A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  “I have heard of creature bonds,” Kieran said. “I knew a man who found a baby corbin. He left it in the forest once it grew to have fangs, but he still visits it secretly.”

  Meara stared at him. “The raven is a symbol of the dark.”

  He looked skeptical.

  “Aren’t you afraid? Their feathers show the blackness of their souls. Don’t you fear he will carry news of you to Laurana? The Dark Lord sees through his eyes.” She was mocking him. She couldn’t stop herself. Likely he shared the beliefs of the townspeople and had already judged her an outcast.

  Murkwing screeched again.

  “Your friend wants us to move,” Kieran answered, standing, and then ducking to accommodate the low roof of the shelter.

  The egg was no longer purring. It rumbled with an impatient mutter. Meara climbed slowly to her feet, wrapping the egg in the make-shift pocket of her cloak.

  “Come.” Kieran stepped away from the shack and straightened to full height. “We must find the First. He will know how to sever the bond.”

  “You go find your first, or second, or even third. I’m going to find breakfast.” Meara bent and pulled a small tattered leather bag from amongst the rags that served as her blankets. She slung the cord over her head and tucked it inside her cloak before tossing Kieran a mischievous smile.

  “Good bye, Kieran.” She took a slow, spinning step and passed from sight, leaving him behind, gaping at the emptiness in front of him. Her muffled laugh echoed through the alley.

  Chapter 10

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Meara pushed away from the wall as a faint smile softened her face. The look on Kieran’s face was worth using the leather bag, regardless of the nightmares that followed. She skipped a step, her smile widening. She was free—free of bossy males who thought they knew it all—free to deal with the egg the way she wished. The dragon’s egg. She laughed. Did he think her a fool? A dragon’s egg like the old stories. She rolled her eyes and touched the embroidered leather sack at her neck. She had drained it of whatever trick it held. If she met Zarnache, she would have to trust her wits to overcome the watch.

  During the night, the alley had degenerated to a quagmire of slimy mud. She picked her way through thick piles of muck, wincing as a particularly thick lump of something collapsed wetly under her foot. You would think there was a finite supply of mud in the world, she mused. Maybe this very alley was the source of Vendonne’s seemingly endless supply. It didn’t matter, wherever the thick mud grew, it made treacherous footing. She kept her eyes locked on the ground in front of her. Still looking down, she emerged from the mouth of the alley and collided with a passing farlander.

  Lurching back on her heels, she gazed up at a vision of manly beauty that sent her heart fluttering in her chest. The man’s blue eyes framed by thick black lashes stared down his flawless nose and examined her with a cool stare. A derisive smile tightened the stranger’s lips.

  He had reached out to prevent the collision and his hands still grasped her arms, steadying her. She had never seen hands like his. Each trimmed clean nail formed a perfect oval at the end of his fingers. One of those pale, white hands was now gently stroking her arm. She lifted her eyes to his face and blushed at the look she saw in his eyes. So handsome, she thought, sighing softly. Such soft blonde hair. It tumbled around his face in a cascade of curls ending at the edge of a square jaw that kept him from looking overtly feminine.

  “Careful, sweetheart. It wouldn’t do to have you fall in the mud. Although,” he laughed humorlessly, “it appears you’ve already been rolling in it.”

  Meara’s cheeks burned. She scowled and stepped back. He pulled a soft rag from the pocket of his immaculate cloak and briskly rubbed his hands free of the dirt her touch had brought. Whatever spell his beauty had woven was broken.

  “Well, Rahdon. Who be this?”

  The deep voice rolled over her like gravel swishing in a bucket. Meara pivoted and took a step back. Her eyes rolled upwards to find another farlander. This one towered over her in a solid wall of flesh and bone. He had none of the beauty of his companion, instead his face was heavily tattooed in contrasting sides of black and white. The hard line down the center made it look as though his face was split in two. Spiky metal earrings lined the edges of his ears like links of armor. Rimming his eyes were thick circles of black that made the whites appear brighter.

  Unperturbed by her stare, the man lifted a hand and scratched his nose. Each of his broad fingers was enclosed in a sharply pointed metal ring. Unlike his companion, he wore his long black hair clubbed back in a tight topknot secured with leather cord. Tiny metal ornaments dangled from the ends of the cord.

  Meara backed up feeling as insignificant as a spider underfoot. In the depths of her cloak, the globe shivered and cooled. The fear it would cry out forced her to pretend a calm she didn’t feel.

  She straightened, grateful that the quaking she felt inside didn’t show in her voice.

  “I am Meara,” she said. “Step aside, stranger, so I may pass. I have important errands to run.” She tried to make her voice haughty like the fat lady ordering a task.

  Amusement crinkled the giant’s eyes as a bleak smile tugged up the corners of his hard mouth. Was that regret lurking in his black eyes?

  “Important errands, you say. Hear that, Rahdon? The maid be on an important mission. Perhaps she be taking the treasure she holds so tightly to the market.”

  Meara froze. Too late. A gap in her cloak had revealed the faint glow of the egg. Fingers shaking, she plucked at the opening, trying to pull the frayed edges of cloth together. A giant hand stopped her and gently nudged the fabric aside.

  “A beautiful thing for a beautiful girl,” Rahdon purred, stepping closer to see the egg. “Perhaps you would consider trading what you carry for what we have?”

  “I have nothing to trade. Be gone. I must hurry.” She took a step, but Rahdon shifted with her.

  “No, stay. I think that what I have will benefit you more than what you hold.”

  He bent, shouldered his pack free and dropped it to the ground beside him. Slowly, never lifting his eyes from her face, he unlaced the leather strap keeping the pack closed. A thin smile compressed his lips but failed to reach his eyes. Rahdon dipped one soft hand into the bag and pulled a rag-wrapped object free. Still watching her, he loosened the cloth and held up the object. Blue fire glowed from a fist-sized jewel. The gem’s glow dazzled her, and Meara gaped at the flame. Rahdon smirked.

  The giant rolled his eyes.

  “Give Rahdon the egg, girl, and you are free to go.”

  The egg. The growled words broke through her awestruck silence. She returned to reality. For a moment, as she stared into the flickering flame of the jewel, she wanted to give up the egg. A wave of wariness passed through her. She tried to circle around the smaller man, but he grabbed her wrist in a hard, bruising grasp.

  “Look at me,” Rahdon demanded.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She met his gaze and shuddered. Rahdon’s eyes burned with the same blue fire of the jewel’s flame. Fear growled through her. Meara tried to pull her arm away.

  “Give me the egg.” Rahdon’s face twisted into a snarl. “You little fool. You won’t see nightfall if you refuse.” He tightened his grip on her arm, his nails biting into her flesh.

  Desperate, Meara twisted, trying to break loose. He was stronger than her. He would tear the egg away from her.

  “Rahdon,” the gravelly voice interrupted, “Company comes.”

  Rahdon released her and shoved the jewel back into its wrappings. He turned to face the approaching riders, his thin lips creased in a false smile of welcome.

  Bridles jingling, the mounted men reined to a halt. The horses’ breath hung like smoke in the cold air. Condensation misted their soft whiskers.

  “Ah, Meara N
o-name. I see you bring trouble.” Zarnache stared down at her from the back of a tall gray gelding. He looked tired and angry, his abrupt temper shorter than usual.

  Meara didn’t answer. Any word from her would have the effect of kicking a nest of hornets. Be silent. Judge your words before speaking. The gift of silence brings reward. Where had she heard that? No matter, the words were good counsel and their caution sealed her lips.

  Zarnache grunted. Swinging his leg over the high back of the saddle, he descended ponderously, grimacing as his leg slipped beneath him.

  “What goes on here? Does this gutter rat trouble you?” His harsh voice reflected his mood. For Zarnache to have stirred from his spot by the fire so early in the morning, someone had committed a very big crime.

  Rahdon’s eyes shone earnestly. He was all smiling charm. Beside him, the big man loomed silently, letting Rahdon steer the conversation. Meara would have preferred it the other way. The blonde man was evil. She could feel the taint. She wished she hadn’t wasted the trick of the bag on Kieran. She would give anything to vanish right now.

  “This young . . . lady . . .” Rahdon’s tone made a mockery of the word, “has something that belongs to us. I don’t wish to name her thief, but . . .”

  The but left no doubt that was exactly what he was calling her. A flash of movement pulled her eyes from Zarnache’s thick brow line. Murkwing soared from his perch on a nearby building. The tiny movement of her head drew the attention of a watchman and he shifted in his saddle to scan the sky.

  “A raven!” He whipped his bow from his back and fetched an arrow. Twang! The arrow cut the air surely, carving an arc towards the bird. Before the arrow had reached its target, the man was turning back to face the other riders. A triumphant smirk stretched his lips.

  “Murkwing! No—” Meara screamed. Her heart clenched as Murkwing plunged and dropped. Clutching the egg, she watched through tear-filled eyes as a single inky feather swirled to the ground. Murkwing rallied, bobbed erratically and changed direction. His raucous scold faded as he flew from sight.

  “Too late, Ronan par Eilon. You missed. That’s two today,” a watchman needled the archer.

  The confident smile became a scowl.

  “The wind spoiled my aim,” Ronan defended himself. “Next time, the Dark One won’t be so lucky.”

  For nothing! They would kill the bird for sport. Hate and anger blinded her. She pushed them away. To win out, she had to be smart.

  “Enough.” Zarnache wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat. “What do you have, girl?”

  Meara tried to back away, but Rahdon pushed her forward.

  “Show him!” he said. He yanked the fabric of her cloak free to reveal the egg.

  The egg glowed gently, sending soft shades of orange flickering in the gray light of morning. The restless movements of the horses stilled. The egg was calm, but she sensed it was wary.

  “What thing is this?” Zarnache whispered in wonder.

  The rocky voice of the giant broke the silence. “This is a jewel belonging to Jahkon, the Mage of Remarne. Do you seek to stop us from recovering his property?” The words dropped from his mouth like boulders.

  “The Mage! How can this be?” Zarnache shouted in disbelief.

  Horses plunged and reared in reaction to their nervous riders tightening reins at the sound of the dark mage’s name.

  “He lies. The Mage is far off in the land of Laurana!” one rider yelled, pulling back his mount.

  “Give them the jewel!” another cried.

  The scared call from the watchman would have made Meara laugh if she hadn’t realized the danger she was in.

  “Did I not say enough?” Zarnache shouted over his men. His fist punched the sky for silence. “What evil is this? How does a possession of the Mage come to be in the hands of a street rat?” He stared at the egg as though he faced a twisting serpent.

  Meara wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She wished Murkwing could swoop down and carry her to safety. She wished the globe really was a dragon—a big fire-breathing one. She closed her eyes and opened them again. Nothing had changed.

  “Do you protect this girl and risk the Mage’s wrath?” Rahdon taunted. “The Mage keeps his possessions like a lion his young. You would stand in his way? Punish the thief.”

  “Seize the girl!” Zarnache ordered.

  “But Captain, we hunt a killer, not a street rat,” protested a heavily cloaked soldier. “I do not agree with this work. We should find the killer of the barmaid, not involve ourselves in a simple theft. Take the jewel and let the street rat go.”

  “Do you command the watch? We will speak later, Rovan par Wielle.”

  The soldier shook his head and backed his horse from the circle. “I will have nothing to do with the Mage of Remarne and his evil.” He kicked his horse to a trot and disappeared into the gloom.

  “Who will carry out the duties of the watch?” Zarnache demanded. His face glowed red with fury.

  Two men tied off their reins and prepared to dismount. They exchanged glances and sheepish shrugs as they swung from their saddles. The rest of the guard stayed where they were, distancing themselves from the events. The men on foot stepped in front of Meara, cutting off her view of the street.

  Fear strangled her. The tiny breaths she drew into her lungs made her dizzy. She shrank away from the men and clutched the egg tighter. Her panic spread to it and the egg shook like a leafless tree in a winter wind. Twisting to keep the men in front of her, Meara edged backwards. The watchmen crowded closer.

  “What! The men of my watch are afraid to arrest one useless piece of street trash? Must I call for reinforcements?” Zarnache bellowed.

  Leather squeaked and metal clinked as four more men climbed from their mounts. Their faces reflected shades of amusement, irritation and cruelty. Which one of them would champion an outcast? None. Meara knew that as surely as she breathed. They would tear the egg from her and toss her out the gates of the town.

  Courage. The word sounded in her head. She stopped. Courage. Faintly, the voice came again. She drew in a deep breath. The egg was hers to protect. She gathered herself, ready to move when the time was right.

  “Release the girl!”

  Silence washed over the group. Heads snapped in the direction of the voice.

  Kieran stepped from the shadows onto the street. His mouth was set in a hard line. His hands hung loosely at his sides.

  “Ah, the young master. You would champion a street rat?” the giant taunted. Amusement lurked in his black eyes.

  “I would not pick on one as helpless as a girl,” Kieran responded.

  The giant shifted. His gaze hardened as his eyes turned to agate.

  Kieran turned back to face the men. “Release her. I will take her from your town.”

  “Bah! This is ridiculous. Seize the girl and take her to the gaol. We will sort this out free of the rain,” Zarnache ordered. He had reached the end of his patience.

  “Give me the egg!” Rahdon closed on Meara.

  He grabbed her arm, but she pulled away, shifting her weight and catching him off balance. Rahdon lurched towards her as Meara lunged, lashing out with her foot. Ducking down, she spun in the other direction.

  “Leave her!” Kieran changed his stance. His voice rang with cold clarity as his arm rose to the sky. What he said was lost in a crash of thunder. A bolt of lightning split the gray sky and sizzled to earth in a flash of brilliance.

  Meara staggered. Her ears rang from the echo of the crack. Spots of light danced before her eyes. Around her, men lurched. Horses screamed and reared. Metreo clapped his massive hands to his studded ears and blinked. Zarnache cursed and yelped scrabbling backwards. The smell of burning wood and smoke followed him. His wooden leg trailed a line of sparks.

  A hand clutched Meara’s arm and dragged her clear of the men.

  “Run!” Kieran shouted.

  She needed no urging. Holding the egg tightly, she followed Kieran’s lead and sp
rinted free of the melee.

  Chapter 11

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  “Stop, I can’t run . . . anymore. We must hide . . . where Zarnache won’t find us.”

  Meara staggered to a stop. Her lungs burned and her heart threatened to pound through her chest wall. Blindly she reached out and snagged the back of Kieran’s cloak tugging him to a halt.

  “No. We have to leave Vendonne.” He shook off her fingers. “Metreo won’t stop until he finds the egg.”

  Meara barely heard him. She was leaning forward, her hands resting on her legs as she gasped for air. Her sides burned as her breath exploded past her lips in hard pants. The run had taken more from her than she cared to admit. She grabbed her stomach and tried to work past the growling cramp in her side. Next to her, Kieran waited impatiently. He looked as if he’d barely broken past a trot.

  She swallowed against the dryness closing her throat.

  “What you did back there? It was you, wasn’t it?” she said.

  She thought she still smelled the smoke from Zarnache’s burning wooden leg. Surely only magic could produce a lightning strike like that. Her skin crawled. What did she really know about the farlander? Was he a danger to her and the egg?

  “It worked to free you,” Kieran answered, watching her warily.

  “You conjured fire from the sky? Are you a wizard?” She straightened and raked him with a skeptical glance.

  “No . . . but my brother is.” Kieran shrugged. “He taught me a few tricks. The lightning was a diversion.”

  “Diversion! You burnt Zarnache’s leg out from under him. You call that a diversion? The watch will hunt us to the ends of the town,” she muttered, turning her back on him.

  “That was an accident. It doesn’t always work the way I expect it to. Sometimes I only get—” He stopped.