A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  As his self-assurance grew, his thoughts returned to Meara and her escape from the Miandrogas. The amosa’s bite was lethal, but the venom wouldn’t work fast enough to let them forget their prisoner. Even drunk, Miandrogas were cunning.

  Had she used her trick from the alley? That little ruse was a shock. One minute she was in front of him, the next her outline blurred and evaporated. Even Orlan couldn’t do that. It was magic. Meara had to be one of his people. But how? He had never heard of a child stolen from the forest. He shook his head. No, that wasn’t true. No one knew what happened to the women and children stolen by the Miandrogas.

  He shook his head again, more slowly. She looked like Helligon, but everything about her screamed walled town. Forest people knew silence was their best protection. Meara moved through the bush as if she were the size of Metreo.

  Kieran pushed onward, his thoughts rolling through his head like the water boiling past the rocks. Doggedly, he hopped and twisted, never taking his eyes off the river banks as he searched for a place to leave the river. The steep edges on either side looked as if they’d been hacked out by a blunted knife. Trees teetered over the sides, leaning drunkenly over the water. Their thick roots tangled together, their heavy boughs trailing through the passing water like tattered streamers. Would Meara have used the vines to pull herself out? He shook his head. No, she wouldn’t have the strength to climb from the river that way.

  Overhead Murkwing circled lazily, content to watch. The symbol of the house of Helligon was the raven. Was the bird’s presence a sign his luck was about to change?

  It couldn’t get any worse. At least he hadn’t seen signs of pursuit. He frowned. That didn’t mean Metreo wasn’t behind him. The big man was the type to get the job done, no matter the consequences, the kind you wanted on your side, working with you. What if Metreo found Meara before he did?

  His stomach felt hollow. The Mage had an army of hired killers—men who traded their skills to anyone willing to pay gold. Those men were the easy ones to deal with. When the challenge got too great, they moved on to greener pastures. It was the others that worried Kieran—the shadowed ones. They lived in the dark city of Laurana and practiced the twisted teachings of the Mage. Spurred on by the Mage’s magic, they would never stop hunting the egg. The tighter their bond to the Mage, the greater their evil. Which was Metreo? Kieran’s blood chilled.

  Murkwing screeched, pushed off from the tree and drifted towards him. His wings brushed Kieran’s shoulder. Kieran stumbled backwards, stepping off the rock into the shallows. The silky slide of feathers filled his ears. Murkwing settled onto a leaning tree, his black eyes boring into Kieran’s gray ones.

  “Well, bird?” Kieran muttered. “What do you see?”

  What Kieran saw were tall banks of cut-away clay. Was this where Meara left the river? Around him, giant trees tickled the sky. Their coats of moss dripped down, brushing the ground in a curtain of green. On the edges of the river, tree branches twined together, linking arms, joining the trees in a leafy wall. It was a formidable barrier for a skinny girl from the walled town.

  The faint hopes Murkwing had brought crumbled.

  “What do you see?” he repeated, rubbing his chin, willing himself to see through the bird’s eyes. Could he use his gift of divining to reach out and see what the raven saw? He closed his eyes feeling the water beat past his legs, the current pummeling them. Overhead in the thick canopy, birds twittered, gossiping about the doings of lesser creatures. The sun trailed its heat over his skin, warming his face. He opened his eyes.

  How could she pass this far into the heart of the forest? Had he missed her trail? Had she already climbed out of the water? Worse, had she drowned and her body washed away?

  The raven called again, impatient now. It stretched its wings and strode the length of the branch. Kieran pushed away the dark thoughts and looked back at the bank. Why had the bird stopped here? He stepped closer to the shore fighting to keep his balance against the weight of the water. He slipped and stumbled off the smooth rock. Getting his balance, he staggered onto a flat sand bar, dropped his pack and bow to the ground and bent to catch his breath. Murkwing settled onto a tree overlooking the river.

  Long dangling roots formed a series of twisting ropes leading to a spot where the bank sagged back from the water. The clay was chopped into an uneven stair leading upward. At its base, the ground was riddled with footprints. This was where she had left the river. New energy flowed through him. He plowed through the thick sand at the river’s edge, impatient to be on his way. He would find her now. The mud guaranteed she would leave tracks behind her.

  Chapter 21

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Another hairy dust mote creature jumped from a branch and darted across Meara’s path. Its high-pitched screeching hurt her ears. She flinched, ducking the wad of brown goo it tossed in her direction. The goo exploded harmlessly on a nearby tree trunk. Meara’s lip curled in disgust. She no longer thought the creatures were cute. They were vile and revolting.

  Dancing back from the splatter of another goo missile, she tripped on a gnarled root, pitching forward. With her hands wrapped inside her ratty cloak, she had no way of protecting herself. Twisting, she fell heavily onto her side, her arms enfolded protectively around the egg. Had she landed on it? The thought sent a series of jitters flooding through her. She sucked in a deep breath against a sudden flood of faintness. Half-buried in the leafy carpet of the forest floor, she watched the world spin sickeningly before her eyes.

  “Again?” the egg said plaintively. Clearly, it believed she was trying to scramble it.

  Smothering a groan, Meara dug her hands into the wet earth and levered herself to a sitting position. She didn’t bother answering. The egg was as short-tempered as she was, maybe hungry too, she admitted as her stomach growled. Aside from the strip of jerky and a handful of withered berries, she had eaten nothing since the day before. Even in town, she had never gone hungry for so long. Shay Lann would always feed her if she was desperate enough to ask.

  Thought of the innkeeper’s wife brought a faint smile to her tired face. Shay Lann always said that if she didn’t change her ways, she would find herself cast out and forced to survive in the forest. She would have enjoyed the chance to say, I told you so.

  Another growling gurgle turned her thoughts to her stomach. She had to find something to eat or she wouldn’t be able to evade the two men. Not hearing signs of pursuit meant nothing. The men liked playing tag. She shivered remembering the way they had slid from the underbrush after her last escape. Even Kieran would have a hard time winning their version of the game.

  The egg was silent again. Did it sense she was weakening, or was its absence from the nest making it sick? What did dragon eggs need to survive? Kieran hadn’t said. No, she never gave him a chance to tell her about the egg and the dragon. She wished she had spent more time listening and less time arguing.

  “Egg, are you there?” she whispered.

  “I am here. What do you want?”

  The egg sounded more cranky than weak. Meara sighed and tried again.

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “I must return to my mother. Take me back to the nest.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Meara lapsed into silence. The egg didn’t need to tell her it had to return to its nest. She could feel its loss of strength as if it were her own. She stared at the trees. Their tops brushed the sky, their thick branches hiding the gray above. Aside from the creatures living in the thick canopy, the forest was stiff and silent. She looked at the faces of the trees. They stared woodenly back, offering no hint of the way through. Her stomach burned.

  She hated this lack of power. She might as well be a pampered brat left too long on the streets. A flare of temper burned through her s
elf-pity. She wasn’t a pampered brat, and she would survive. The egg needed her to keep it alive. She would stay strong and get it back to its nest.

  But—she chewed her bottom lip and looked around—it would help if she knew where she was. To her, the forest looked the same in every direction. For all she knew, she was walking in circles.

  If she had Kieran’s gift of divining, she could set herself on the right path. How did he do it? Did he clear his mind and it just happened, like her trick of vanishing? Or was it magic? She shrugged. She would try her way and see what happened. Closing her eyes tightly, she touched the amulet and wished for the ability to see through the trees. Tiny sounds blossomed out of the silence, the clicking sound of a squirrel, the soft whoop of a black and white bird, the throaty creak of a tailed frog. The noises no longer made her jump. As long as they continued, she was safe. That . . . worm . . . when it awoke, even the birds fell quiet.

  The rain washed down on her face with icy fingers. She opened her eyes and hunched her shoulders against the drops. No, she didn’t have Kieran’s gift. She only had herself.

  The green tendril of a heart-shaped leaf stirred at her feet. The vine drifted gently past her ankles. She frowned. Maybe a breath of wind powered the faint movement, but there wasn’t any wind. She watched the leaves curled languidly into tight rolls. Kieran had warned her of this plant, but he had warned her of many things.

  “Heartvine,” she muttered, her frown clearing. “Don’t even think it,” she told the plant, grabbing hold of a thick branch lying near her hand.

  The vine lifted delicately, hovering above the ground like a viper, watching her. Meara jumped to her feet. The plant’s attack came too late. With a swipe of the branch, she severed the shoot. The vine hissed and retreated with a faint ripple of leaves.

  She gripped the stick tightly between her fingers. A slow smile worked across her mouth, and she laughed.

  “Look egg, we did it! That was heartvine. I killed it!” She looked for more of the creeping vine but saw none. Vaguely disappointed, she rested the end of the stick on the forest floor beside her bare foot. So what if it was only a plant, she had defeated it. She had done it, not Kieran. The egg grumbled in acknowledgement.

  She was lost, but she wasn’t powerless. She was a hero like in the musician’s tales. She even had a dragon, a baby dragon, but still a dragon. Although—the smile faded—she wouldn’t be receiving much help from this particular dragon. It couldn’t see past the walls of its shell. She was on her own.

  She blew a curl out of her eyes and gathered the egg into its pocket. Standing in one place gawking at the trees wouldn’t get the job done.

  “Come on, egg,” she muttered. “We have a long way to go.” They would let luck choose their direction.

  Chapter 22

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Kieran slowed his pace and glanced at the sky. Shadows marched across the forest—deepening shade of gray and black. Good—shadows meant the sun was winning out over the clouds. Until now, those clouds had floated by on lonely wings weeping tears of rain on his head. Frustration was rapidly eroding the tenuous hold he had kept on his worry.

  So far, he had easily followed Meara’s tracks, but more and more, he saw signs that showed her strength was fading. Broken bush and churned up mud marked places she had fallen or gotten lost and had to back track to find the trail.

  He dropped to one knee beside a muddy print, and his fingers drummed restlessly on the ground beside it. When he found her, would she be able to run—to keep ahead of Metreo?

  In the silence of the glades, he could feel the big man breathing down his neck. Metreo was out there, creeping closer. He wouldn’t rest until he’d finished the job. If he were the Mage’s follower in belief as well as pay, that meant until death—maybe even beyond. Kieran scowled and straightened, peering into the darkness of the trees.

  Rumor said the Mage’s followers swore a blood oath that granted him power over their souls. If that were true, Metreo could be impossible to defeat. Kieran closed his eyes and shook the thoughts away. He wouldn’t give in to panic. Meara was close. He had to focus on that.

  Right now, though, he needed a break from running. This glade was as good a place as any to sit and catch his breath. Rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the foliage in bars of light. The ancient magic was strong here, and the meechan bushes held a bumper crop of berries. Kieran stripped a handful of the waxy yellow fruit from a spiny branch and filled his pockets.

  The sun’s warmth heated the top of his head and steam rose up in waves from the wet wool of his cloak. Mechanically, he picked the berries thinking about Meara and the egg. A bee buzzed in his ear. He swatted it away. It returned, whirring angrily. A surge of energy coursed through the bristly bough of the meechan bush stinging his hand. Kieran cursed and dropped the branch. He rubbed his palms over the thighs of his leggings. Goose bumps marched up his arms.

  “You must come.” The call sounded far away.

  “Orlan?” he asked tentatively. Was it a distant echo of Orlan’s earlier call? Sometimes that happened.

  His question went unanswered. He rolled his shoulders trying to work the knots free. He was jumping at shadows, letting his exhaustion confuse the mind link and muddle his tracking senses. The buzz returned. This time it was loud and angry. Its strength made the hairs on his neck stand up. Kieran turned towards the sound. He knew what it was. He’d heard it in the walled city when Rahdon captured Meara—when the egg screamed.

  He shoved his pack onto his back. The egg and Meara were inseparable. Where one was, the other would be waiting. He raced towards the sound, leaping low-lying patches of heartvine and broken branches. The tiny tendrils of vine curled towards him, flattening like burst balloons when their strikes missed.

  “Come quickly.” The words were louder.

  A staccato chirp rattled the silence. Kieran changed direction, moving towards it. The trees thinned, breaking open to a u-shaped clearing. Meara stood at its center. He stopped and scanned the shadows for danger.

  “Meara,” he called softly.

  Her head snapped towards him.

  “Kieran. Don’t come any closer.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  A rumbling snort answered his question. He spun towards it and his heart plummeted—a corbin. With agonizing slowness, he shrugged his bow free and keeping his eyes fixed on the hulking monster, teased his thickest arrow free of the quiver. He notched the arrow to the bowstring. The corbin lifted its warty snout, sampling the air. Its breath grunted in and out. Sensing Kieran, it turned towards him. Its tiny eyes narrowed as it rumbled a warning growl.

  “Don’t move!” Kieran called. His voice was hoarse with fear.

  Meara’s eyes swung towards him. They were dark smudges in the pale oval of her face. Her mouth worked silently.

  The corbin barked and raked a furrow in the mud. A shower of stones and dirt pelted the brush. Everywhere were signs that this was nest territory. The people of the forest would have seen the signs and given the area wide berth. To Meara the marks meant nothing.

  The corbin’s tear-shaped nostrils quivered. It swung its head towards Kieran. Its black eyes held a look of uncanny intelligence. One floppy ear twitched as it settled its weight onto its back legs—ready to charge. Kieran cursed silently and took a step towards Meara, trying to see what she was holding in her arms.

  “What is that?” he asked incredulous. “A corbin kit. You took a corbin kit from its nest. Did you think it was a kitten for you to cuddle?”

  He looked back at the corbin. For now, it appeared content to await his next move.

  “Put it down . . . slowly!” he cautioned as she hastened to follow his order.

  His finger tightened on the bow. He drew in a deep breath and willed away the ragged tremor in his fingers.

  Me
ara’s eyes stayed fixed on the grunting monster. Carefully, she lowered the tiny kit to the forest floor. The kit squeaked and butted her hands. Gently she nudged it towards its mother.

  Holding his breath, Kieran watched it stumble forward. It stopped and snuffled at a pile of fallen leaves, digging its snout into the mud and blowing the clinging dirt from its nostrils. A stick caught its attention and it ambled that way, growling and pouncing in mock attack. It reached the edge of the bush and stopped.

  Kieran waited. Corbins were unpredictable. The people of the forest gave them wide berth. If that wasn’t possible, you shot fast and climbed the nearest tree.

  The adult corbin coughed again. Its fangs glinted dull amber in the sunlight. The kit lifted its head and whistled.

  “Back away,” Kieran whispered. “But don’t take your eyes off of it.” He braced the bow, ready to launch the arrow. That was the last thing he wanted to do. The scream of a wounded corbin would bring the entire pack down on them.

  The kit reached its mother’s feet and her gaze flickered back to the humans. Against the muddy hide of the adult, the kit’s fluff was soft and buttery.

  The seconds stretched. Kieran’s fingers trembled on the bow and sweat slicked his palms. The corbin dropped its snout, snuffling the kit. It looked up and met Kieran’s eyes. The directness of its gaze made Kieran’s hand wobble. Grunting, the corbin turned its back and released a blast of yellow urine. The urine steamed in the cool air. With a last contemptuous bark, the corbin plunged into the underbrush breaking a fresh trail for its kit.

  “Perdu! Merdon!” Meara cursed. “What was that?”

  “A corbin,” Kieran answered. He threw his bow to the ground and jammed the arrow back into the quiver. “I told you. I warned you. Do you never listen?” he demanded, glaring at her.