The War of Embers

by James Duvall

  "I'd be worried about the fire," Imre said, slowly collecting his wits. "But the wall's solid stone, and someone stole the curtains three nights ago."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, they're certainly gone," he said glumly.

  "About the three nights ago.”

  Imre blinked a few times in surprise. "Err well I guess I'm not. I've been sleeping whenever I feel tired and I suppose I count each of those as a night. You must be Kaidira."

  Kaidira arched an eyebrow over a bright sapphire eye. In the blight of the Cold they shown like candles with cold blue flames. The chilling effect was palpable, and Imre immediately found himself wishing he hadn't looked directly into them.

  "Of course I am," Kaidira said, "unless there is another werewolf in service to the church whom I have somehow not met?"

  "You were just a young girl back then..." Imre whined. "You can hardly blame me for not recognizing you. You're not even the first werewolf in here this week, or the second. First lady wolf though, I suppose."

  Kaidira put her hand to her mouth and snickered into it, covering her fanged grin. "I suppose that's fair enough. I should have worn my robes but I needed to blend in going through the portal. Sorry if I gave you a fright."

  Imre sighed wistfully. After the last few weeks, the sudden appearance of a werewolf at the church seemed to fall somewhere in the lower half of frightening things that had darkened his door. Images of the big demonic creature dropping out of the sky to do battle with the Keeper of Light still haunted his sleep.

  "It's quite alright," he said. "Can I get you anything?"

  “I am fine, Imre. How are you?” Kaidira asked. She smiled with her eyes and avoided letting her gaze rest on his for too long. Imre noticed this gradually and felt sorry that he had looked away in fear. What a life the werewolf must lead...

  “I'm... a little tired,” Imre confessed and led her inside. “But things have been going well. I thought... I thought the city would be abandoned. I was going to go as well, but I find I am not short of callers, even with home so far behind. The Lord's work is never done.”

  “News traveled swiftly,” Kaidira said. She looked up at the image that had caught his eye. The Keeper of Light standing on a mountainside, looking down at the world she was pledged to protect. “They say Sacrys herself appeared and lead the battle.”

  “She did,” Imre said solemnly.

  “That must have been a sight to behold,” the priestess said softly. She looked toward the damaged tower where the Keeper of Light had appeared, flashing with light and holy fire.

  “Perhaps one day?” Imre encouraged.

  “Perhaps.” Kaidira smiled again. “Seeing your fair share of pilgrims?”

  “Many. Also explorers, treasure hunters, thieves and scoundrels...” He stopped and looked her in the eye. “Am I being replaced?”

  The priestess shook her head. “Certainly not.”

  “Then... why have you come?”

  “I was in Camden hunting warlocks. I believe that Sundor Tower was their target. I was surprised when I didn't find you among the refugees in Andrlossen. So I came to see about your welfare.”

  While warlocks would normally have grabbed his attention like a noose about the throat, recent events had had a transformative effect on the inner clockwork of Imre's mind and he skipped over that part entirely.

  “I appreciate it," he said. "You're the first I've seen in a while. A long while.”

  “I fear for your safety, Imre," said Kaidira plainly. "The church is not defensible and there are dangerous men about.”

  Imre brightened and visibly relaxed all at once. “Then you'll be glad to hear that I'm moving. Into the keep. The Shankari Guard are fortifying the towers and they've offered me some space to set up. Just a week or so. I already had all the valuables removed.”

  Kaidira nodded. She turned a slow circle, taking in the small church. She hadn't seen the place in years. “You'll do well here, Imre. I envy you.”

  “You would be the first,” he said, then chuckled to himself. Kaidira embraced him tightly. It caught him off guard and for a moment he was so chilled that he didn't immediately return the embrace.

  “I will keep you in my prayers,” she said, pulling back from him til he could see the smile in her eyes.

  “And I you,” he said. “Do you have a place to stay? I've got a couple guest rooms no one's using. You could have one of them for as long as you need.”

  “Thank you, but I think I might be departing this evening. You have everything well in hand and you don't need a werewolf scaring away your parishioners.”

  “Kaidira... you might find yourself a bit ehm..." Imre searched for the right words, trying to measure life up from the werewolf's perspective and finding himself quickly lost in a labyrinth of complications.

  "The Cold is not a place for the soft sorts of people. Things are different here. A werewolf is... is..."

  Imre's mind hit a brick wall, and he reeled for a moment, trying to find a palatable resolution to his hanging words.

  "Ordinary?" Kaidira asked, peeking out through the door. A hooded man hurried by in the company of an oversized raccoon with ravenesque wings as broad and bold as an eagle's.

  "That's a good way to put it. The table is different out here. You go into a shop to pick up a loaf of bread and some cheese and there's a man with a silver crossbow standing in line in front of you and a gargoyle working the counter."

  What followed was a rare glimpse at a look of genuine shock and surprise on a werewolf's face. "A... gargoyle? Selling bread?"

  "And cheese," Imre amended helpfully. It occurred to him that just a month ago he would probably have been stiff and mechanical around the werewolf her entire visit, but was now carrying on with her about sundries as though she were a regular patron and not a nightborne creature that could disembowel him twice in as many seconds. Perhaps it was the Cold, or perhaps it was that her eyes had shrunk down to little azure marbles as she tried to work out a gargoyle making change for customers.

  “I will try to remember that," she said, "Have you seen the caravan? I thought I might go take a look.”

  “I haven't seen it, but everyone's talking about it," said Imre. "I hear its from Sylmar.”

  Kaidira nodded along with him. “That's what I hear. Come to Ryvarra to trade. Imagine that, you're a trading post between two different worlds. No doubt they'll have a dozen priests to assist you by the end of the year.”

  ***

  The Sylmarrian caravan snaked through the market square like a giant caterpillar and the masses thronged about it like hungry ants. Kaidira wandered along the meandering sprawl with her hood down. For a werewolf, it was a rare opportunity to walk around in their natural form without fear of discovery. A few still gave her a wide berth, but most stopped just long enough to look her in the eye and moved on with little more than a shrug. Smiling and waving to everyone she met, the werewolf felt a rare sense of fellowship. These were the souls that had endured hardship, the bright lights that shone in dark places, the outcast and the forlorn and the survivors. Yes, these were her people and she belonged among them.

  Kaidira's revelry ended when a gruff looking man grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to have a look at her. He wore a hat that looked like it had been trampled on the road for a few days and, judging by his scrunched up nose, he might have been wearing it at the time. It was pulled down so low over his face that she had to wonder if he could even see out.

  “How much for the silver?” he barked, extending a stubby finger toward the dragon pendant around her neck.

  Kaidira's eyes drifted down to the silver holy symbol resting against her chest.

  “It's not... Are you touched?” she asked, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. For a moment she groped for words and finally came up with the obvious.

  “Wh- but... I am a werewolf!” she protested in a voice that was hard to tell if it was disbelief or outright indignation that he had somehow o
verlooked this obvious problem with his attempt at a transaction.

  “How much?” he repeated unabashed. “I'll give you three gold sovereigns for it.”

  “It's worth twice that!”

  “Four and three silvers?”

  “It is not for sale,” Kaidira said in a tone that brooked no argument. Her hands on her hips and a low growl behind her voice that told the broker it was time to move along, and he did, right on down the row. She watched as he started the same process over with a man carrying a bow, confidently trying to buy it off him for a fraction of its worth. It was right about then she felt a gentle tugging on her pack. Spinning around she found herself looking down at a creature she had never seen before. It looked a raccoon, standing nearly four feet tall with wings black as night. He wore nothing more than a loincloth and carried a spear that was little more than a wooden stick with a sharpened rock tied to one end. Confronted, he pointed the primitive weapon at her and began to growl.

  “...you have got to be joking,” Kaidira mused, pushing the spear aside. The racri barked something she didn't understand and jabbed at her with the stick. Kaidira growled, curling her lip back to show some teeth. The racri's courage disintegrated as its pupils shrank to little pinpoints of black in bright yellow pools. It broke away and ran, pushing and shoving its way back to the caravan amidst a chorus of chuckles. It darted under one of the carts and disappeared into the shadows. Even sharp werewolf eyes couldn't detect where it had gone. Kaidira was quick to gather herself, but found that no one was paying attention anymore. The dull roar of mercantilism at work had returned and no one had time for anyone without a handful of coins to be rid of.

  “Are you alright?” someone asked. Kaidira found a man watching her from atop one of the carts. He waved. She waved back.

  “I am fine,” she said. Little by little she began to feel very conscious of her pack and held it a little tighter against her back. No one had ever tried to pickpocket her before. Irritating werewolves was unwise. “What was that thing?”

  “Just a racri. They're more or less harmless. 'Less of course you're a stag. But you don't look like a stag.”

  “I am--” she started to say 'not' but... “a werewolf,” she finished slowly, thinking about how many times she had said that in the past hour. It had dawned on her at last that this was not a shocking revelation. They could clearly see what she was, though some might not understand the danger she could represent, and the reality was that they simply did not care. There were a thousand different kinds of creatures and countless more curses that could undo a man's life in the span of a heartbeat, what was one more?

  “Then you've nothing to worry about,” he said, flashing her a grin. He slipped down off the cart, landed in a deep crouch and sprang back up, spry as a mongoose. He offered his hand. “Name's Jengus Marsh.” Kaidira shook it heartily.

  “I'm Kaidira Nightsparrow, from Arcamyn, a kingdom of Ryvarra. Are you –“

  “From Sylmar?” he interrupted. “Yeah I am. Everyone's stuck on that today. Kind of sick of it really. There are much more important things about me you know. Would you believe I'm single? But you don't look much my type.”

  “Too hairy?”

  “Nah, the dress. No time for vanity on the road.”

  Kaidira stole a glance down at her clothes. They were not as lavish as more traditional priestly rainments, but the robes were modest and recognizably of the church; simple off-white robes, trimmed in forest green. “I am a priestess. These are traveling robes.”

  “Haven't seen one of them in a while. Cold's pretty nasty though. I guess you figure anyone willing to venture out there must already have a god?” He pointed out through a big gap in the wall where the Soldier's Gate had once stood. Kaidira looked out over the sprawling expanse of the Cold. Dark and teeming with unnatural magic, rolling hills bloomed in sickly brown grasses that seemed withered but would never die. Fort Sundor had come to rest in the Plains of Desolation.

  “I would not want to face the dark alone,” said Kaidira at last, feeling very much like the Cold was looking right back at her.

  Jengus patted the cart he was leaning against. “That's why we've got the caravan. Everyone watches out for everyone else.”

  “And the Racri? Pets?”

  “Stowaways.” He grimaced, glaring down one that was poking its head out beneath the adjacent cart. “They showed up at the portal, boldly announced they were off on some 'grand adventure' and charged right through before anyone could think to do anything about it. Few days later we came across them in the Valley of Mists, only they were a few less, and that confidence was gone. They wouldn't say what happened, but it wasn't hard to guess. Anyway they've been 'protecting' us ever since. Cedric's been a good sport about it. Pays them a few chickens for their services, such as they are. Keeps them from starving til we get home anyway.”

  “That's very charitable.”

  “Cedric's a good man.”

  ***

  Over the doorway of Cedric Carrowin's wagon was a little golden crest with a red gryphon painted across a steel panel in the center. Beneath it was written “In Service of the King” in curvy letters. Such an honor was bestowed on those that served one of the Sylmarrian kings. Only, Cedric Carrowin had never served the king. The wagon's last owner had. Perhaps that was why Cedric had found him slumped on the rickety wooden steps with a knife in his back. Cedric had kept the wagon, and the knife. The steps were cracked and stained with blood and they had been replaced, just as the wagon's owner had. From there his empire had grown.

  Atop the wagon, ensconced in a carved wooden throne, Cedric watched over his kingdom on wheels. He was a shrewd businessman who knew the value of a man's loyalty and so he ruled with an even hand.

  “Donovan!” He called. Donovan was quick to answer, racing out of the wagon as though it were on fire. For a moment Cedric just stared at the wiry little man. He was white as a ghost, though that was not unusual. “Good heavens man, is everything alright?”

  “Yes, sorry sir, this place.. makes me jumpy,” Donovan said. He glanced up at the sky as though fearful it might come crashing down on him if his gaze lingered too long. It had been weeks since he'd last seen daylight and he was paler than ever.

  “There's an advance group leaving tomorrow,” Cedric said. “Why don't you go with them? I need someone with them I can count on.” Donovan was usually a very restrained man, and good with money, but not so much with strange lands possessing more magical anomalies than stars in the sky. Cedric usually found him hard to read, so when he saw Donovan visibly relax he knew it was the right decision.

  “I appreciate it, sir.”

  “Please see to the preparations to depart. I'm going to go see about our new guest.” Cedric rose and started clambering down off the wagon.

  “Sir? It's not coming with us, is it?”

  “Of course it is!” said Cedric without thinking. By the time he got down the ladder and turned back around any trace of color had gone out of Donovan's face. “What's wrong with you?” he asked, looking him up and down.

  “But Sir, I...” Donovan said, shakily.

  “Oh! Not with you,” Cedric said. “Get ahold of yourself man. I'm not letting that thing out of my sight until its sold.”

  “Right, of course, silly me,” Donovan said in a thin voice. Cedric was amazed to see the man make it all the way back into the wagon before releasing the breath he'd been holding onto. He shook his head and struck out to check on his newest procurement.

  Cedric and many of his men had taken up lodgings in an inn near the market. They were the best sort of lodgings: Free. Like so many other buildings in Sundor it had been quickly abandoned. So quickly in fact, that Cedric had found his bed nicely made and an unopened bottle of fine wine on the desk. Cedric, however, was on his way to something more exotic than a bottle of fine wine from another world. His newest treasure lay behind the inn in an old circus cart that had seen better days. Whimsically carved unicorns and lions paraded in spir
als along the well-weathered struts. The once brightly painted figures and features had faded to subtle gray-tones with only a faint taste of the original colors still holding on, peeling and cracked. Cedric picked one of the paint flecks off and dropped it on the ground. No one would be looking at them, not when there was a night seeker sleeping inside. Of course it would not be sleeping when he planned to present it to paying crowds. No, it would be awake and growling, perhaps breathing bright blue nightfire if he could coax the dragon into being a cooperative member of the team.

  Cedric's planning session was interrupted by a new thought. Despite having four men posted, guarding the cart with explicit instructions that no one was allowed near it, when he looked across the sleeping dragon's nose he could see bright blue eyes looking back at him, and he wondered if perhaps he was the first of the five gathered to realize there was a sixth among them.

  “Anyone care to tell me who she is?” he asked without looking away. There was a flurry of activity as his men wheeled around in shock. The wolf girl just waved at him friendly-like.

  “She wasn't there a second ago!” Someone protested.

  “Of course she was there a second ago you idiot!" his compatriot snorted back. "She's there now.”

  “That wasn't the question,” Cedric voiced over them. They all exchanged shrugs and started pointing fingers again. Finally one of them with some aspiration started around the cart.

  “I'll get her!” he shouted. The wolf girl started to back away. She wasn't looking for a fight.

  “No need for that,” Cedric said. His overly eagerly employee dove at the wolf girl anyway and came up with little but air.

  The wolf girl looked down at the young man from atop the cage. He looked up at her and back down where she had been just a half and instant before. He seemed to take this as a challenge and scrambled up the side after her.

  “That's not a good idea...” Cedric warned.

  “I got it!”

  “Son, I do believe that is a werewolf,” Cedric called up to him.