debris. Movement caught his eye and he spun, brandishing his sword. The old horse stood in the shadow of the trees, pawing at the ground. A little blood stained her leg, but as Corran hurried closer he could see it was from someone else; the horse was uninjured. He reached a hand up to pet her nose, murmuring nothings to her and allowing her steady breathing to calm him as well. There was something about being near horses that helped him ease whatever worries he had, even if it was only temporary.

  “Corran!”

  He swivelled at Henry’s frantic hiss to find him running over, gesturing behind him. He tugged Corran behind the hor
se so they were somewhat hidden.

  “There are people in the trees over there!”

  “Firesouls or raiders?”

  “I couldn’t see! I just saw people and thought we should hide.”

  Henry trembled, both hands pressed against the horse’s hide as if trying to hang on. Last night he had kept his calm and even been the one to place the sword in Corran’s hand – but the thought of the raiders being back so soon was obviously too much for him. He was only a stable boy.

  “I’ll go find out,” Corran whispered, hoisting his sword ready in one hand and ducking down to run to the cover of a large thorny bush. He crouched there, looking out in the direction where Henry had pointed and found the figures. There weren’t too many – four or five – but they were heading straight towards the campsite. He glanced back at Henry and the horse, then darted forward so he was behind a tree on the edge of the little clearing.

  The group got closer and he had never been so happy to see Gerard before. It wasn’t like he’d be upset to see the idiot captured by the raiders – he was just glad it was him and not the raiders come to attack again. He stepped out from behind the tree, waving at Henry that it was okay, and walked over to them.

  “Corde– Corran!” Gerard called out, hurrying over. He eyed the sword Corran held, but gave him such a warm smile he almost felt guilty for his previous thoughts.

  Henry appeared at his shoulder, the horse behind his, and the group came together. Eian and Maria traipsed behind Gerard and even further back was a miserable Sarra. She was covered in dirt and purpling bruises littered one arm. She looked the worst, but maybe that was just because of the expression on her face.

  He quickly worked out why. Giselle was not there.

  “Where’s Giselle? And the others?” he added as Sarra joined the circle. She winced at the mention of Giselle’s name.

  “Captured,” Gerard said with a heavy sigh.

  “But… why? Why were they here? Why did they do this?” Corran demanded, his voice rising as he spoke. It suddenly seemed inexplicable – they had been doing nothing wrong! They had just been travelling and now they’d been captured like wild dogs! It was strange, though. The raiders hadn’t been after their supplies – the cart and horse were left behind.