"My name is Lao-Ying." He leaned forward on his cane.
"I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir," she replied. "I am—"
"Ahndien, daughter of Xing Bai Juang," he said. His hazel-green eyes sparkled. They seemed unusually sharp for a man of his age. "I have waited long to meet you."
"But how do you know me?"
Before he could answer, a strange sound rang out into the mountains from below—the sound of horns, rapid and urgent. Lao-Ying arose and bounded to the edge of the hill. With a hand he shielded his eyes. "And so it begins."
"What is it?"
"Something that should not have happened for another ten years."
Ahndien came to his side and looked down at her village. Her heart sank at the sight of the trebuchets, large monstrosities on wheels, pushed by soldiers in red vested chainmail and armor. Flying high with the army's advance, a flag with the image of a crimson, winged creature stood tall on a pole.
"What are they doing?"
Lao-Ying took her elbow and tried to lead her away. "Come along, child. Come."
"Wait." Just then, the three trebuchets stopped a good distance from the village walls. She looked harder at the flag, the soldiers and realized. "Are those...?"
Lao-Ying lowered his gaze and shut his eyes. "Soldiers of Valdshire Tor."
"Western Demons!"
The Torian soldiers lit the cauldrons in the center of the slings and flames burst upwards. In swift succession the trebuchet's massive arms swung forward, hurling the flaming projectiles at the village.
"No!" Ahndien tried to run. But something restrained her with alarming force. She looked down at her arm. Lao-Ying had taken hold of it.
In a low and regretful voice, he said, "It is too late."
A thunderous explosion erupted from the center of the village. Cries of terror arose with plumes of fire and billowing black smoke. Like a swarm of red fire ants, Torian soldiers with swords, crossbows and all manner of weaponry charged into the village.
Ahndien broke free and ran down the path. Even at her best speed, the village was at least half an hour away.
"Please," shouted Lao-Ying, "You mustn't!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sharp sound of curtain rings ripping across a rod, followed by a blinding light jarred Render from his sleep.
"Arise!" boomed a husky voice.
Render rubbed his eyes. Had Bobbington fallen ill of the throat? Had he dreamt the entire thing last night? But when he saw Kaine waking up in the bed across the chamber, and Folen and Stewan as well, Render knew it was not a dream.
"Up now, you den of sloths. All of you!" A rather large and rotund man with flaxen hair stood at the door. Dressed in a brown cloak, he very much resembled one of those Malkoran scholars, illustrations of which he'd seen in the moldering books of Bobbington's library.
Folen yawned and nudged Stewan who, lying next to him, was still asleep. "Come on, sleepy head, wake up."
"Who are you?" Kaine said to the scholar. "And where are we?"
"You will address me as Sir Edwyn," he said gazing down the side of his considerable nose. "And you have three minutes to clean up and change into those." He pointed to the neatly folded bundles at the foot of each of their beds and then gestured to the basins and pitchers at the end tables. Sir Edwyn clapped his hands, making Render wince. The sound of it resounded throughout the cavernous stone walls of their chamber, which, when compared to his room in Bobbington's cottage, seemed more like a cathedral. "Quickly now. When I return you had best be ready."
When he shut the door, a profound echo thundered through the chamber. Render looked about. Smooth stone walls decorated with intricate tapestries, shimmering curtains which must have been made of exotic Eastern fabric. His bare feet stood cushioned upon a thick rug of violet and blue and gold. But where were the shackles?
"Are you certain, Render?" Stewan said.
"Of what?"
"That we've been appo…appro-pee-ated?"
"Of course we have," Render removed his shirt and splashed water over his face from the gold rimmed basin on his bedside table. The other boys followed his example. Then to his brother: "Haven't we?"
"I'm not quite so certain now, truth be told." Kaine dabbed his face with a towel. Then with a wicked grin, he said, “I wonder if they might be preparing us for a brutal execution."
The twins gasped. Their eyes grew the size of plums.
"Stop it Kaine," said Render. "Must you frighten them so?"
"I'm merely saying..." Kaine shrugged. "I mean, who's to say we're not going to have our heads lopped off and stuck on the points of spears and marched through Talen Wood as an example to other slave boys who try to run away."
"Do stop it," Folen said. "Please!"
Render agreed. "Enough, Kaine."
But on he went. "Or perhaps we'll be thrown into an arena with hungry mountain lions, and be mauled for royal sport. You know, like those Sojourner zealots, ages ago. That's what happened to them, you know." He pointed to his spotless white shirt. Render knew too well where his brother meant to go with all this. When he was the twins' age and they'd steal into the wood to share stolen food, Kaine would try to frighten him with drivel as this. "The blood shows much better against this pure white shirt. All the better for spectators at a distance who—"
"I said, enough!" Render's shout came as a surprise to all, not the least of whom, himself. But it wasn't clear if it had been irritation at his brother's teasing or the actual fear it instilled.
Kaine smirked. "Well, aren't you the pickled puss?"
Render pulled his belt tight. For once in his life, he wore new, clean clothes that didn't reek of sweat. He smiled at the twins. "Bother him," then went over to help Stewan with a clasp on the back of his vest. Fine trappings indeed for slaves. "We should just do as Sir Edwyn says." He turned to help Folen tie up a lace on his shoe.
"Oh yes," Kaine said. "He seems nice enough, don't you think?"
Render didn't bother to look up when neither of them answered. When he stood up and turned around, however, there at the now open door stood Sir Edwyn, a scowl etched into his brow. He clapped his hands twice and motioned for the hallway.
"Where are we going?" Folen said, clinging to Render's arm. "We want to go back!"
"Your life as you have hitherto known it..." Edwyn heaved a dour gaze upon them all, "...is over."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sir Edwyn walked before Render, Kaine and the twins and would have appeared harmless if not for the armed guards with longswords marching beside him.
Flecks of dust floated in the morning beams of sunlight which entered through the windows above. The corridor stretched eternal and turned not even once before they finally arrived at a large wooden door. There, two armor clad sentries stood with pikes crossed over the entrance. Above the archway hung a sculpture. A pair of winged creatures—difficult to discern without staring unduly—one of them black, the other red. Both of their talons clutched an auric orb. With bat-like wings and scales, Render decided they must be dragons.
Edwyn clapped his hands twice. The pikemen slapped their hands to their sides, stomped a foot, and uncrossed their weapons affording passage through the slowly opening door.
Edwyn gestured forth.
As Render and his companions stepped forward, dread filled his thoughts. His throat became so parched that he wanted to cough. But so frightened was he that he resisted the urge. If this was the end, would it be an execution by beheading, or a mauling by wild beasts?
No one dared utter a word.
They entered, and for a moment the light inside was so bright his eyes could not adjust. When they did, he would no doubt find himself before an executioner, or a tormentor, or mountain lions or tigers ready to make a meal of them all. Render took a deep breath, resolved to stand in place until he felt the point of a sword in his back.
"Welcome, my young friends!" A strong and familiar voice said, just as Render's vision cleared. Standing before them, a lady dressed in an
extravagant scarlet gown embroidered with intricate aureate piping and patterns smiled and with a welcoming hand stretched out. Her raven hair struck a stark contrast with paper-white face. Her lips shone with such a deep shade of crimson they stood in stark contrast to her hair and eyes, which were dark as midnight.
She stood there in the center of a vast courtyard with the morning sun shining down from a blue sky, in which barely a lambswool cloud floated.
"I trust you've a healthy appetite?" She waved her slender fingers with red, claw-like nails toward the dining tables behind her. Scores of children, all finely dressed, sat on benches along these tables. Their ages ranged from about Folen and Stewan's to as old as Render himself. "My fine young men," the lady said, "do join us for breakfast."
The aroma of freshly baked bread, boiled eggs, and cooked meat made Render's mouth water. But a thought soured his mood. "What are they doing?" he whispered to Kaine, "fattening us for the kill?"
"Does it matter, really?"
Folen and Stewan had already taken their seats, their eyes large with hunger before the feast, the likes of which none of them had ever seen, much less partaken of.
"And now," she said, a bright smile widening across her face, "With the compliments of his Majesty, Corigan, High King of Valdshire Tor, enjoy this, your first of many such meals, as the adopted children of his kingdom."
Without hesitation, Kaine and all the other children let out a cheer and dug into their food, forks and knives barely employed.
"Rejoice children! For the High King has turned his countenance upon you. He has bestowed his favor upon you and liberated you from the yoke of superstition, the oppressive hand of slavery."
It was then that Render realized who she was. The harsh, yet fetching tone of her voice, the way her ebony hair fell over one of her eyes when she tilted her head as she emphasized a word, or scrutinized some of the children. He nudged Kaine's arm with his elbow. "It's her."
"What are talking about?" Kaine said, his mouth so full he was barely intelligible.
"Dear children," she said, her voice rising above the din of happy, hungry slaves now proclaimed royal wards. "I am Lady Volfoncé, advisor to King Corigan."
Kaine put his fork down and took a harder look. "Well, I think she's lovely."
"You would." Hadn't he heard the brutal threats she made prior to throwing Render into the wagon last night?
"Who is she then?"
"Don't you see? She's the one who abducted us last night."
CHAPTER NINE
To this very day, the gentrification decree which had been issued years before Sir Edwyn's birth continued to bring rescued children of all ages from round the kingdom into the citadel walls. In fact, Edwyn himself had been one of those refugees from the zealot insurrections, to which King Corigan had finally brought an end and along with it, "The Age of Inscience."
Edwyn sniffed with disdain as the children ravaged their meals like a pack of famished dogs. None of them displayed the slightest modicum of civility. This, and no doubt many other things, would have to be taught.
Amongst this last litter—orphans, alleged Sojourner children and slaves—was to be his class of pupils. The boy called Render and his friends already seemed troublesome. According to the registration records, Render's former master Bobbington had kept, the lad might have been a child of Sojourner parents who had died in a preemptive raid on insurgent soil.
The very thought brought a sharp twinge between Edwyn's ribs. He was only slightly older than Render when his own parents had died because of Sojourner superstition. Consequently, Edwyn had become an orphan.
So, as was the case for these children slopping down their fine breakfast like pigs at a trough, Edwyn had been brought up a ward of the King.
A disguised blessing, perhaps.
Lady Volfoncé continued to lecture the children on their assignments, while Edwyn and the other mentors stood by the walls observing their new charges. Scarcely a child lifted his head when their name was called and matched with their tutor.
But Render did.
Though his older brother and two young friends continued eating with their bare hands in spite of the proper utensils within easy reach, Render stopped and attended when Volfoncé called.
"Render, Stewan and Folen of lower Talen Wood," she announced. "You shall henceforth submit to the care and authority of Sir Edwyn. Your tutor."
Render stood up. "What about my brother?"
"Shut up!" Kaine hissed, and pulled him back down to the bench.
Volfoncé smiled. "As Master Kaine is the only one of this class near the age of cultivation, he shall be under the tutelage of The Lord Mooregaard."
Across the courtyard, the wickedly handsome Don raised a black-gloved hand ever so slightly and half turned it, indicating his presence to his sole pupil. He then turned and bowed to Lady Volfoncé. As he straightened up, from behind his dark goat-like mustache and beard, a smile whiter than snow emerged.
Never one to admit it, Edwyn had always envied Mooregaard's status as a knight of the Order of the Scarlet Pendragon. What was it about him? His sword, his chainmail, his commanding stature?
Inclining her head in response, Lady Volfoncé continued with the introductions. Edwyn stood patiently awaiting his trio of students. This time, he thought, for once in my seven years as a royal tutor, please let them be different. Not just sheep incapable of independent thought.
By the time Volfoncé finished the introductions and all thirty-one students had been matched with their tutors, she clasped her hands together and said, "Now then. Any questions?"
"Yes, Milady." A girl at the far end of the courtyard stood. She may have been about nine or ten years old and didn't notice that she had put her splendid red gown on backwards.
Volfoncé covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. "Yes, dearest."
"Besides mathematics, astronomy, literature and physi...phizzi.."
"Physical Sciences, precious one," Volfoncé assisted, endearment beaming from her countenance, "among other disciplines."
"Yes, physical sciences. Aside from those, will we be taught....uhm...Oh, bother, what is it called...? Oh yes! Will we be taught magic?"
Volfoncé retained her smile, but her eyes dimmed under arched brows. She stood silent for a moment. The backwards dressed girl blanched and sat right down with a wordless apology on her face.
"If by magic," Volfoncé said, low and foreboding, "you mean, illusionism, and sleight of hand, as performed by court entertainers, you've clearly misunderstood the elevation of your station."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the girl, "I... I just meant—"
"There is no other kind of... of... magic!" Volfoncé glared down her upturned nose. "Never forget that you have been called to royalty. The future of this great kingdom is with you, oh blessed children. And in this future, there shall be no trace of that terror imposed upon the gentle and learned people of Valdshire Tor by those fanatical Sojourner zealots. Do I make myself clear?" Slowly, her gaze swept across the courtyard scrutinizing every eye, now affixed to hers. "To all of you?"
Not a sound.
"Very well, then." Volfoncé spread open a fan and flapped it at herself. The warmth in her tone and demeanor returned. "There shall be time enough for all questions, dear ones. But you shall take them up with your tutors."
Even Edwyn breathed a sigh of relief. It had been nearly twenty years ago when Edwyn himself sat at those tables and received his orientation by Lady Volfoncé. And while she seemed only to grow more beautiful with the passage of time, her formidable presence never abated.
"Now, children," she said, sharp as the tip of a dirk. "Line up before your tutors. Your orientation begins presently."
An excited commotion ensued as each of the children got up and went about finding their assigned mentors. Edwyn stood tall and haughty as his three new students gathered around.
"Folen?" he read from a list written on vellum.
"That's me."
"Stewa
n?"
"Here, sir."
"And finally," he looked down at the last boy, whose face was turned and watching his brother walking off with Lord Mooregaard. "Render."
The boy did not turn his head.
"Render!"
"Yes!" Jolted, he spun around with a gasp. He bumped into Folen, who shoved him back nearly causing him to trip over his own feet.
Hapless.
A pair of whelps and a day dreaming youth. Edwyn sighed. The coming year promised to be every bit as stimulating as those prior. He rolled his eyes. "Follow me."
CHAPTER TEN
The old man's warning continued to resound within Ahndien's mind. But nothing could stop her from flying down the mountain trail and back to her home.
As she came to the foot of the hill, less and less of her burning village could be seen above the tall palms and bamboo leaves. But the acrid smell of burning huts and the dark tendrils of smoke clawing into the sky was more than enough a signpost.
Branches and leaves scraped her arms. Father's sword rattled against her side as she ran down the dirt path. Foolish! Why had she taken the sword, to protect herself from rabbits? How would Father defend the family?
She must have been running for at least fifteen minutes. Burning air filled her lungs with each breath. Her legs defied the pain. Each step brought her closer to the fumes. But the shouting, the commotion, the sound of struggle diminished as she got nearer.
Tears blurred her vision.
Gasping, choking, knees failing.
No! Keep running.
Soon, too winded to continue, Ahndien stopped.
Still in the distance, now with the sun setting behind black, billowing clouds of smoke, she saw the village a bit further down the path. If only she could run for another minute. Then she'd arrive. But what then?
Doubled over, hands on her thighs, Ahndien leaned back against the smooth striped trunk of a bamboo tree and wept bitterly. The old man up at the mountain top had been right. It was too late.
From The Ashes Page 10