Cinders on the Wind

by Louis Emery

  Her mind couldn’t comprehend her ability. She turned it over in her head as she and her companions staggered through the woods, on rocky inclines and declines, away from the engulfed Gull settlement, Fersh, and his minions. What was it that caused her power to reveal itself? All she remembered was her emotions were so pent up that as she was being dragged to the bonfire, she couldn’t take it anymore and had to do something. Therefore, she did the thing that felt most natural. She reached out to the flames with her mind. And it worked.

  She and her companions approached what looked like the beginning of a cave. She vaguely made out Captain Halarn saying something about being able to pass through as a shortcut when she collapsed, sheer exhaustion taking hold of her.

  Ser Royce was the first to notice and ran over to her, lifting her head from the ground.

  “Ethlin, are you all right?”

  “I’m just so … tired.”

  “We’ll have to carry her,” Ser Royce said to whoever was near.

  Ethlin was conscious, but her body felt paralyzed as if every joint and fiber were numb. She saw Ser Royce motion Ser Balliol over, and the two men lifted her.

  “What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked.

  “She’s passed out from exhaustion,” Ser Balliol replied.

  “Okay, you two can carry her,” Malcolm said, “but be careful, and follow Halarn’s torch. This cave may have underground cliffs.”

  Ethlin felt herself being carried and saw shadows dance on the cavern walls, caused by the flames of the makeshift torches lit by Halarn and Malcolm. She tried to move her body but couldn’t, and when the going was narrow, Ser Balliol took her by himself as she lay limply over his shoulder.

  At times the caverns opened to wide amphitheaters with subterranean creeks passing through, and at others, the path narrowed to thin tunnels with solid granite on both sides. Ethlin realized they must have been passing through one of the Thornvine Mountains in the heart of the region. In these narrow passages, Ethlin could make out what looked like ancient writings high up on the cavern cliff faces.

  “What are those markings?” Ethlin mumbled.

  “Huh?” Ser Balliol muttered. “You should rest, dear.”

  “There are messages on the walls.”

  Ser Balliol looked up as he trudged along behind Captain Halarn.

  “What do you make of those?” Ser Balliol asked Halarn, glancing above.

  Halarn turned back and followed Balliol’s gaze. “Graffiti.”

  “How in the blazes did they get so high up there?” Balliol furrowed his brow.

  “Keep your voice down,” Halarn whispered harshly. “You ever see the length of an ogre’s reach?”

  Ethlin and Balliol almost whispered ogre in unison.

  “Yes, ogres,” Halarn replied. “And yes, some of them still live in these caves. So for the time being, it’s best we don’t speak. At least until we’re out of this maze.”

  Ethlin and Balliol adhered to their leader’s advice and gave each other an ominous look.

  For what seemed like hours, the party traversed the caverns of the Thornvine Mountains and by some miracle found an exit. Captain Halarn and his remaining men had not led them astray, for as soon they left the subterranean darkness behind, they came to a clearing and made camp overlooking the Valley of the Barr below. They’d reached the end of the Thornvine, and Ethlin said a prayer of thanks to the Dragonmother that she and her companions had made it to the end without harm—a bit worse for wear, but safe.

  Ethlin’s companions did not speak to her directly regarding the conflagration back at the Gulls’ settlement. They merely dismissed it as a fortunate turn of fates. Ser Royce pondered aloud, saying it was perhaps the designs of a group of slaves to prompt the fire, as so many fled during its destruction. The only one who seemed to have knowledge of Ethlin’s secret was Orbist.

  As she awoke in their camp after sleeping most of the day, Orbist sat next to her as the others were gathering wood and supper. They were alone. He said he knew she had started that fire, and that he had anticipated something from her, as moments of great stress tend to bring out the abilities of a true Seer.

  Yet, the old mage was brought to tears, for even a man of his wisdom in magic had his doubts and fears. He sincerely cared for his apprentice. Ethlin embraced Orbist at the sight of his melancholy. Though he was her teacher, he was also—in her mind—family. As they both gazed into the budding flames of the campfire, she thought it a fitting end to their time in the perilous wilderness.

  39

  Gav stuck his head around the corner, seeing the Gilt Drake Inn where Hannery and Appleton were staying. In front of the building stood groups of Konteran soldiers in mail and plate intermingled with commoner-dressed Batter Brothers. From the looks of things, they hadn’t expected any attacks. A few held their weapons idly, but the majority of their blades leaned against a wall or were sheathed. The guards conversed and smoked and rolled dice on the footsteps to the great inn.

  They hadn’t suspected a thing. Gav and his force reached the outskirts of Hyanti a week before, and his couriers made contact with General Byers’s army at the north end of the city. The plan the general and Gav orchestrated was simple: Byers attacked the Konteran forces at the north entrance, while Gav took his most elite troops south, clearing out the two guard towers and light picquets, and moved in on the two rebel lords. Byers’s main assault would be the diversion for Gav to accomplish his mission.

  And so far, it was working. They’d slaughtered the sentinels at the guard towers and picquets in less than an hour, swiftly moving into the fortified city while trying to maintain a semblance of stealth. Behind cracked doors, window curtains, carts, and alcoves, fearful commoners looked on Gav and his troops.

  And now Gav had his quarry within grasp. According to Veela and his informants, the Gilt Drake was the place. Gav turned back to his soldiers in the alleyway. Beside him Sergeant Trammell and Sergeant League stood, like the rest of his troops, with blades crimson, their faces a mixture of perspiration, blood, and grime from the day’s earlier fighting. The men and women of the Burden waited in eager anticipation, ready to do their duty. Gav nodded to his soldiers.

  Gav ran out from the corner, firing his handbow into a guard who died before looking up from a dice game. God’s Burden fanned out beside their commander, filling the cobbled street with the hum of first-shot crossbows. Konteran soldiers and Batter Brothers fell left and right. A few managed to get off some arrows, taking down a handful of Burdeneers around him, while other guardsmen fled back to the inn in attempt to alert their lords.

  Gav raced up the steps and through the entrance. A guard aimed his bow from the side of the main hall and Gav dove over the inn’s bar counter before the arrow passed overhead. He got up to block another charging soldier’s sword with his own. The solider swung his weapon trying to skewer, and Gav parried left then right, sidestepping then weaving and launching a left uppercut to the attacker’s nose with a crunch of bone and cartilage. The soldier fell limply to the hard floor.

  The rebel lords stayed in rooms on the second floor and Gav sprinted to the stairs as more of his troops charged through the inn’s main hall fighting off incoming guards. Halfway up the steps Gav met a Batter Brother dressed in street clothes and holding a longsword. The man held his blade at the ready and Gav launched his strikes. His opponent knew how to deflect, but wasn’t quick enough, and Gav ran him through, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

  Sergeant League appeared at his side. “Almost tripped me with him,” he said, huffing from exertion. “Which room is it?”

  “The two in the center of the second floor,” Gav said, signaling to his troops who’d gathered behind him to stay back as he made it to next level. He quickly peeked around the corner down the hall of rooms. A line of soldiers, half of them crouching, stood with bows aimed. He spun back around, a large arrow slamming into the wall a foot near his head. He brought out his second handbow. “There’s about ten of them,”
Gav whispered to League.

  “Some of us can take the back stairs to this floor—cut them off,” League said.

  Just then a door opened. Gav quickly glanced down the hall, seeing two older men being escorted out the rooms.

  “No time. Let’s go.”

  Gav raced down the hall with his Burdeneers, picking off the first guard in his way with his handbow. More bows loosed, and several Konterans fell in a heap. The few bodyguards remaining threw down their weapons, hands raised at the sight of Backland blades.

  “You have us! Quarter. No more killing.” Gav heard Hannery say. The lord crouched next to Appleton who sat on the floor grimacing in pain, a sword wound to his arm.

  Gav approached the two men, peering down at them. He waved back the circle of leveled blades. “Lord Hannery, Lord Appleton, you two are under arrest for treason against Prestonpan, King Greenvale and the Backlands.”

  Both battles were over, the one at the Gilt Drake and the one at the north end of the city. General Byers’s forces streamed into Hyanti, setting up headquarters in City Hall at the Towne Square. Crowds of city dwellers came to watch the march of blue and green-clad soldiers—with the falcon sigil of Prestonpan and Grey Keep of the Backlands—make its rounds to secure streets and alleyways. Gav and his troops escorted the shackled lords through the main avenue, approaching the square and its onlookers.

  They walked up the many steps to City Hall, its pillars and dome making it the most scenic building in the vicinity. Gav told Sergeant League and Sergeant Trammell to take the prisoners to General Byers, saying he’d speak with the man shortly.

  He stood atop the steps looking down on the crowds, skirting the line of soldiers that guarded the square. He assessed the throng, keeping an eye out for mob behavior, seeing if any shopkeepers and idlers carried weapons. He knew the ratio of rebels to loyalists to be likely half and half, but if there were a gathering mob, he wanted to quash it quickly. There could be no risk of city riots—a bloodbath of innocents was the last thing the islanders needed in their image of the Backlands. To his ease, no riotous behavior ensued, the citizens evidently wearied by war and violence. He scanned the tired faces.

  That’s when he saw her. The eyes of Naomey looked up at him.

  She stood in the middle of the crowd, her curls dangling. When their eyes met, her face turned sour. There was no affection in that gaze, no inkling of any past feelings or recognitions. Gav didn’t expect any, yet he felt a pang that stifled his accomplishment. The love they’d shared was but something out of time and space, buried in the fog of conflict and washed away in the tides of war, theirs and their world’s. Those eyes pierced Gav like an invisible blade, and he struggled to maintain his gaze. She broke the impasse, slowly turning while raising the hood of her cloak and drifting away through the crowd.

  Sho disembarked on Kontera almost a week before the assault on Hyanti. She’d left Abera back in Monterim, saying she needed her to help protect the king, inform the Watch of the plot to undermine the island’s defenses, and to root out any remaining proponents of the looming Phozantin invasion. The threats of a rival empire’s robust military were not to be taken lightly, especially in a holding struggling to maintain stability.

  General Byers met with her and she explained her inquiry and that she was tracking an assassin. She told him of a possible threat to him and his adjuncts, as well as to Gavin Fayne, who she could not reach for risk of jeopardizing his hidden position south of the city.

  Now the battle was over, and she followed General Byers and his staff into the city. She stood in Hyanti’s City Hall, a hustle and bustle of officers, soldiers and assisting loyalist residents. Across from her she saw the escorting of two chained lords to the general’s rooms. She recognized the Backland sigil and wondered if it was Gavin’s force, God’s Burden, infamous for their martial prowess and tasked with apprehending rebel leaders. Sho didn’t want to disturb them even if one of them was Gavin. Neither of the two escorts, a scarred veteran and boyish sergeant, seemed like they wanted to be bothered.

  Sho waited a quarter of an hour on a seat in the hall until she noticed a Backland officer with a Captain’s patches on his tunic step inside. He was handsome and chiseled beneath his armor. His physiognomy aligned in attractive symmetry with congruous brow-ridge and jawline, though on the surface his face looked haggard and sullen. Being a Cylarnti soldier must have been grueling work. She’d met a few of the trained warriors before, but never one this good-looking.

  “Excuse me, Captain Gavin Fayne?”

  The man paused as if caught off guard. Seeing Sho was a lady, he removed his helm. His short hair gleamed with perspiration and sat flattened by the weight of the accessory. “Yes?”

  “Shoshana Riesley,” she showed her asker stamp, and Gavin peered at it squinting, “I’m an asker for King Greenvale’s Defense Guild.”

  “An asker… here?”

  “Yes, sir, and of the Warlockian Order. I want to congratulate you on your victory.”

  “Thank you, Lady Riesley. How can I help you?” He stared at her, perplexity turning to interest.

  “I’ve come from Monterim and have reason to believe a sorcerer is out to kill General Byers, you and others to undermine the Backlands’ leadership on Kontera.”

  Gavin took a short step back, his brows twisting. “Wait… you say some spellcaster is out to kill us? Surrounded by armed soldiers at our command?”

  “That’s right.”

  Gavin shook his head, nonplussed. “Does this person know my training? How… how and why? Have you spoken to General Byers?”

  “Yes sir, and I’ve explained to him that this is the same assassin who’s been killing Backland and loyalist nobles throughout the islands. He holds powerful, dark magic—I know, I’ve fought him myself—and he means to use it against all Backland leaders. We think he’s an Phozantin agent, working to destabilize the Isles further to make them open for an Phozantin invasion. He threatened to kill the king, and only my assistant and I were there to stop him.”

  “Well,” Gavin fumbled his lips, “this is news to me. You saved the king?!”

  “I did. He was badly injured but mage healers say he will recover. The assassin escaped and I believe leaders here are his next victims.”

  Gavin bowed deeply to Sho. “You have my utmost gratitude, my lady, for saving our king. You have done a service to the entire kingdom. Are you sure you should be here? Not by the king’s side? Surely, you would do better protecting him than protecting me or the well-guarded generals.”

  “That’s just it,” Sho said. “Using my spells, I have discerned that the assassin is no longer on Monterim or after the king. He’s here. Right now.”

  “I… uh…” Gavin’s voice trailed off, then he straightened. “Look—Asker Riesley, is it? I’ve just been on campaign the past weeks, on the battlefield, racing against time and armies in search of two heavily-protected, powerful men. Forgive me, but this news comes as a bit of a shock.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Sho said. “I understand this is much news to bare at such an hour. But the assassin does not care either way.”

  Gavin met her eyes. “I understand your concern for my safety, but I am a trained fighter who can deal with threats. I really think the king needs you more, by his side. And right now I need to speak with my general and make camp for my troops. They fought hard today.”

  “Very well,” Sho said, seeing this man had a trying day, to say the least. “I will let you do your duties, but I am not leaving. The Defense Guild tasks me to subdue this assassin at all costs and that’s what I aim to do. Please sir, be on your guard, especially at night. I know you’re trained for this sort of thing, but this assassin is the best at what he does. I will keep my eyes peeled as well.”

  “I will try to watch out for my safety, and so will my soldiers,” Gavin said, bowing and walking away. He stopped himself. “Oh and Lady Riesley?”

  “Hmm?” She said, turning.

  He bowed a
third time. “It is nice to make your acquaintance. Despite the circumstances.” His lips slightly twitched in a shy way.

  Sho returned the bow, stifling the red rising to her face, and watched him head in the general’s direction. She couldn’t remember the last time the presence of a man made her feel so focused, as if their surroundings vanished. She felt undecided if it were the way Gavin carried himself or the weight of the case that stirred such reaction. Probably both, she thought.

  Gav never felt the hurricane of emotions he’d felt in the past twenty four hours. At first the meeting with General Byers was of congratulations. Gav felt proud to have accomplished his mission. But then General Byers told him about the execution of the Cylarnti, Veela.

  Shortly after the taking of Hyanti, the order was given for all rebel Cylarnti officers to be killed by swift beheading, four in all, one of them being Gav’s former prisoner. He shouted in anger at his general, a rare thing, infuriated at the fact that this was done behind his back when he’d promised her safe conduct to the Em Regis warehouses, after she’d given him helpful and accurate information on the lords’ whereabouts. All that meant nothing, for she was now dead.

  Byers said the order came from the recovering king and that Lord-general Zulltah proposed it, saying he wanted to end such threats to the Prestonpan Isles. Hannery and Appleton were the lucky ones—they would stand trial and be executed in the capitol in a few weeks. It shocked Gav that the Lord-general would encourage such a cursory idea, contrary to war ethics. If prisoners cooperated, Cylarnti or no, they were to be given proper quarter. Especially officers.

  Gav left Byers’s war room fuming, and he’d eventually raise the issue with Zulltah when he saw him next. Now, Gav had left his force’s camp, telling his guard Heinrich he’d be going alone to get a drink in the city.

  He went to the nearest tavern where middling Backland officers drank. He didn’t want to run into Byers or any of the high-ups in his circle of retainers. He sat alone at the bar. While other officers traded war stories and cheered victory, Gav brooded.