Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Did Almstedt live to see the Knights betrayed?” Connor asked.

  Penhallow shook his head. “Almstedt was killed in battle before the Knights were disbanded. As the founder of the Order, his tomb was a shrine for the Knights. When the Order was disbanded and the surviving Knights fled for their lives, I have heard it said that one of their keenest losses was that they could no longer tend the crypts of their brothers-at-arms entombed below the castle.”

  Connor moved closer, studying the warrior’s statue. He had expected to see the image of a man killed in his prime. Instead, this warrior was in his middle years, with a face that showed dignity and intelligence. A shield was carved next to the man’s legs, and as Connor blew away the dust, he realized that the surface of the shield was covered with both recognizable heraldic images and with more subtle symbols that were startlingly familiar.

  “Bring the light over here!” he said, bending closer for a better look.

  “What did you find?” Lowrey asked, crowding closer.

  Connor withdrew the obsidian pendant from beneath his shirt. “Look,” he said, holding the pendant close to the shield. It was clear that several of the symbols carved into the surface of the pendant matched those on the Knight’s shield.

  Lowrey came around to peer down at the shield and its markings. “Those are definitely mage symbols,” he said. “Not surprising, given the Knights’ abilities as mage-warriors.”

  “So why did Quintrel want us to find this chamber?” Penhallow asked.

  Connor went to the table where Geddy had laid out his lanterns and set down his own pack. “I guess I’m going to have to see if anything triggers one of Quintrel’s messages here,” he said, distaste clear in his voice. “Gods, I hate this part of it.”

  Connor took a deep breath to still his apprehension, then reached into his pack and withdrew the parchments and journals they had found marked with blue ribbons in the Knights’ library. He let his hand hover over each of the items, a journal, a rolled parchment, and an old bound manuscript. The worn leather cover of the journal drew his attention, and bracing himself, he picked up the journal and held it in both hands, turning the yellowed pages to where the blue ribbon marked a spot. The ribbon had not triggered memories when he had read the journal before, but Connor wondered if this new location would have a different effect.

  As soon as he touched the ribbon, Connor swayed on his feet as a new memory flooded him. “The bravest Knight guards more than bones. The markers of blood ties forever severed are shielded from prying eyes. Show one marker to the eternal guard to remove the shield.”

  With a jolt, Connor came back to himself. This time he remembered what he had said, and he wondered if the triggering of Quintrel’s hidden memories would get easier with each clue uncovered. “What does it mean, ‘the eternal guard’?” he asked, still feeling a little shaky.

  The temperature in the crypt plummeted, and Connor could see his breath misting. A blue-green glow began to swirl next to the catafalque, forcing Penhallow and the others to back away from the bier. As they watched, the glow took shape until Almstedt’s image became clearly recognizable. The ghost wore the same armor as the carved figure atop the catafalque, but his sword was drawn and he carried no shield. His stance conveyed a challenge, and his gaze was stern.

  The spectral figure held up one arm, displaying an outstretched palm to signal that they keep their distance. As they watched, Almstedt’s ghostly gaze swept over them, and he turned his hand palm up.

  “By the gods!” Geddy croaked from where he had backed up against the wall of the crypt. “What does he want from us?”

  “Show him your disk, Connor,” Penhallow said. His voice was steady, though Connor could see from Penhallow’s posture that he was ready should danger arise. “I believe that’s the ‘marker’ Quintrel mentioned. If I’m not mistaken, Almstedt’s ghost is guarding the four disks we’re looking for.”

  “We’re not going to have to open the coffin, are we?” Geddy’s voice rose an octave. “I didn’t sign on for looting coffins!”

  “Hush,” Lynge admonished, though Connor could see that the seneschal had blanched at the sight of the ghost.

  Mustering his courage, Connor withdrew the obsidian disk from beneath his tunic and slipped the leather strap over his head. He stepped forward, offering the disk on his outstretched hand, forcing himself to move closer.

  Connor’s hand shook as he felt the ice-cold touch of Almstedt’s ghost. Almstedt passed his hand over the disk, then turned and laid his hand on the carved shield atop the catafalque and pointed to a raised decoration. He looked to Connor as if awaiting a response. Connor stepped forward hesitantly and pushed on the embellishment.

  The stone shield began to move, slowly grinding open to reveal a small compartment beneath it. Almstedt pointed to the compartment, meeting Connor’s gaze with an expression that communicated his imperative.

  Swallowing hard, Connor moved around the catafalque, avoiding the ghost, and grimaced as he reached into the dark compartment. He relaxed as his hand gripped four smooth obsidian disks and he withdrew them from their hiding place. Almstedt’s expression softened to express his approval, and the stone shield slowly moved back into place. But to Connor’s surprise, the ghost did not vanish once Connor found the disks. Instead, Almstedt pointed to the rolled parchment on the desk.

  “I think he wants you to have a look at that piece of parchment,” Lynge said quietly.

  Heart thudding, Connor brought the disks back to the table and laid them to one side, returning his own disk to its place around his neck. Swallowing his uneasiness, he loosened the blue ribbon that bound the old parchment and spread it flat.

  “It’s a map of the stars,” Lynge murmured.

  Penhallow shook his head. “More than that. It’s part of a set of coordinates to find a particular place. Look,” he said, pointing. “There’s a longitude, but no latitude, and a month and day. I’m betting that on that date, if the sky overhead matches that map, you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

  “Yeah, but where is that, and why would we want to be there?” Connor muttered.

  Connor felt a lurch as Quintrel’s hidden memory surged to the front of his consciousness.

  “Hidden allies will arise. Turn to the exiles, for you will find them among the dead men’s bones.”

  At that, Almstedt’s revenant began to fade, his form blurring until it was nothing but a shimmering light, and then vanished altogether.

  “Exiles again,” Connor said. “First, I’m told to seek the ‘exiled man.’ Now, more exiles. Do you think he means the convicts in Velant?”

  Penhallow had moved closer to the map and was studying it carefully, even as Lowrey jostled for a spot to do the same. “I don’t think Quintrel meant Edgeland,” Lowrey said. “For one thing, these stars,” he said, pointing to two marks on the map, “can’t be seen above the horizon that far north at that time of the year.”

  “Does that mean we need to be at a certain place on that date?” Connor asked, puzzled.

  Penhallow shook his head. “I don’t think so, but we don’t have enough information to be certain.” He raised his head to look at Lowrey. “You told me that the equinox would be a time when the power would be strong.”

  Lowrey nodded, still studying the map. “So is the solstice, which is just a month away. They’re times when the natural world creates ‘channels’ for power. So it might be easier to bring back the magic then, but that doesn’t mean it would be impossible at other times.”

  Connor stared at the date on the torn parchment. “Would an astronomer be able to fix the location given this map?”

  Lowrey straightened. “My interests at the university included astronomy and cartography,” he replied. “So I’m qualified to comment. Without the latitude, you might narrow it down to an area, but not a precise point. If by ‘the exiles’ Quintrel means himself and the mages he took into hiding, I don’t think he’s going to make it too easy to find him
, just in case the knowledge were to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “There’s another possibility,” Penhallow said. “From the Knights’ point of view, they, too, were exiled. It’s been widely rumored that some of the Knights who escaped and went into hiding were never found. Quintrel may be steering us toward the Knights, for whatever reason.”

  He paused. “If so, we must proceed with caution. The Knights have not wished to be found for a long time.”

  Connor looked at the manuscript. “What about that?” he asked. “I handled it, and it didn’t open any memories.”

  Lowrey smiled. “All in due time, lad. As we suspected, Quintrel left memories that trigger to time and place. Take the book with you. When the time is right, you’ll be able to tell us what it means.” Connor gathered up the journal, map, and manuscript, along with the four disks, and placed them in his pack as the others readied to return to the castle.

  Outside Almstedt’s crypt, they moved through the corridor toward the central chamber but halted abruptly at the sound of rushing wind, and the hue and cry of men rushing to battle.

  “We’ve been discovered!” Geddy cried, terror clear in his features.

  The temperature in the main chamber was now icy. The sound of running feet echoed from every direction, yet what they saw hurtling down each of the five corridors were blue-green orbs of light, bouncing and bobbing, moving with fearsome speed.

  “What’s happening?” Connor asked, feeling his throat constrict with fear as they began to back toward Almstedt’s crypt.

  As they watched, the orbs began to cluster, expanding and shifting until the forms of men appeared. Within a heartbeat, they stared out into the chamber to see two opposing spectral armies facing off against each other. One side wore the livery of the king’s guard of Donderath, while the others were outfitted in the armor of the Knights of Esthrane.

  Battle cries echoed from the stone walls as the two sides rushed toward each other. Though neither side had physical form, Connor and the others could clearly hear the clang of swords, the pounding of footsteps, and the curses and cries of men as the two sides battled fiercely.

  “By Torven’s horns, what’s happening?” Geddy stared wide-eyed at the spectral battle. “If they turn on us, we’re trapped like rats.”

  “They don’t want us,” Penhallow said quietly. “They don’t even know we’re here. This isn’t a show for our benefit.” He looked to Lynge. “There’s more than one reason the necropolis is off-limits to all but a few, isn’t there, Lars?”

  Lynge nodded. He watched the spirits battle with an expression that was unnerved, but far from Geddy’s unabashed terror or the fright that paralyzed Connor. “The spirits of those buried beneath the castle do not rest,” he said quietly. “Over the years, there have been many reports of spirits reenacting the circumstances of their death. Lovers’ fatal quarrels, duels to the death, assassinations: Down here, they never end.” He paused. “Some of the early kings who fell in battle were buried near the mass grave that held their soldiers’ remains.”

  “So what we’re seeing is a battle between the king’s troops and the Knights, relived by the spirits of the dead?” Lowrey murmured. “Fascinating.”

  “‘Fascinating’ isn’t the word I would have picked,” Connor retorted. “We’re trapped.”

  “If they’re just ghosts, then they can’t hurt us, right?” Geddy asked in a quivering voice.

  Connor was relieved, because the same question burned in his mind, though he was loath to be the one to ask.

  “That depends,” Penhallow replied, his body tensing as he watched the flow of battle.

  “On what?” Geddy squeaked.

  “On which side won this particular battle,” Lowrey finished the sentence. “And by my estimate, the Knights are losing.”

  Lynge paled. “Which means, from the point of view of the king’s forces, we stand on the side of the traitors.”

  Connor’s heart thudded in his throat as he watched the ghostly battle. With every moment, more of the Knights fell to the swords of the king’s forces. The Knights were badly outnumbered though they fought valiantly. “What happens if the king’s men win, and they find us?” Connor asked, dry-mouthed.

  “Treason is punishable by death, lad,” Lowrey replied.

  “Can ghosts kill?” Geddy asked in a small voice.

  “If they’re strong enough,” Lowrey answered. “And here in the place of the dead, they’re at their greatest strength.”

  “It would be best not to test your theory,” Penhallow said, never taking his gaze off the battle as it surged and ebbed. “We need to leave, and we can’t return the way we came.” He looked to Lynge. “You said the Knights had multiple escape routes. Can you lead us out?”

  Lynge shook his head. “For obvious reasons, exploration of the older areas has been limited,” he said, nervously wetting his lips.

  They backed away from the sound of battle, toward Almstedt’s crypt. “Let’s see if we can find an entrance to a passageway from the crypt,” Lynge said. Geddy stood watch at the door as the others began to work their way around the room searching for a hidden opening.

  It was only then that Connor realized that the temperature within the crypt had fallen to reach the icy cold of the corridor beyond. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and turned to see Almstedt’s ghost standing behind them. “Lynge might not know how to get us out, but I bet he does,” Connor whispered.

  Penhallow turned to face the ghost. “Will you help us escape?”

  Almstedt nodded and wordlessly raised his right arm, pointing toward one of the walls of his crypt. Lowrey poked Connor in the shoulder to nudge him closer to where the ghost stood. “Maybe he’ll show you how to open a secret door,” Lowrey whispered.

  “We can’t wait long. Our side isn’t doing too well,” Geddy muttered, watching the battle in the corridors.

  Almstedt’s spirit glided over to the wall and laid a hand over one of the images of Esthrane on the mural. In the painting, the goddess was conveying a pennant with the heraldic emblem of a diagonal blue bar to the kneeling Knights. Connor edged closer, his heart thudding, and let his fingers feel their way over the image of the pennant. He found a depression and pressed, hearing a satisfying click. One segment of the mural swung inward, exposing a hidden passageway.

  “Thank you,” Connor murmured to the ghost, who stepped aside to let the others pass.

  Penhallow led the way. Lynge followed, with Lowrey right behind him. Connor held the panel open, waiting for Geddy to catch up. Geddy remained frozen in place, watching the battle in the corridor, too afraid to move.

  “Come on!” Connor hissed, as the battle began to work its way toward them, rushing down the corridor and spilling into Almstedt’s crypt.

  A bright light flared, and Almstedt’s ghost appeared, standing between the escape corridor and the thick of battle. Geddy found the nerve to begin his run toward freedom across the crypt with Almstedt in the center, blocking the advance of the enemy soldiers. But as Almstedt turned to engage one of the combatants, two ghostly soldiers nearest Geddy stumbled with the momentum of their sword blows, staggering backward into Geddy’s path. The soldier’s blade slashed downward, and the Knight’s spirit swung his own sword to parry, but the blow went wild, catching Geddy through the chest.

  Blood spurted from a gash in Geddy’s chest. Connor shouted Geddy’s name, but Geddy clutched at his bloody shirt, the look on his face a mixture of shock and horror. Connor started forward, but an ice-cold hand grabbed Connor’s wrist and dragged him into the darkness of the corridor, pulling the panel shut behind him.

  “We can’t just leave him!” Connor protested, fighting to break Penhallow’s grip on his wrist.

  “We have no choice. It was a mortal wound,” Penhallow replied grimly. “He’s beyond our help. Almstedt will hold the entrance. With luck, the battle will play itself out and no one will come after us.”

  Numb with shock, Connor stumbled along, b
arely keeping his footing on the rock floor of the corridor as they ran down the passageway. Lynge’s lantern bobbed ahead of them. Connor depended on Penhallow’s ability to see in the dark to guide them, as little of the lantern’s glow reached them. Twice Connor slammed into rocky outcroppings, bruising his shoulder and leaving a gash on his temple.

  Gradually, the corridor warmed from the icy chill of the ghostly battle. The passageway twisted and turned and eventually led them to a carved stone wall.

  “We’re trapped,” Lynge said, feeling his way across the rock face with his free hand as he held the lantern aloft, looking for a hidden opening.

  Behind them, the sounds of battle carried up the corridor. “Almstedt may not be able to hold them much longer,” Connor warned.

  Penhallow slipped toward the front and began to press his fingers into the stone carvings, stopping after a few moments to tap the wall. He stood back, and a smile crept over his features. “Aha,” he murmured.