Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  “Blood price? For what?”

  “Twenty of their warriors were slaughtered during a strange explosion.”

  Zireli nearly laughed. “What has that to do with me?”

  “They claim Prince Haegan was there when it happened.”

  Zireli’s breath caught. “Hae—on Ematahri land?”

  “It’s worse—the warriors also said a Lucent Rider helped him escape.”

  Adrroania gasped and stumbled back, a hand going to her mouth.

  “Is that where my son is?” asked Zireli, feeling the rage of a father whose son had been captured. “With the Ematahri?”

  “No, my lord. He was with brigands outside Hetaera, among them an accelerant, who held off Graem and his men while the prince escaped into the hills with the others.”

  “They’re in the hills?”

  “Yes, sire.” Grinda shifted on his feet. “Laejan is there already with a contingent—sent to assist the Ignatieri, as ordered.”

  The Great Falls. “Blazes, has the time for the Kindling already come?” He’d lost track of such matters in his fight to protect the realm. His mind tangled with thoughts he should not be entertaining. Could Haegan be healed, completely? “So, he’s there.”

  “Graem and his men have surely arrived by now, but . . .”

  Zireli knew what was coming. “But they are not able to withstand the accelerant.”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Haegan cannot be allowed to enter the water,” Adrroania said.

  Both men turned to her. Zireli saw her blanched face and took a step toward her. “Are you well, Adrr—”

  “General,” she said, hurrying forward. “You must ride at once and order the men to stop Haegan at all costs.”

  Grinda frowned, darting a look to Zireli. “I . . . beg your mercy, my queen, but as commander of the armies of the Nine, my orders must come from the Fire King.”

  “Today is the Kindling, is it not?” Zireli said, confused about her distress. “Grinda would be too late to stop him anyway, my queen.”

  “Today,” she muttered, her gaze sweeping toward Zireli but never quite meeting his. Was that fear in her eyes ? “I . . . I’ll excuse myself.” She turned and left the chambers. Or was it more like fled?

  Why did she look so afraid? “In light of this claim by the Ematahri, she is right in that Graem should pursue Haegan—”

  “Sire, the Great Falls border the Northlands.”

  “I know the boundaries of the Nine, Kiliv. All the more reason for your son to complete my orders.”

  Another curt nod. “And the queen’s words?” Speculative gray eyes held his. “Not to let him enter the waters? Why would she say that? The transference—I heard it was temporary. Why would she not want the prince healed for good?”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t her meaning.” Zireli wasn’t convinced of the words he spoke. Something about her expression and pallor haunted him. “It would be too late anyway, once your rider reached Graem and the others, to stop him.”

  Kiliv straightened. “Yes, sire. It is several days’ hard ride on the fastest horses.” He bowed low. “However, I’ll send him at once to convey your command.”

  Zireli caught his general’s thick arm. Waited for their eyes to meet. “I want him back, Kiliv.” He looked to the window. “Dawn rises, and with her I want the hope of seeing my son restored—in body and to me.”

  Understanding pushed into the rough lines of the hardened man’s face. “Aye. And—”

  A searing, concussive wave of heat slammed into Zireli. Knocked him backward. Knocked him out.

  • • •

  Shrieking rent the morning. The sound so unusual, so terrifying that Tili launched out of bed. He cared not about the draft and his half-clothed body, only about the agony so clear in the howl of a raqine. Zicri. He flew from his chambers and down the hall. Barefooted, he skidded to the window in the eastern passage that overlooked the den. Leaded glass blurred his view.

  But it could not block him from the fury roiling through the air.

  “What is the matter?” came Gaeord’s concerned question behind him.

  Tili cranked open the window, clearing his view. In the yard below, Klome stumbled backward from the den, using one of the corded whips and aiming it at the opening. Tili’s question froze on his tongue as the wood gate exploded. Shouts and screams ensued. A second later, a raqine soared into the open, roaring.

  The sound vibrated against Tili’s chest.

  Zicri? As the beast angled toward the Klome, it’s familiar red-tinged coat shone—Chima!

  Klome shouted.

  “What is the bother?” It was his father’s voice this time, behind him in the hall.

  Chima contracted, poised to attack, then lunged. Tili held his breath, fearing for his friend’s life. The raqine soared to the top of the den. Then onto another, lower building. She ran, jumping rooftop to rooftop.

  “No,” Tili muttered, jogging along the windows, pacing her. Where was she going? The clearing? “No! No, no, no!” He stopped and pivoted. Checked her neck. Slammed into his father. Rolled around him. “Chima’s going airborne and her collar’s missing!”

  With an enormous shriek-roar came a solid thwack. Her wings. She’d deployed her wings.

  Warning bells from the watchtower rang through the morning.

  “Why in the blazes are they sounding those—”

  “Sir!” a servant shouted from the other end of the long hall. “Unauri—coming down from the Cold One’s Tooth!”

  Tili stared at the flush-faced manservant. “Unauri? You’re sure?”

  His father turned to him. “Get dressed. I’ll need your help.”

  Tili nearly laughed. “What am I to do against giants?”

  • • •

  Haegan. Accelerants. Praegur. Thiel sat huddled against the wall, drenched and shivering. Trembling. She felt a bump against her elbow and pulled her gaze there. Laertes looked up at her, his brown eyes wide and dripping with water. No, not water. Tears.

  She slipped an arm around his shoulder.

  “Wh—what was that?” His teeth chattered from the cold and wet.

  Her body convulsed, the temperature much worse here, hidden from the rising sun and warmer air. She couldn’t answer his question. Her own mind wouldn’t process what she’d seen. What happened after Haegan hit the water.

  “What did we hide for?” Laertes asked.

  “It’s safe now,” Drracien’s voice reached into the cramped space.

  “Safe of what?” Laertes crawled toward the opening and carefully peered out. “Blazes and Flames.”

  His muttered oath made Thiel tense as she sidled free. Tokar extended a hand.

  “Thanks,” she said to him, but he wasn’t looking at her.

  His gaze was locked onto—“Merciful . . .”

  The clearing, while not flattened, wasn’t far from it. Trees that had stood tall and proud, shielding the earth from the sun, were now bent to the ground, as if wishing to put distance between them and the pool. Branches reached outward, as if clawing a path to safety.

  “Look!” Laertes pointed to the encampment. People were laid out, unmoving. “What’s wrong wif ’em? Are they dead?”

  Thiel’s heart thudded. Whatever had happened . . . What would have been their fate had they not hidden? Drracien had saved them. “How did you know?”

  Drracien’s eyes met her, leaden with guilt. He glanced at his hand, which he flexed and contracted, frowning.

  Thiel drew up her shoulders. “You—”

  “There’s Praegur,” Tokar announced.

  “—knew this would happen. How did you—” Thiel’s brain caught up with Tokar’s words. She pivoted. Saw where he looked and located Praegur sprawled on the ground, surrounded by incapacitated Jujak. “Haegan.” Her gaze flicked to the pool. “O Beneficent One! He’s still in the water!”

  “Then he’s dead.” Tokar sounded lifeless.

  She spun. Shoved his shoulders. “Don’t
say that!” She whipped back to the opening. Moved to the ledge. Praegur hadn’t made it to the water. That meant Haegan was drowning. She toed the ledge.

  “Wait! No!” Drracien held her arm.

  “Get off—”

  “The banks. Look at the banks around the pool.” He pointed to the water, but his eyes never left hers, a wild panic in them.

  Thiel pushed her gaze to the area surrounding the water. It seemed different, but she couldn’t quite tell . . .

  “The explosion emptied the pool—evaporated the water. The Falls are filling it back up. If you jump now, you’ll kill yourself.”

  “Healing waters—”

  “I . . . I don’t know that they will heal now.” He stood straight, the implication heavy and oppressive, and flexed his hands. “Things”—he stared at his palms—“are different now.”

  Shouting down below caught her attention. The old man, an accelerant she’d noticed just before Haegan jumped, was moving swiftly toward the water’s edge, hiking up his belted tunic as he sloshed into the pool.

  “How can them be alive?” Laertes asked.

  “That’s Sir Gwogh.”

  Haegan’s tutor? Thiel turned and fled down the path. Her feet slipped and slid down the terrain, but she wasn’t waiting anymore.

  “They’ll arrest you!”

  Thiel ran down the straight paths. Leapt into the air and jumped several feet where the incline was too steep. She landed, pitching into a tree. Pain struck her shoulder. She kept moving, not caring. Haegan . . . Haegan couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t let him. She tripped. Scratched her arm. Scored a knee. Stumbled over rocks. Slid over mossy drops.

  With a great jump, she sailed through the air, clearing the final five feet of hillside, and landed in a roll at the base of the mountain. She came up running. Sprinting. Racing for the water, ignoring bodies strewn across the grass like flowers cut down. She couldn’t think about whether they were dead. The thought was too gruesome. Awful.

  Thiel made it past the burned Jujak camp. Beyond the table barriers, shattered and scattered like splinters. Aimed toward the small cluster of people—Gwogh’s companions?—standing at the water’s edge.

  “Where’s Sir Gwogh?” Thiel demanded as she tugged off her leather boots.

  An older woman merely aimed a shaking finger toward the middle of the water.

  “The center? Or nearer the Great Falls?”

  “Center,” the woman answered stiffly.

  Thiel waded into the water, hiking her legs as she sloshed onward, surprised at how long she could stay on her feet before diving. She swam hard, kicking and dovetailing downward. Enough light broke the surface for her to spot the tan fabric of the accelerant’s garments. He was coming toward her. His gray beard floated eerily. He was, worst of all, empty-handed. Alone.

  He nodded, waved her on.

  Thiel dived hard past him, swimming faster and faster. Limbs aching, she pushed through water that seemed to get denser and thicker as she went. And warm! The farther down, the warmer. Wasn’t it supposed to get colder where there was no light?

  A glow wobbled in the pool.

  Then a hand. Haegan! Thiel thrust herself at him. Grabbed his hand. Pulled. He floated toward her—then snapped back. She pulled, her lungs burning. She tried again, but he wouldn’t give. Down a little further, she saw slick weeds wrapped around his foot. Always getting stuck in vines! She released him and dove to his feet. She struggled with the slippery weeds, and finally untangled him.

  She nearly gasped, desperate for a breath. Pressure thumped against her temples, as if knocking her upside her head, demanding air. Gripping Haegan’s belt, she aimed for the surface. His weight slowed her. Her legs burned and ached. Cramped. The return seemed twice the length. Her limbs felt like a hundred pounds each.

  They started sinking.

  No! Thiel shook her head and even gave her courage a mental jog. Haegan was unconscious. That meant he had water in his lungs. That meant each second was vital to his survival. She kicked harder. Harder.

  She wanted to whimper but couldn’t even do that. No grunt. No tears. Push. Kick. Swim. Push. Kick. Swim.

  A hand swiped in front of her. Someone grabbed her collar. Thiel jolted as he pulled her backward. Up . . . up . . .

  She broke the surface, gasping. Crying. “He”—gasp—“He—couldn’t breathe—”

  Sir Gwogh and Tokar were hauling Haegan back onto the small embankment. They dropped him, exhaustion and death forbidding them from being careful. They pounded on his chest.

  Drracien helped Thiel to the side. She crumpled, her muscles twitching uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the others trying to revive Haegan. “I should’ve gone after him . . . I should’ve gone . . .” She shook her head, grief tightening her raw throat. “Should’ve jumped.”

  “You would’ve died,” Drracien mumbled.

  “You don’t know that!” Thiel shoved to her feet. Wobbled, her feet sinking in the mud that had once been submerged in the pool. Her legs buckled, exhaustion exerting its power. She pushed forward, dropping to her knees beside Tokar, who was pumping Haegan’s chest.

  The prince looked horribly pale. His lips blue. Yet somehow, he was beautiful. She inched closer. “Haegan, come on.”

  “Keep working,” Sir Gwogh ordered Tokar. “On his side, then his chest. Keep going.”

  “His back,” Thiel said. “Thump his back—the mark.”

  “Are you cruel, child? The pain—” Sobered, Gwogh touched her shoulder as he turned to Tokar. “Do it—pound the mark.”

  Tokar scowled but complied. He flopped Haegan onto his stomach. With his fingers threaded to form a giant fist, he raised them and rammed Haegan’s back.

  Thud!

  “There’s water what’s coming out his mouf,” Laertes said, who knelt facing their friend.

  “Do it again!” Thiel shouted.

  “He’ll kill me if he wakes up,” Tokar said.

  “And I’ll kill you if he doesn’t,” Thiel bit out. “Now!”

  Tokar was already in full swing.

  Thud!

  Haegan’s head lifted. Eyes bulged wide. Then closed as he dropped. His shoulders convulsed. He coughed. Water spewed out of his mouth. Vomited. More coughs.

  Laughing in relief, Thiel scooted closer.

  Only . . . Haegan went limp. Still.

  “Why’s he not moving? What’s wif him?”

  “The Kindling—it had a devastating effect on his body,” Sir Gwogh said.

  “And everyone else’s,” came a woman’s soft response.

  “Why?” Freeing her gaze from the woman’s, Thiel frowned. Then considered her friends. “It was supposed to heal him.”

  “Yes,” Sir Gwogh said. “Supposed to.” He stroked his still-wet beard, his modest clothes clinging to him.

  “He’s breathing,” Tokar said. “Why isn’t he coming to?”

  Sir Gwogh used his walking stick to gain his feet and looked out over the clearing. “We must get him to safety.”

  At his side, Thiel glanced at the bodies. “They’ll hang him for killing so many.”

  “Oh, they’re not dead.” As if to confirm his words moans popped up around the field. “They’re the reason we have to get him out of here.”

  A shriek rent the air.

  I know that sound! Thiel whipped around, searching the skies, her heart pounding. Yes—perfect! She cupped her hands around her mouth and let out a long, mournful sound, followed by a wavering high-pitched whistle.

  A shadow spirited across the clearing.

  Thiel shielded her eyes as the dark shape circled beneath the sun.

  “Blazes,” Laertes said.

  Chima! Thiel laughed as the beast alighted, her hind legs touching the singed grass. She pawed the air with her front legs, then dropped down. Shook and snorted. And shook again, tucking away her enormous wingspan. She lumbered the half-dozen paces to Thiel and nudged her nose beneath Thiel’s chin.

  Thie
l embraced the raqine. “I can’t believe you remember me, Chima.”

  But the mighty raqine stepped free. With a chortle in her throat, Chima nudged Haegan’s still form, then glanced back at Thiel.

  “A raqine?” someone asked. “Is that—”

  “She came for him,” Sir Gwogh said, catching Thiel’s arm. “Take him. Take him with you on her before they awake and see him. And her!”

  Dumbstruck, Thiel froze. “Take him where?”

  “Ybienn.”

  Thiel frantically shook her head. “I can’t—”

  “If you don’t, Haegan dies. He needs the healer there, Pao’chk.”

  Healer? “My father banned healers. Banned all manner of wielding.” Not to mention she had left her home, she thought, for good. She pushed the stringy wet hair from her face. “And if you haven’t forgotten, my father and King Zireli aren’t on speaking terms. To put it nicely. If I took Zireli’s son—”

  “Stop arguing! He will die if you do not do this.” Gwogh hooked her arm and pushed her to Chima. He pointed his staff to Tokar and Drracien. “Lift the prince up to her. Kedulcya—your cloak.”

  Thiel took a handful of Chima’s fur, half expecting the mighty raqine to object. Instead, Chima’s muscles rolled, aiding Thiel onto her back. Legs spread wide on the massive spine, Thiel shifted as Tokar and Drracien hoisted a still-unconscious Haegan between her and the raqine’s neck.

  “Here,” came a stern voice. The woman, Kedulcya, shuffled toward her. “You look frozen through.”

  “Thank you.” Thiel tied the cloak around her shoulders and slid her hands through the slits before securing the belt. Warmth bathed her, the interior a thick hide. Gwogh laid a blanket across Haegan’s back and legs. He then touched Chima’s neck and whispered something unintelligible, something that sounded like the ancient language. The same one Haegan had spoken.

  A melodic purr rippled through Chima in response to the aged man’s words, then she stood and shook her head.

  “What did you say to her?”

  Sir Gwogh grasped her hand and squeezed it, his fiery gray eyes piercing hers with intensity. “I will come. For now, his life is in your hands. Go, child!”