Smoke and Rain

by V. Holmes

  Her mount’s hoof-beats cracked and echoed as she followed the canyon’s curve to the east. Suddenly the walls fell away and she stood on the steep northern side of the mountains. She sat back, halting her horse to stare. Vielrona had snow, certainly, but this was something else. The dry air whipped ice and snow into bizzare shapes that topped each broken rock. The wind moaned as it sculpted, a mournful artist caught in the emotional act of creating. Everything glittered. The clear ice glowed green against the dark rock, and the slope before her seemed paved in Banis diamonds.

  “This is something that no amount of reading could have prepared me for.” She stared for another moment, memorizing the view. A bitter wind whipped into the hood of her cloak, tugging it from her head with its sharp fingers. As beautiful as the mountainside was, she had little wish to make it her campsite that night. There were leagues to go before she could rest easy. With a sigh she nudged her horse down the faintly visible path.

  Φ

  The 16th Day of Vurgmord, 1251

  Her horse’s panic woke her that night. The animal tugged at its tether, kicking up eddies of snow as it paced. Alea sat up, clawing her way free from her bedroll. She grabbed the tether and tugged the horse’s head down until it could only snort in fear. “I can’t hear when you’re making such a racket!” Her warning was hissed through chattering teeth.

  The sky was dark, the clouds too thick for her to see if any moon had risen. There was no sound of hoof-falls on the rocks, or voices. She listened for the snarl of a hunting cat, wondering momentarily what predators made such a bleak landscape home.

  The wail that swept the mountainside grated in her bones. It was worse than a fork against glazed earthenware. It was as unearthly as Arman’s warning shriek, but horribly different. Arman’s was full of the sound of metal rending. This sounded like all the sickly, sulfurous places of the world. She pressed herself farther under the overhang she had chosen for shelter. Now she heard claws against stone. Dislodged pebbles tumbled across the ice. The shriek came again, closer. If Alea had been a betting woman, she would have sworn it sounded angry.

  The scratching of nails on stone faded, and after a moment she heard a last call, far distant. She glanced up at her mount. The animal’s eyes still rolled, but its breath had slowed. Alea shrugged deeper into her bedroll again. She was too nervous to rest, but there was another hour before dawn’s light would make the treacherous slope safe. She had no idea how far behind her escort was, but Raven would drive them through the night. The thought that they would ride into whatever creature stalked the mountain made her skin crawl.

  I’m alone now. There is no one here I can hurt. She settled herself into a comfortable seat against the rock. I owe it to them to try. She did not run blindly into the black wellspring this time. She sank into her consciousness, surrounding her mind with the feeling of herself. Her mental eyes fluttered open and she stared at the twisting black vines that wrapped around her silver veins. Just learn to recognize it. She watched the blackness lap at her soul blood. It was cold and left a bitter, salty taste in her mouth. She had never seen the ocean, but recognized the depth. The ocean creates and destroys. It’s like me.

  She extended a mental hand and tugged a sinuous piece of power free. She played with it, like a child with a juggling ball. Her physical body tossed a rope of fog between its hands. Usher it. Guide it. Don’t force. She twisted it, as if spinning fibers into thread. If it can be a thread, can it be a knot? A net? She frowned and began to weave.

  Φ

  Alea decided that as unoriginal as the forts’ names seemed, they were apt. The mountainside had leveled into a craggy maze of rocks. The wind swept any errant snow from the ground. She had expected the trees to reappear, but only dry, brown scrub brush broke up the monochromous gray. Even the wind smelled like stone. It was midday before the outline of the fort emerged against the dark landscape. Alea’s horse stumbled for the hundredth time and she slowed, checking the animal’s leg. When she looked up, the fort was before her. The garrison perched atop a butte, overlooking the craggy surroundings. It was carved from the rock itself, with two storeys of weathered wood above the three of the stone walls. Its silhouette was grim against the flat sky. Iron-colored pennants twisted sullenly from the three flat-topped towers. She licked her parched lips and nudged her horse up the winding ramp carved in the butte’s face.

  “Let him pass!” The voice that arched from the gatehouse was as rough as the landscape.

  The dozen-pace-high gates creaked, anointing Alea with stone dust as she rode through. The fort was laid out much like Hero, though larger and built of stone. The soldiers lining the thick walls watched her dispassionately. She tugged the scarf from her face and raised a hand in peace. Boots scuffed the stairs and an officer entered the courtyard.

  Alea could not decipher the exact rank marked on the tunic’s breast, but its complexity told her it was high. “I’m looking for General Aneral.”

  The hand that shielded the officer’s eyes was rough and narrow. “I am she.” The general handed Alea a water skin. “From where do you ride?”

  Alea’s brows rose and she took several gulps before handing the skin back. She had assumed the general would be male. She offered her hand. “I rode from Fort Hero. Before that Vielrona, and before that, Sunam.” Her voice was gravelly from fatigue and lacked the gravity she had hoped for. “I am Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.”

  “Forgive me, I took you for a boy in those clothes.” Eras took Alea’s hand and knelt, touching her other knuckles to her brow, lips then chest in salute. “I am General Nei’pheras liu Aneral of Athrolan’s Army.”

  Alea’s legs threatened to give way and she realized she had not eaten in over a day. “I’m very glad to meet you.” She steadied herself on her horse’s shoulder.

  Eras rose and took her arm. “Let’s get you inside.” She led the younger woman to the door. “How did you come to be separated from the troop?”

  “My companions and I left with only the commander and two of his men. We were forced to leave Hero early, and without further guard. A Berrin patrol caught us just before the pass and my guard sent me on ahead.” She staggered as they turned a corner in the corridor.

  “We’ll talk more when you’ve eaten.” Eras shoved open a wide door and ushered her into the mess hall. Fort Stone was easily twice the size of Hero and furnished to accommodate 250 men. The dining area alone was the size of Vielrona’s Guild Hall. Seating Alea at a long table, Eras set the soup in front of Alea and sat opposite. “I apologize for our lack of fine china. We rarely pay host to nobility and the men would just break it.”

  Alea glanced up, trying to determine if the hard faced woman was jesting. Unable to tell, she just smiled. “I’ve eaten camp fare for weeks. This is more than enough. I'd be happy if you had spoons and forks.” At the general's wry shake of the head, she sighed. She tilted the soup to her lips ignoring how it burnt her tongue. The broth was thin and oily, but it was far better than flavorless dried meat. As she ate, Alea surveyed the general’s unusual features.

  “A surprise, am I?”

  Alea blushed, caught staring. “I’m not used to female warriors, or ones that aren’t….” She searched for a non-offensive word. That the general was of a different race was obvious, but Alea had no idea which one.

  “Human?” The general’s eyes crinkled in what Alea supposed was a smile. “My mother was Asai, what you might call Stonefaced. My father was human. Athrolan is more open than her neighbors—you can count yourself lucky for that.” She glanced down at Alea’s empty bowl. “Let me show you to your room.” The stairs were winding and narrow. Eras twisted over her shoulder to talk to Alea as they ascended. “You’re lucky you left Hero when you did. It fell.”

  Alea’s eyed widened and she trotted to keep up with the general’s long paces. “Fell?”

  “Burnt to the ground by the Berrin. How far behind were your companions?”

  “No more than half a day’s ride I would expect.” />
  Eras unlocked a door halfway down the hall and stood aside to let Alea enter. “They’ll be lucky to make it here. The woods are rotten with Berrin.” She handed Alea the door’s key and fixed her with a level stare. “I’m grateful to have lived to see your arrival, Dhoah’ Lyne’alea. You’re needed more than you know.”

  Φ

  The 6th Day of Vurgmord, 1251

  Arman peered up at the walls of Fort Stone’s courtyard. They were decidedly eerie at night. A uniformed figure watched from the stairs as they dismounted. Raven raised a hand in greeting when he had unloaded his pack. “Hope we didn’t wake you, General.” He glanced at Narier and Metters. “You’re dismissed, thank you, men.”

  The two officers disappeared into the barracks wearily. Arman followed the commander and Bren up the stairs to the landing where the general waited. He grasped the general’s arm as Raven introduced him. “Well met, General Ma’am. Is milady safe?”

  Eras nodded. “Seventh room above the dining hall. She had a hard ride.” She turned to Bren, “Lord Prince Brentemir—”

  Bren held his hands up. “No, I’m not any sort of prince. Lieutenant is fine, if you must.”

  “Lieutenant then. I have officers’ quarters set aside for you and Master Wardyn on either side of Dhoah’ Lyne’alea’s. I’d rest if I were you.” She nodded and ducked into the fort, Raven following after.

  Arman hurried up the stairs and unpacked his bag in the dark. He did not bother to light the hearth. After he donned clean clothes, he dragged the thin blanket and pillow into the hall. His back creaked as he settled himself on the floor across from Alea’s room. His eyes had just shut when her door opened.

  “Arman?”

  He propped himself on his elbow. “Glad you made it.”

  She rushed across the hall and embraced him briefly before sitting back on her heels. “You’re all safe?”

  “We are. Bren’s a beast in battle. Your ride was safe?”

  “Mostly. There was something stalking the mountainside but I can’t say whether it was an animal or not.” She shrugged, then frowned. “Why are you in the hall?”

  “Because Bren still bothers me and I can’t protect your door when I’m in my room.” He stalled her protests with a raised hand. “And I’m certainly too tired to argue it tonight.” He touched her hand, “I’m happy you’re safe.”

  When she had gone, he laid back. It was true that he was exhausted, but his mind was too busy to find sleep. Something had been tailing them, he could feel it, and it made his skin crawl.

  Φ

  Raven sank into the chair beside the fire. Eras poured them both a drink and took the other seat. “How was the ride?”

  “A nightmare. Any news from the cities?”

  “Fort Floodbane is besieged. From what they can tell there are roughly 2,000—mixed Berrin and Miriken. They fight the same cause, but are disorganized. It seems to make it worse for us, though, unable to use one tactic.”

  “We’ll send reinforcements to break the siege?”

  Eras shrugged. “It will be discussed with Her Majesty. These first steps of war will decide the rest.” She took a slow sip from her glass. “You’ve spent more time with them than I—what of the Dhoah’ Laen and her companions?”

  “I’m more skeptical of Her Majesty’s choice than before. The girl cannot control her power.”

  Eras eyed him. “Is it your observation or superstition speaking?”

  “I’m not sure. She makes me uneasy. I’ve always trusted my gut and yet the Queen chooses to ally us with her.”

  “You act as if Dhoah’ Lyne’alea is the only one who is other than human. The Rakos certainly bears power, though his limitations are unclear. And then there is me.” Her tone was pointed.

  Raven looked up sharply. “That is different.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Their power is unnatural.”

  “Unnatural to whom, Raven?” Her voice was gentle, if exasperated. “I have abilities that are not natural to a human, but are to the Asai. Their gifts are those of the other halves of their bloodlines.” She sighed, “Try to see them as people—human or not—as least enough so we can avoid civil dispute. If you become a foul-tempered misanthrope I will not forgive you.”

  He drained his glass in response. They sat silently for a few minutes as Eras finished her drink.

  “I should be in bed.” She stretched and rose with a quiet groan.

  Raven watched as she put away the glasses and bottle of alcohol. “Are you going alone?”

  Eras’ back was to him and she ran a hand thoughtfully along her desk. “Tonight I am.” She did not move until he had retreated to his own chambers. When the hall was quiet, she sat back down in her chair by the low fire. She and Raven were intermittent lovers. She preferred not to throw herself completely into any relationship. Raven was a difficult man. His firm, skeptical beliefs were rooted in distaste for anything remotely non-Athrolani, let alone inhuman. It made it hard to like him as a man, though he was wholly loved as a commander. Somehow, Eras had always been the exception to every one of Raven’s personal rules. He was unwaveringly in love with her, and had been for far too long to call it simple infatuation. The complications were too great for her analytical mind. She scrubbed her hands over her face before pulling a stack of unread letters into her lap.

  Most were short missives from her gallants, which she skimmed. Nothing had changed, in that everything was changing. There was a letter from the queen, to which there would be no answer until the general met with the Dhoah’ Laen in the morning. At the bottom of the pile was a plain envelope with no sending name and a blank seal in scummy, colorless wax.

  Her heart hammered. It had been thirty years since she had seen such a letter. She opened it quickly, scanning the page hungrily.

  Eras,

  I trust this letter finds you well. Belated congratulations on your position of general. I do not envy you, but Tzatia made a wise choice. I heard Athrolan declared war—about time, if you ask me. I also heard rumor of that woman you escort north. I met her a week back. Interesting, that.

  Obviously that means I’ve returned from my self-imposed exile. I was hoping to be involved in the fun, though Tzatia is probably less than willing to have me, I hope you might persuade her otherwise. When you read this, I’ll probably be cresting the de Galin’s headed east. Send response to the way house on the Berrin border just past Glas—I’ll stay there for now.

  All my luck and love,

  -An’thor

  Eras traced the edge of the paper thoughtfully. An’thor was the only creature that had ever softened her heart. Equal parts humorous and deadly, he was as close to a brother as she had ever come. That he offered Athrolan his swords spoke to how dire the situation grew. Only a war of divine proportions would bring you from hiding, An’thor.

  Φ

  The 17th Day of Vurgmord, 1251

  Eras leaned back against her desk, crossing her boots at the ankle. Her personal study was cramped, but far preferable to the rather public, albeit larger, tactics room below. “Most of you know our intriguing guests, but for those who do not, this is Dhoah’ Lyne’alea of Le’yan and her guard, Rakos Aud’narman Wardyn. The tall fellow in the back is her brother, Lieutenant Brentemir Barrackborn, defector from Mirik."

  She ignored the irritated look Bren shot across the room. “It is our duty to escort her to the capital. Her Majesty summoned us to court upon our arrival.” She glanced at one of the two captains. “Vinden, half your men will accompany us, leaving Captain Hure in command here.” Her gaze swiveled to the two tanned warriors by the fireplace. “To those of you who are new,” her sharp gaze flicked to Alea and her companions, “these are the warriors Monareka Elang and Iere Ugan of the Bordermen. The queen asks you to join us in Ceir Athrolan as representative of your people.”

  Monareka, the woman, nodded. “I would be happy to, ma’am, but I can speak for no other warrior. We act autonomously. From what I hear, though, if we
spread news among our people, dozens will join.”

  Eras’ clear eyes pinned Bren. “Lieutenant, what intelligence do you bring with you? When did you desert Mirik? What are their numbers?” She checked herself a moment. “Forgive me. We have been blind and deaf to Azirik’s movements.”

  “Might I have a map?” Vinden unrolled a rough, unwaxed map on the table. Bren oriented himself then pulled a pot of red ink over. “The Berrin have an army close to 40,000. Units of around a thousand accompany each of Mirik’s regiments, of which there are nine. Each regiment has between one and two thousand men, some mounted.” He drew red “X’s” along the southwestern border of Athrolan. “He sent two regiments each to attack Floodbane and Ceir Felden, and a fifth to another, which was undetermined when I left. They will be joined by new allies, the Vales. I know little about their numbers or them as a people.”

  “And the remaining regiments? Will they stay in Mirik?”

  “They’re here, moving northwards along the mountains. Their aim was not announced, but I would suspect an attack on Ceir Athrolan.”

  Raven leaned forward. “What of the navies? Are either being brought to bear?”

  “There is talk of such an attack, though where and when have not been shared. The Miriken Navy is close to 80 ships, nothing to worry you, but the Berrin have a total of 428 ships, divided into three navies.”

  Raven groaned. “What I’d give to have that many. As it is we have half. If it comes to a direct battle we will be lost within an hour. Thank fates we only have the single coastline.”

  “What is the grand plan?” Eras’ eyes narrowed.

  “Constricting the cities from their resources.” He paused. “How many men does Athrolan’s army have?”