Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

Blaine, Kestel, and Verran hunched over their horses, making themselves the smallest targets possible. Piran rode standing upright in his stirrups, squinting against the sun, careful to make his shots count.

  They were halfway across the bridge now, and Blaine kept his eye on the tree line, refusing to look over his shoulder at the gryps. The archers kept up a steady barrage, and the horses’ hooves thundered across the old stone bridge as the wagons creaked in protest at the strain. He looked over to Kestel. Her face was taut with focus, and she gripped a dagger in her right hand. Verran’s eyes were white with fear, and he was muttering a string of curses beneath his breath, but he watched the gryps carefully, lobbing rocks at them whenever they came within range.

  The other end of the bridge was growing nearer with every thud of the horses’ hooves. Blaine caught himself holding his breath, willing his horse to move faster. They were nearly across, and then just a short expanse of rocky shore separated them from the thick forest.

  Three gryps came at them at once. The archers took aim and fired, hitting their targets, and two of the gryps beat their wings, backing away. The third flew straight at the riders between the wagons. Blaine was riding on the group’s flank, and his horse reared when the gryp dove for them, bucking Blaine from his saddle. He drew his sword and settled into a defensive stance.

  “Get Verran out of here!” he yelled to Kestel. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”

  The gryp came at Blaine fast, and he dodged as its leathery wings struck at him. His sword sliced upward, and its tip skimmed the creature’s tough hide but did not penetrate. The gryp screeched in rage and lunged toward him with its long, snakelike neck. Blaine swung again, and this time his sword sliced into the gryp’s wing, sending a spray of dark blood into the cold air.

  The stone bed of the bridge was slippery with the icy spray of the river that crashed below. Blaine had no desire to fight alone on the bridge, and when he dodged the next strike, he ran to catch up as Borya and Desya gave him cover.

  The wounded gryp dove for Blaine, and he threw himself to one side to avoid its talons. A rock struck the gryp in the head, giving Blaine the chance to regain his feet and strike at the gryp’s uninjured wing. Just then, the fourth creature seemed to appear from nowhere, coming up from beneath the bridge in front of the lead wagon, and the group came to a sudden halt.

  The gryp Blaine battled struck again, going for his legs with its sharp beak. Blaine jumped aside just as the gryp lunged, although one of its talons raked his thigh, and he brought his sword down, hard, on the juncture between the gryp’s body and its right wing. A dagger sang through the air, flashing past Blaine’s face, and sinking deep into the gryp’s side. For good measure, another rock crashed into the gryp’s injured wing. Blaine could not spare a glance behind him, but he knew Kestel and Verran were doing their best to back him up.

  From the shouts of the others and the thud of the crossbows, Blaine knew the gryps were coming at them from all sides. He could not afford to take his gaze off the gryp he battled, and it watched him with clever, cold eyes, waiting for the chance to kill.

  Blaine and the gryp lunged at the same time. The gryp’s beak sliced across Blaine’s left arm, and he choked back a cry of pain as blood flowed down his forearm. The attack did not slow his strike, and this time his sword got a clean hit, slicing through hide and sinew, so that the gryp’s wing, partially cut off at the shoulder, dangled uselessly.

  The gryp reared and bellowed, and Blaine threw himself forward, his blade leveled for a killing blow. His sword struck the gryp in its ribs, sinking deep into its chest. The dying gryp flailed its ruined wings, falling backward toward the river, sweeping Blaine along with it.

  Blaine scrabbled for a foothold as he yanked his sword free. Caught in the gryp’s death throes, Blaine battled to keep from plunging over the side of the bridge along with his kill. The gryp began to fall over the stone wall, and Blaine splayed his legs, trying to slow his own movement, twisting to free himself from the leathery wings and the talon that grabbed his cloak in the dying creature’s panic. The shrieking gryp tipped over the side, pulling Blaine with it as he tried desperately to stop himself from falling.

  He could see the swift, icy river beneath the bridge, watched the gryp lose its grasp on the rocks as its talon held on to his cloak. Just as he was about to tumble in, he felt rough hands yank his legs back onto the bridge. He fell backward onto solid ground, landing in a heap beside Kestel and Verran.

  “You almost went swimming,” Verran said, out of breath.

  The shrieks of the three remaining gryps cut off anything else they might have said, and they scrambled to their feet, weapons at the ready.

  The gryp that harried the front wagon had gotten closer, while another flew at the group from behind. Borya, harnessed atop the wagon, twisted for a shot. Piran loosed a flaming bolt, but the gryp veered at the last moment, and the arrow merely grazed its wing.

  They heard a woman’s scream and a man’s shouted curse. Then the gryp spiraled upward, holding Kata in its talons.

  “Don’t hit her with your arrows!” Illarion shouted, his anguish clear in his voice. But even as Illarion cried out, Blaine could see that one of the gryp’s talons had pierced Kata’s body. She convulsed, then hung limply in the predator’s clutch.

  Desya cursed wildly in a language Blaine did not understand. Freeing himself of his harness, Desya climbed to his feet atop the wagon, lobbing shots at the gryps as fast as he could reload his crossbow. In another instant, Borya had done the same, screaming curses, his aim made more true by grief and anger. Their arrows pierced the gryps’ leathery wings, too fast and accurate for the beasts to evade. Badly wounded, the beasts twisted away and left off the chase.

  Piran’s expression was hard, battle-focused, and Blaine guessed it was what his enemies had seen when they faced Piran in war. While Blaine had always thought of Dawe as the archer in their group, it was clear that Piran was well acquainted with the bow. He drew and fired with practiced speed, and his arrows flew straight.

  The gryp that carried Kata’s body angled away from them, satisfied with its prize, and Blaine tried not to think about the young dancer becoming the gryp’s meal. But carrying the corpse made the gryp slow. As Piran drew aim on the last gryp that harried the group, Borya and Desya targeted the killer.

  One flaming bolt hit the gryp that had killed Kata in its back at the juncture of its wings. Desya drew his bow and muttered a prayer. His arrow struck Kata’s motionless body, setting her cloak and clothing ablaze. The gryp shrieked and loosened its hold, dropping the fiery bundle into the swift current of the Pelaran. Borya sent another arrow, and this one ripped through the gryp’s wing. Robbed of its prize, its wings in burned tatters, the gryp gave one more cry and plunged into the icy river.

  By the time Borya and Desya could turn their attention to the gryp Piran battled, it was already over. Piran’s aim had sent the badly wounded gryp blundering away on bleeding wings. Blaine searched the sky. No other gryps circled. Now, only the dangers of the forest awaited them.

  “You’re injured,” Kestel noted as they moved to calm their frightened horses.

  Blaine looked down at himself. The gryp’s talons had sliced through his pants, and blood stuck the fabric to his leg. His left arm had a deep gash. As the adrenaline of the fight faded, the pain made him catch his breath.

  “We’ve got to get to shelter, get off the bridge,” he said, gritting his teeth as he swung up into the saddle. Kestel gave him a look that said the discussion was not over, but she and Verran saddled up as well, and the wagons began to move toward the forest road. They did not stop again until they were well hidden by the forest canopy. Just a few feet from the old road, a stream poured down the slope toward where it would join the river.

  At a wide spot in the road, they halted the wagons and let the horses rest. The sun was high overhead, but in the shadow of the huge, old trees, the air was cold. The tree canopy was thick and the undergrowth was sparse,
so Blaine felt reasonably assured that some new predator could not approach without being seen.

  Illarion helped Zaryae down from the wagon. She was pale and trembling, sobbing as she leaned against him. Borya and Desya, still flushed from the battle, wore their grief clearly in their faces, and their altered eyes gave them the look of angry wildcats. Piran’s whole form was taut with rage.

  “I’m so sorry about Kata,” Kestel said, and the others murmured their agreement.

  Illarion’s expression was disconsolate. “The thing that killed her is dead,” he said in a hollow voice. “It was better to lose her body to the flames than to have that creature savage her.” Blaine could see the depth of the man’s loss in his eyes.

  Kestel pressed Blaine to sit down on a large rock, and she drew a tankard of water from the stream to cleanse his wounds as the men led the horses to the stream to drink. Zaryae sat alone, her arms wrapped around herself, face hidden by her long, dark hair. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

  “I’ll go to her, after she’s had some time to herself,” Kestel murmured so only Blaine could hear. “First, let’s have a look where that thing got you. We can’t have the wound going sour.” Gently, she pulled back the tatters of his pant leg to wash the three deep cuts where the gryp had sliced at him. It stung, and Blaine bit back a curse.

  Kestel sighed. “The best I can do is wash it for now. Once we get to real shelter, I have some medicinal herbs in my bag. They should help.”

  She turned her attention to the gash on his forearm. Blaine reached out to touch her cheek and gently turned her face so she met his gaze. “Thank you,” he said. “I would have gone into the river if you two hadn’t grabbed me.”

  Something flickered in her eyes and she smiled. “Can’t have that,” she murmured. “Without you, the magic is gone for good.” Her voice was light, but her expression gave him to know that she understood just how close a call it had been.

  He folded his hand around hers. “I’m glad you have my back.”

  “You know I do,” she replied, and for a heartbeat she did not pull her hand away. The moment passed and she broke the gaze, returning to the task of cleaning his arm. The gashes were deep, and she took strips from his torn pant leg to bind up the wounds until they could reach the lyceum.

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Blaine asked.

  Kestel shook her head. “No one else got as close as you did. Maybe you should swap your sword for a bow.”

  Blaine grimaced as he tried to stand. “I’d take you up on that, but I’ve always had lousy aim.”

  He looked up to see Illarion standing in front of him. “How far to the lyceum?” the troupe’s leader asked.

  Blaine took a deep breath and shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. After all this time, and the Great Fire, I’m not even certain it’s still standing. I’m hoping we’ll find shelter, and something that makes the trip worth the cost.”

  Illarion nodded. “If there’s something here that could return magic to the world, our loss is small by comparison.” Blaine could see what Illarion’s admission cost, and he nodded. There was nothing he could say.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  N

  iklas Theilsson adjusted the collar of his best shirt and took a deep breath as he stood in front of Glenreith’s massive front door. In all the years his friendship with Blaine had made him a regular visitor at the manor house, he never remembered feeling awkward. I’ve put a lot of miles on my boots since then, he thought. I barely recognize the boy I used to be.

  Edward, Glenreith’s seneschal, opened the door. “Welcome, Master Niklas,” he said. Niklas nodded his head.

  “Good morning, Edward.” To Niklas’s eye, Edward had always been old. He seemed unchanged from Niklas’s memories of childhood visits, although more than twenty years must have lined his features, whitened his hair, or made his rail-thin body more stooped.

  “Lady Judith is expecting you in the parlor,” Edward said. “Thank you for giving Master Carr leave from the camp to visit. He came by earlier this morning.”

  Niklas smiled. “I’ve offered to give him leave to stay here, but he says that, for now, he prefers the camp.”

  Edward’s face betrayed no emotion. “Ah. Very well. If he changes his mind, his room is as he left it.” He stopped in front of the parlor door. “Here we are.” He opened the door and stood aside for Niklas to enter.

  Lady Judith McFadden Ainsworth was seated on a brocade couch near the center of the room. A fire burned in the fireplace, but Niklas remembered that Glenreith never seemed warm enough in the winter.

  Judith welcomed him with a smile and open arms. Her dark hair had a noticeable amount of gray, while worry and hardship had added lines around her eyes and mouth, but she was still quite a good-looking woman. “Niklas! So good to see you. Please, come in and sit down.” She favored him with a kiss on the cheek and hugged him as if reclaiming a lost child. Niklas grinned. He had been a favorite visitor at Glenreith for as long as he could remember. If the downturn in her circumstances worried Judith, she did not show it. She insisted on pouring his tea and pressed a plate filled with small sandwiches and tarts on him as if he had not eaten in days.

  As he ate, Judith settled back in her chair. “I’m in your debt for bringing the boys back to us safely,” she said. “It was quite a shock, you can imagine, when Blaine and his friends showed up unannounced. Like seeing a ghost – but a welcome one!” She sighed. “We’d almost given up on seeing you and Carr again when the war ended and there’d been no word for so long.” It seemed to Niklas that the mention of Carr seemed to take some of the sparkle out of Judith’s eyes.

  “It’s been a long road for everyone,” Niklas replied. He savored the warm tea. It was not the same quality that Judith had favored before the war, but such luxuries were a casualty of hard times. Whatever the mixture, it was better than what he had in the camp, and Niklas was determined to enjoy it.

  Judith was watching him with a gaze that seemed to take in the changes of the last years, and Niklas guessed that she was comparing the reckless boy he had been to the somber soldier he had become. “Thank you for giving Mari the confirmation she needed about Evaret’s death,” she said quietly.

  And withholding what she could be spared knowing, Niklas added silently. Mari did not need to have her dreams haunted with the image of Everet’s staring corpse, of the quarrel that had taken him through the chest, and the mutilations inflicted by the vengeful Merovenian troops. Mari did not need to know those things, but Niklas wished by all the gods that he could stop knowing them. Evaret’s death was just one of hundreds that would haunt Niklas’s sleep forever.

  Niklas ducked his head, afraid Judith might read his thoughts in his eyes. “There are things about the army I enjoyed. Notifying their next of kin isn’t one of them.”

  Judith nodded. “I understand.” She paused. “Congratulations on your promotion to captain.”

  “Thank you,” Niklas said. “Rank doesn’t mean much these days, but I imagine my men will call me ‘Captain’ until we’re all old and gray.” It was his turn to be silent for a moment, and then he set down his cup and leaned forward.

  “I know Blaine’s gone off looking for something he thinks will help bring back the magic,” he said and pushed a lock of dark blond hair out of his eyes. “He was never one for damn-fool quests, so if he thinks it’s possible, it probably is.”

  He drew a breath. “The way I see it, I’ve got two priorities now: to keep Glenreith safe, and to keep Blaine alive.” He met Judith’s gaze. “He told you that I swore fealty to him?”

  Judith smiled. “He told me. And he was rather chagrined by it, I’ll add. I think he had well and truly put the notion of being lord of anything behind him when he was exiled, and he hasn’t quite made peace with reclaiming the title.”

  Niklas shrugged. “My men needed a purpose. We swore our vows to the king, but the king is dead. These last few months, just getting home alive was cause enough. But most of my men ha
ve no family or fortune to return to, and many of them lost what lands, wives, or children they had to the Great Fire. I was going to make it my business to keep Blaine safe anyhow,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “This just makes it official.”

  “How do you think you’re going to keep Blaine safe?”

  Niklas grimaced. “First, I’ve got to get him to stop riding off without telling anyone.”

  Judith shook her head. “This is Blaine we’re talking about.”

  “I’m proposing that I split my men into two forces. One will stay as a garrison to protect Glenreith. This quest of his has stirred up some powerful enemies. We want to keep them from posing a threat to the manor.”

  Niklas took a deep breath. “The other force will back up Blaine. Provide the protection that he didn’t have at Mirdalur.” That almost got him killed, he thought but didn’t say aloud.

  Judith nodded, and all levity had vanished from her manner. Niklas saw the glint of intelligence and will in her eyes that had enabled her to carry the beleaguered manor through hardship. “I agree, but can you persuade Blaine?”