Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  Irmina strode down the Eldan Road, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. Occasionally, she reached for where the tiny knot of her strange link to Ancel should have been. Whatever had happened inside, it had disappeared, cut off after it briefly flared. Trying to ignore what it could mean, she let the town occupy her attention.

  Despite the torches and lamps, much remained familiar, but the differences stood out. Bigger homes sprouted up in many places. The cobblestoned streets were more crowded than she remembered them being at night with more wagons, drays, and carts trundling along. Even the noises were different. Eldanhill used to be a quieter place with the murmur of people interspersed by the smithies or the stone masons as its heartbeat. Behind it all, if one listened just right, the whir from the windmills and the rush of the Kelvore River was its lifeblood. Somewhere deep in the background would be the Whitewater Falls’ distant roar. Now, the incessant clang of metal on steel or rock played a song of war.

  The familiar roads still existed. Thank the gods for that. Tezian Lane, Damal Way, Henden Lane, Amelie’s Avenue, Thanairen Square. How many realized the significance of those names? The last one made her remember Ryne’s identities. Ryne Thanairen Waldron. Nerian the Shadowbearer. How none recognized the man was beyond her, but as she promised Jerem, she would keep his secret. For Ancel’s sake.

  An ache pricked at her chest as she recalled the anguish on Ancel’s face when he left the inn. Why was she concerned for him anyway? He made his feelings for her quite plain. The nerve of him to sleep with some other woman in her absence. How dare he? No. She was being ridiculous. You didn’t really expect him not to move on did you? Not after the letter. Gritting her teeth at the conflicting emotions, she kept on walking.

  As if her thoughts concerning him weren’t difficult enough, she still needed to decide on how to proceed with the Exalted’s orders. Try as she might, she failed to muster a single reason to take Ancel’s life other than their command. Did Galiana tell her the truth or only tried to manipulate her into thinking differently about the council and the Dorns? Which brought her to another question: what were the chances that the tomes in the Iluminus’ Lower Library were false? Misinformation planted to stir opinions in the Tribunal’s favor. The idea wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility; the Tribunal employed similar tactics with the Devout. Their jobs to preach the advantages of Streamean worship, the Tribunal’s virtues, and the swaying of histories and opinions among the masses worked well for centuries. Tell the right people a certain thing and eventually the word spreads. Guide what you want known carefully, and a lie becomes a fact.

  What details did she really know beyond any doubt concerning her parent’s death? She never saw the bodies for herself. She’d been away, visiting Jillian when it all happened. All she had were her parents’ research papers into how the council maintained their longevity and their suspicions concerning the Tribunal. There were the confessions of the men who carried out the act, but then what did that really mean? Could her parents have been what Tae and Galiana claimed? Servants to the shade? The mere thought curdled her insides.

  She longed to put down the weight of her doubts, but the hatred she harbored toward the council and the Dorns kept her warm many a night. A part of her wanted to believe they were good people. The seeds Galiana had planted gave her a slight hope, but somehow she feared clinging to its precipitous edge.

  Jaw clenching, she barely acknowledged the passersby and their nervous glances, as they hurried from her path, heads bobbing when they muttered her title. Thoughts and choices crowding her, she failed to notice that she’d walked a circle until she found herself back at the inn’s entrance. When she reached the door, she stopped.

  A huge, gray-white form lay between the inn and the adjoining building, torchlight playing off its fur. Charra raised his head, tongue lolling, his gaze following her as she entered the establishment. Her heart began to thump with the possibility that Ancel was inside.

  Anxious to meet him, she hurried through the foyer. Heart fluttering, a smile touched her lips. Maybe he’d come around after all. Her anger that he slept with Kachien mattered little. She wanted him to know she cared. No. Downplaying what she felt would not do. I love him. There, she’d admitted it. Warmth crept through her with the thought.

  Inside the inn, the usual lamps lit the greeting room and the hall beyond, their reddish hue an inviting allure. Her feet feathered the polished floors as she strived not to run like some foolish schoolgirl. When she reached the dining hall, she searched among the patrons. Rolt and the serving girl, Callie, made as if to come to her, but she shook her head. Ancel wasn’t at any of the tables. Crestfallen, she left the room and trudged upstairs.

  Lost in thought and the sinking feeling in her chest, she pushed open her room door. She’d had high hopes. A sigh escaped her lips.

  “Bellflowers were always your fragrance of choice like my mother.”

  She jumped at the sound of Ancel’s voice. Slowly, she turned, telling herself not to show her excitement. If her heart beat any harder, she swore he’d be able to hear it.

  He sat on the chair next to the bed, oiled hair a shiny black tinged by the red lamplight. Face clean-shaven, his jaw line appeared much sharper than she recalled, but she loved the profile no less. His eyes were shining emerald pinpoints.

  “I never stopped wearing your favorite perfume,” she finally managed. “Even if it meant me going to find the flowers myself, I did so every day.”

  “I kept your letter with me for a year,” Ancel said.

  Her heart stilled.

  “I read it every day.” His voice became hoarse. “I kissed your red lip prints any time I opened it. Several times a day.” He touched the left side of his chest. “I kept it here, in whatever coat I wore, always close to my heart.” His eyes shone with wetness now.

  “Oh, Anc, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He didn’t say not to use the nickname. Her heart leapt.

  “Every day I prayed you would come back to me, but you never did.” He stood.

  Feet leaden and rooted to the rug and floor beneath, she stuttered, “I–I thought about returning. I wanted to, so many times, but I–I couldn’t.”

  “You mean, you wouldn’t.”

  She squeezed her eyes tight against the tears trickling down her face. “Because of what I found out then, my heart wouldn’t let me. If I had returned, I would’ve tried to kill your parents, destroy the council.”

  Ancel’s eyes shot open. “Why?”

  She told him, recounting when she first discovered her ability to tame animals, then being sent off to the Iluminus. Once there, she’d hear the whispers among the Ashishin concerning her family. A look of puzzlement stole across Ancel’ face.

  “You can speak to animals? You mean like Charra?”

  “No, I tried with him once, but he rejected my control.”

  “Control,” he repeated, brow puckering even harder. “You can control them also?”

  “Well, yes and no. It’s more like suggestions. As if I’m their leader and they follow where I say.”

  Expression thoughtful, he grunted.

  She continued with her story, telling him how she discovered the records of the part the council and his parents played before the Shadowbearer War. How Ancel’s father had begun the culling by slaying one of her ancestors, Garrick Nagel. She laid out the Dorns’ orders for her parents’ execution so many centuries later. Then she relayed Galiana’s version of the events. When she finished she realized she now sat in a chair not far from him, wringing her hands, tears streaming down her face.

  Ancel strode across the rugs until he loomed over her. Reaching down, he took her hand. She didn’t resist. When their fingers met, a tingling sensation swept through her. His hands were rough, calluses dotting his palms. With their fingers entwined, he pulled her gently to her feet. When he hugged her, she lost all sense of being. She floated in some nameless void where only pleasure existed.

  “You’re ri
ght. I wouldn’t have believed you. All this happened for a reason.” His voice was a tender buzz against her ear. “But I don’t believe what you read in the Iluminus. My father had his reasons. I trust him.”

  His heart thumped in tune with hers. Irmina buried her face in his neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of whatever he used to shave was strong and pleasant.

  “I gave up everything after you left,” Ancel whispered. “I no longer trained or studied in earnest. Those dreams I had of Jenoah and the Mater coursing through the cities haunted me from time to time, even in my waking hours, and often at the Mystera. In order to forget you, I turned to bedding any woman I could.”

  Irmina stiffened at his confession. “So does that explain Kachien?” She cleared her throat.

  “In ways, yes, and no.” Ancel sighed.

  Her heart faltered.

  “I care for her. She helped me forget you, despite what she is. I needed someone to listen to me, someone to talk to, someone who could relate to my pain … she was there. She also saved my life.”

  “Looking a bit like me didn’t hurt either,” Irmina said, purely out of spite, almost wanting to bite the words back.

  “That made it easier. I imagined she was you on many nights. At times, I still do, like when she danced the Temtesa.”

  Those words stung but set her spirits soaring. Now she understood why he’d left the way he did, the pain on his face. She leaned away from him looking deep into his eyes. “I’m here now.”

  He kissed her, and she grabbed hard to hope. Breathless, she still had her eyes closed when he eased her away. She opened her eyes.

  “Dance for me, Mina.”

  All her doubts disappeared.

  Chapter 20

  Accompanied by Charra the next morning, Ancel made his way to Old Javed’s stable a new man. The air was fresh and crisp, a testament to new beginnings. He smiled wider than he remembered doing in a long while as he thought about the night with Irmina. The lovemaking had been like old times but better. To Irmina’s delight, he’d used every trick and position Kachien taught him. The thought of Kach brought him down a notch, but he shrugged it off. Eventually, he would explain it all to her. Of all people, she would understand.

  Not many people graced the streets this early dawn. Sunlight set fire to the Kelvore’s snowy peaks and lit the few wispy clouds scudding across the sky in flame-colored hues. More soldiers than usual were patrolling, but he wasn’t overly concerned about their presence. With his current mood, the cold wind blowing didn’t warrant drawing his cloak around him. The breeze swirled back and forth like lovers chasing each other. In Whitewater Falls, snow squalls often followed days like this.

  At the stables, Ryne was practicing. The giant danced so quickly from Stance to Style Ancel found his movements difficult to track, although he did manage to pick out a few repetitions from the Forms and the Streams. With each change, Ryne’s Etchings shifted.

  Dressed as usual in his leathers, Ryne’s face was now clean-shaven, his hair tied by a leather cord and only reaching his nape. A couple early risers stood close by, whispering amongst themselves as Ryne worked through a series of attacks, easing from top to middle to almost touching the ground before deftly stepping to one side and unleashing a strike that would behead a man with ease.

  When he finished, Ryne faced Ancel and sheathed his greatsword in the scabbard angled crossways at his hip. No sweaty sheen marred his features. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” A slight tingle coursed through Ancel’s body at the thought of their expedition. No one had gone out to the winery since his mother’s taking.

  One of Old Man Javed’s stable boys arrived with a black-coated gelding. Ancel frowned at who followed on a chestnut mare. Behind the boy, Mirza rode in a full set of leather armor and furs to match Ancel’s own, his bow slung across his back. In one hand, he carried an ebonsteel spear.

  “What’re you doing here?” Ancel asked.

  “Going with you.” Mirza shrugged. “You didn’t think you’d make the trip up there alone did you?”

  “I’m not alone.” Ancel gestured to Ryne before tilting his head to one side and frowning. “How did you know I was going to the winery anyway?”

  “I didn’t, but I’m glad you told me. Such a good friend you are.”

  Ancel groaned.

  “It was obvious you were going somewhere though. Since Shin Irmina and this one arrived,” Mirza nodded to Ryne, “they’re all anyone’s been muttering about. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday after you ran off like a school girl,” Mirza grinned mischievously, “ but I returned in time to see Charra outside the Whitewater. Rolt told me you were upstairs speaking to Irmina. I take it the conversation went well and you had a lot to say. After all, you talked all night.”

  Ancel couldn’t help but blush. “Let’s just say we made up.”

  “Bet you did.” Mirza winked. “If you get any redder or grin any wider, you’ll split your cheeks.”

  Ryne’s brief chuckle made them both glance to him. “I’m glad you’ve spoken to her.”

  “Not you too.” Ancel rolled his eyes.

  “I don’t know whether to be happy for you or sad,” Mirza said.

  Ancel expected this but said nothing.

  “I remember what you were like when she left is all I’m saying. If she leaves again, it’ll be worse. Plus, Kachien spent the night outside the inn, sitting with Charra.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  Ancel whirled around. Wrapped in the folds of her dark cloak, Kachien sat on the stable’s sloping roof below the eaves.

  “I–I can explain, Kach,” Ancel began.

  “Explain what? There is nothing to explain. I expected nothing less. I told you before … your ways here are strange to me. A long lost love’s return is something to rejoice. Many among the Alzari often take multiple lovers until they join someone as one. We were never joined.” Mirza coughed and she paused. “Not that I wanted such a thing. My life does not allow for it.”

  “You have all the luck.” Mirza sucked his teeth. “In your place, one woman would’ve tried to gut me, but here you are getting permission to be with two.”

  At a loss for words, Ancel simply stared at Kachien. She leaped down and asked one of Javed’s horse handlers to bring her a mount.

  “It is my job, remember?” Kachien said at his narrow-eyed expression. “Too long now I have allowed you to go your own way. Your father has been unhappy since the woods.”

  “Yes, he has,” Mirza agreed. “By the way, I forgot to mention, I had some men check out those wolves of yours. They’re running in bigger packs, but not one of them are acting as smart as you said.”

  For the briefest of moments, he considered telling Kachien she couldn’t accompany him. Until he remembered she did whatever she felt was right, which often meant ignoring what he wanted. “Fine,” he said to her

  She gave him a slight nod.

  Ancel pondered Mirza’s news, trying to see if it fit with what he’d suspected since Irmina told him of her ability. In ways, it did, but he could think of no one who would be able to control the animals. Still, he knew what he’d seen. Their reactions had been far from normal.

  Ryne cleared his throat. “It’s time for us to be gone.”

  “Your father doesn’t know about this trip, does he?” Mirza asked.

  “Of course not.” Ancel took the mount from the stable boy and climbed into the saddle. “Why?”

  “He left this morning, leading a full cohort of Dagodin and a few Ashishin into the Greenleaf. Word has it they’re heading to our old glen. The scouts they sent out weeks ago finally returned. The news didn’t seem to be good, but I wasn’t allowed into the meeting.”

  “Galiana mentioned she wanted to do that,” Ancel said. “They’re making sure there aren’t any shadelings infesting the glen.”

  Mirza grunted. “Could explain why the wolves are running in larger packs.”

  “All the more
reason for you to wait for your father’s return.” Kachien climbed onto the back of a bay roan.

  “I’m a grown man, Kach. We covered this before. Should I ask for my father to hold my hand when it’s time to go to war too? I mean, you do realize that’s what we’ve begun here? War.”

  Kachien dipped her head again. But here eyes told him she disagreed with his choice, but would be there regardless.

  “Only one problem left,” Mirza said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Him.” Mirza nodded to Ryne. “Not even one of the draught horses can carry your giant.”

  “Ryne,” answered his mentor, “not him, not giant … Ryne. A mount is no issue. I’ll run.” In response to their openmouthed gapes, he smiled, “How do you think I got here once my dartan went into hibernation?”

  Mirza glanced at Ancel. “He isn’t serious is he?”

  Ryne’s expression was a blank mask.

  “I’m afraid he is. I wouldn’t put it past him to outpace us either.” With those words, Ancel spurred his horse and headed toward the northernmost gate.

  Several uneventful hours later, they stopped along the white snake of a route. A swirling wind brought sprinkles of snow and the clear, clean scent of uninhabited land draped in winter’s cloak. Trees lined the road, their skeletal, frost-laden limbs thrusting across the group’s path or praying to the blue sky. Icicles hung from them, jeweled daggers sparkling with the sun’s glint. Ryne unwrapped dried beef and bread from the saddlebags on Ancel’s stallion while Mirza prepped a fire near several logs. After Ryne dished out a portion for each of them, they sat warming themselves as they ate and drank steaming cups of herb tea Kachien made.