Cinders on the Wind

by Louis Emery

  Artemis continued to struggle against the branches pulling him near the aperture. Malcolm heaved and cut, but each time he cut off a limb another appeared. Captain Halarn and Sers Balliol and Royce fought against the tree alongside him, and he turned and saw Orbist and Ethlin a few paces away looking on in terror.

  Ser Balliol chopped off the largest branch that grasped Artemis from his midriff, but others had his arms and legs and began to hoist him in the air, like the broken-back guard. To his right, the struggling guard cried out in pain. His comrades leapt up in attempts to cut through the bark, but instead accidentally slashed the poor man’s feet. He cried more with these wounds, and then there was a sickening crack. The tree had made a killing twist.

  Malcolm continued to slash at the large branches. One curled around Artemis’s waist, keeping his friend immobile. Malcolm raised his longsword, and with all his might swung down. The blade sliced through, severing the constricting branch, and Artemis hit the earth, dazed. Malcolm grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him up.

  “Let’s go—now, now, now!” Halarn ordered, waving at his remaining guards to follow.

  Malcolm and Ser Royce took Artemis’s arms and led him away from the outreaching branches and carnage. The party was forced to leave the two bodies of the guards behind, as the monstrous, deformed pine whirled about in fury. Malcolm had never seen anything like it. His heart thumped hard in his chest. Seeing Ethlin, who was in utter shock, he said “It’ll be all right. We’re getting out of here.”

  Captain Halarn led the party down an uneven slope where boulders began to jut from the ground. “I know a spot where we can make camp for the night, though we must stay as quiet as we can.” He led them to level ground, and they followed what looked to be an old dried creek bed. Large granite slabs dotted the former banks, the rocks increasing in number as they continued along. They came to a boulder the size of a large hut. Etched in ash on its surface was a giant skull.

  “What’s that mean?” Malcolm inquired.

  “The markings of an old Gull camp. No need to worry. I know these parts. Gulls haven’t made camp here in years. I’m glad we’ve made it before nightfall. Better to find a decent spot in daylight.”

  Malcolm noticed other renderings of skulls on the surrounding rocks and occasional trees. He didn’t need to think hard on what the message had been. Stay away or die. He would have to trust the captain at his word that this was the best place to hunker down for the night.

  The boulders went further, turning into a canyon and providing cover for the party. Their leader led them to an alcove behind a clump of massive bedrock. The captain informed them that this would be their spot. Shadows crept up on them, and the sky grew dim in the evening twilight.

  The party unloaded the packs of provisions. Captain Halarn made sure the guards who’d been injured in the enchanted tree attacks were treated. Artemis was bruised and battered, but strong enough to assist the wounded. He wrapped the guards’ busted ankles and made a sling for a pulled shoulder.

  Malcolm noticed Ethlin and Orbist quivering beneath the shadows of the towering bedrock.

  “We need to make a fire,” Malcolm said to Halarn.

  “Aye,” the captain replied, “but we’ll have to monitor it closely. Even with the cover of this canyon, light can still reflect to the woods if left unchecked.”

  Malcolm collected a few branches as quietly as he could with the help of Sers Balliol and Royce. Under the supervision of the captain, they built a fire small enough to cook the beef and potatoes they’d brought with them. The party ate heartily, and many went to bed as soon as they’d finished eating. Halarn left a guard on watch while he and his men slumbered. Malcolm had trouble sleeping, and he lay back against a branch staring at the low burning flames of the dying fire.

  Malcolm heard a groan to his right followed by a swishing sound. He looked over and saw Ethlin shifting beneath her blanket, eyes closed and face grimacing and damp with sweat. “No, not you. Get out. Get out of here! No!”

  Malcolm walked over and placed his large hand on her brow. “Shhh. Everything’s okay now.”

  Ethlin’s eyes opened. She bolted upright, the firelight reflecting in her glazed eyes. Malcolm drew back. “What’s … what’s happening?” Ethlin mumbled, rubbing her face.

  “It’s nothing. You were dreaming. A bad dream.”

  Ethlin looked around confused at first and then sighed. “Thank you for waking me.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve had a trying day.” Malcolm went back to his spot by the fire.

  “It’s the flames …” Ethlin said, staring at the low fire. “When I’m close to them, my visions enhance—especially when I’m dreaming.”

  The two of them spoke in whispers so as not to wake their companions. Malcolm gestured to the fire. “I can put it out if you like.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really.” She came closer to the fire with the blanket draped over her. She sat with her knees huddled close to her chest. Her hair glimmered in the oily light, and her face was white as a ghost amidst the darkness. An owl hooted nearby, and Ethlin’s head jerked in the direction of the sound. “I’m looking forward to getting out of here.”

  “You and I, both,” Malcolm replied.

  “I fear our journey grows in importance each passing day …”

  “Is it something you see?” Malcolm poked at the flames with one of the dry branches. The owl hooted again, and there was the clank of metal as the nearby guard on watch shifted around.

  “I dreamt of dragonfire,” Ethlin said. “A village was burning and beyond it, so was a field of battle. There were green banners flapping in the wind one moment. The next, they were charred and burning. Men were retreating and screaming. And the shadows of dragons blocked the horizon.”

  “Did you see the sigil on the banners?” Malcolm leaned forward.

  “I couldn’t make them out, but in my gut I knew them to be Backland.”

  Malcolm’s face grew serious. “I’d never thought in my lifetime I’d be fighting against armies with dragons on their side.” He shook his head. “It only makes sense we’re trying to get help from dragonriders. The best weapon against dragons is their own kind.”

  Ethlin nodded somberly.

  Malcolm asked, “You think you can convince the Gathered?”

  “I’ll have to, won’t I?” She stared at the ground. “It’d be easier if Priestess Patrycias were here. She’s the diplomat. She knows how to communicate and convince. I’ve seen her with the followers at the temple and those outside. Regular, everyday people looking for hope and goodness in a world of despair and wars.”

  “You wish she were with us for other reasons, as well.”

  Ethlin met his eyes. “She’s like a mother to me. I lost my parents when I was very young and was raised in an orphanage by a crone who always hated me. Patrycias saved me from running away and living life on the streets, begging and robbing or worse. She taught me about the dragons and their wizard masters who ruled the land with grace and kindness, with majestic power. Yes, dragons and wizards are intimidating to look at, but their reigns can be prosperous. People may fear the enormity and prowess of a dragon, but when the creature is on their side—and only serves to perpetuate their betterment—the world turns a gentler, more equitable place.”

  “So it was the Dragonmother who saved you? Gave you a life of fulfillment and helping others?”

  “In a way, yes. But, it was Patrycias who made my new life possible. Though lately, I haven’t been feeling all that fulfilled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ethlin shook her head, as if not knowing how to answer. “I don’t know. People are saying—Orbist, other mage-councils, Patrycias—that I have a great duty to perform, but I’ve no clue what it is. It gives me an empty feeling inside. That and the fact part of me feels I should be with Patrycias. I know the importance of this mission to the king and Mage Orbist and the kingdom, but I fear for the priestess. King Greenvale wanted her and my fellow follower
s to reach out to the community in a broader capacity, in an effort to stymy the influence of the Darien Sect in the eastern part of the city.”

  “I know the king has wanted to quash the Sect’s agenda in Em Regis,” Malcolm said, “and that the Dragonmother temple was spreading knowledge of the Sect’s twisted ways, as opposed to the Dragonmother’s more peaceful philosophies.”

  “That’s why I fear for her. I know the king’s guards will be posted at the temple’s events, at her outreach speeches … but you’ve seen the Sect’s resolve. They’ve tried to kill her when I was with her. They’ve tried to capture me twice now.” She looked at Malcolm then away, shuddering. “I don’t know what I’d do if they got Patrycias. I’ve already lost the family I loved. I can’t lose any more, especially her.” Ethlin’s cheeks had tears trickling down, gleaming in the firelight.

  “I’ve served in the army and the Kingsguard a long time. You can rest easy that the men guarding the priestess will protect her at all costs.”

  “Just as you protected me.” Ethlin’s wet eyes were burning like embers with the reflection of the flames. She kept looking into the fire, averting Malcolm’s eyes. “I never thanked you for saving me from my captor a few days back. I know it’s your job, but still, I’m grateful. Thank you, Ser Malcolm.”

  Malcolm met her eyes and bowed in acknowledgment. A fondness for her grew in him, much like that he’d had for someone else who’d been close to him.

  “You have any family out there?” Ethlin asked. “Parents, brothers, or sisters?”

  Ethlin must have seen sorrow cross his face for she added, “I apologize if it’s a bad question. You don’t have to answer if it’s something you’d prefer not to discuss.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Malcolm replied. “My parents were killed when their city was attacked by Gothveesi Hordes. I was about four. I recently discovered this city, the place where I was born, is where we’re heading—Barrport. I had a little sister, too. King Greenvale, after the death of our parents, had connections of his take us in and bring us down to Em Regis, where we were raised by his staff and tutors, under his personal guidance.”

  “It appears you owe a great deal to the king.”

  “I owe him my life. All I can remember was Barrport in chaos when my sister and I left. We were whisked away and brought to sanctuary and order.”

  “Why did the king do all this for you?”

  “He knew my father. Had fought alongside him at one time. I guess you can say the king admired him.”

  “And your sister. Does she still live in Em Regis? Does she serve the king in any way?”

  Malcolm quit poking the fire and tossed the branch into the flames. “I was very close to her. She grew to be a caring young woman. She wanted to help the people, to give back—just as King Greenvale and the queen gave so much to us. She decided to serve the temple as you have, feeding the poor, and taking care of the sick. I don’t think she wanted to be of the robe, but I know she’d wanted to do anything she could for the suffering and for those who didn’t have anybody …”

  There was a pause as Malcolm remembered the only true family he’d had, and lost.

  Ethlin broke the silence. “Did something happen to her? In the plague?”

  Malcolm shot her a glance. “How’d you guess?”

  “I just … had a feeling.”

  “She went to care for those who’d contracted the illness. I argued with her to stay in the safer areas—that she could still help those in need without subjecting herself to the virus that took so many lives. She was as stubborn as I was. Of course, she didn’t listen to me and, of course, I was angry with her. I never even got to say goodbye.”

  “What do you mean?” Concern hung on Ethlin’s face.

  “I’d gone off on campaign. While I killed on the battlefield, disease killed her. She’d taken ill after a few weeks and died in one of your Dragonmother’s temples, and was later buried in one of the mass graves outside the city.”

  The firelight had dimmed, and the encroaching darkness hovered over them. Neither spoke for some time.

  “I’m sorry,” Ethlin said, finally.

  “At least I have a spot to lay flowers. It’s easy enough to find.” Malcolm met Ethlin’s eyes once more. “It’s too bad the plague didn’t wipe out the Sect’s temples. They were close enough to that part of the city. A few were quarantined in fact.” Malcolm gave a half-hearted laugh. “Life tends to take away the ones who matter most, leaving the bad ones behind.”

  “Leaving us to fight the bad ones, you mean.”

  Malcolm grunted. “Guess so.” He laid back staring at the stars, trying to picture his sister’s face. He then pushed the thought away. “We’re going to have an early start. You best get some sleep, if you can.”

  “We’ll see how that goes,” Ethlin said, laying down.

  The owl hooted, this time at a distance.

  36

  They left their camp before dawn, moving quietly through the boulders and into the woods. The morning brought with it frigid temperatures and Malcolm was grateful for the cloak he’d brought along. As the party trampled the never-ending pine needles beneath the great trees, an early mist swept down amongst them. It mingled with the puff of their breaths and occasional vapors emitting from the dew when early sun hit the cold frost on leaves and branches.

  Their party was smaller now and less stout, with a few of the men injured. Malcolm worried about the dead they’d left behind. When he’d voiced concern to the captain, Halarn said there was nothing to be done. Going back amidst those trees would be suicide, and more than likely the trees had swallowed the bodies to become roots. The magic encircling these pines was sinister, made from the dark arts of early Gull witches and druids. They were not concerned of tribesmen discovering the dead soldiers, for they too would stay clear of the rune-covered trees.

  Malcolm was relieved to hear this, for the last thing he wanted was to be discovered by the tribes. Either death or capture would follow. Neither was less daunting than the other.

  The party filtered through the woodland, the fog beginning to subside. They followed what was most likely a deer trail, which narrowed as the land began to rise on both sides. Sloping trees leaned above them ominously, as if watching their every move. Malcolm did, in fact, feel as if eyes were on him as the land rose up around them.

  The quiet surrounding the party broke with the cracking of a stick. Malcolm heard it close by, but could not tell where it came from. He saw the captain’s head jerk. “Over there,” Halarn pointed.

  Malcolm looked up the rise to his right. Someone moved—a Gull scout. He wore a pointed helm, furs, chainmail, and carried a spear. Knowing he’d been discovered, the scout turned and ran further up the hill.

  Halarn shouted, “He must be stopped, or he’ll alert the others!”

  Malcolm bounded uphill after him, avoiding low hanging branches, and ducking to avoid being poked in the eye by thick pine needles. He made it to the top of the hill and saw the Gull scaling down the other side. Malcolm slid down from his vantage point while holding his sword scabbard to prevent it from slowing his progress. The ground was hard, but the many pine needles and loose scree acted as an easy surface to move across. When he reached level land, he sprinted after his prey. His long strides enabled him to gain ground. Drawing his sword, he inched closer to the armed tribesman.

  Realizing he’d have to confront his enemy, the Gull spun around with his spear, but Malcolm had already swung hard, slicing through the wood shaft cutting the man down. Malcolm looked up. Two more tribesmen clad in thick hides stood not ten feet away, having just noticed the large knight who’d just slain their comrade.

  At first, the two looked at each other in shock then back at Malcolm intent on confronting him. A second later, they thought better of the idea and ran in the opposite direction. Malcolm could do nothing but follow them. He’d faced worse odds before and hoped the rest of their kind were a long ways off.

  That thought was
dashed when he rounded a clump of trees only to skid to a halt. Before him was an entire encampment of Gull warriors, the two fleeing men now alerting the others to the pursuing outlander. Cone-shaped helms with peering eyes, painted faces, and thick beards beneath tilted in his direction.

  Now it was Malcolm’s turn to flee.

  He ran back to his party, stumbling over the rise he’d just come. Shouts and cries of his pursuers rang in his ears. He fled down to his companions, heading toward Ethlin to better protect her. He could hear the captain telling everyone to arm themselves.

  Malcolm skidded down the rise, meeting the group. “We’ve got to go! I ran into a raiding party.”

  “Too late,” Ser Balliol said, looking up the rise.

  Gulls joined together at the top of the rise, grunting and making war cries.

  “This way!” Captain Halarn shouted, moving further along the trail. “Better to fight them on flat ground. They have the advantage here.”

  “Run!” Malcolm yelled at Ethlin and Orbist, who froze at the appearance of their enemy. He hurried them forward as the party sprinted to an opening where the forest ground leveled off. Looking back, he saw twenty to thirty Gull charging down after them. They finally reached flat ground, everyone armed with a blade.

  “Now we meet them!” Captain Halarn turned around and strode forward.

  Malcolm pushed Ethlin and Orbist behind him and stepped forward alongside the captain. He raised his longsword at the ready. Artemis and Sers Balliol and Royce stood beside him. The Gulls came streaming out the break in the trail, out into the glade.

  Malcolm proffered his own war cry as he hewed at the first attacker to meet him. The rest followed suit and collided with the bearded and mailed tribesmen. Steel clanged against steel, sparks flying from the impact.

  Malcolm chopped through his first opponent and was soon met by a second, heavy-set berserker with a billowy beard wielding two double-edged axes. The man swung, shaving the hem of Malcolm’s cloak as he dashed away to avoid the blade’s cut. The man’s belly was huge, and his arms were built like tree trunks of solid muscle. When one axe barely missed, the second one followed. Malcolm was careful not to let the brunt of stroke split his blade in two.