Ashes and Blood aotg-2

by Terry C. Simpson

  When it came to Ancel, Mirza acted differently, almost reverential. It was as if Mirza saw a different person in him. Ancel often caught him staring, eyes wide with wonder, and sometimes with fear. His friend would offer a forced smile then or avert his eyes. Whenever Ancel spoke to him, their conversation drifted to home in Eldanhill, but like the smiles, their talks felt out of place, an avoidance of what troubled Mirza. Ancel missed their playful banter.

  Since they left the Entosis, Ancel opened his Matersense regularly, acclimating himself to the difference between the essences. He came to realize his Etchings sifted them, storing a miniscule amount. The voices clamored to him more than ever, but with the Eye, he brushed them off. He was in command. They raged against him, but he simply shut them out.

  As they walked, he prayed for his father’s well-being and tried not to think of his mother. Twice the nightmares of the black-armored man made him wake in cold sweats. Only once did he have another dream where he stood within Jenoah, protecting the city from the gods’ attack while yelling the sword’s name.

  Antonjur. At some point, he needed to question Ryne about it.

  Lost in his thoughts, he almost failed to notice when the mining trail changed into a pass several hundred feet wide. He glanced up at the white, shimmering cliffs around them. The wind howled through the pass, a beast of icy fangs that snatched at his furs.

  The first hint of a town came from muddy snow and travel-beaten ground beneath them, now stained red as if tinged with blood. It was a reflection of the sandy earth below that would become all too apparent in the long summer’s baking heat. The second hint came from Charra’s low growl and the three thick-furred dogs that appeared, barking excitedly. A solid looking man garbed in furs stepped out from one of the walls, chased away the dogs, and melted into the stone again.

  Mirza tapped Ancel on the shoulder and pointed into the air ahead of them. Ancel had to look twice for his mind to conceive what his eyes witnessed.

  Suspended in the air above them, stone bridges connected one wall of the pass to the other, stretching up as far as his eyes could see. Battlements lined the cliffs at varying levels, appearing to be natural phenomena. The sun glinted off translucent icicles hanging from the bridges’ underbellies like bejeweled death. Ancel lost count at thirty similar structures. Occasionally, a face would appear over the edge of a span, peering in their direction. Every crossing ended at an opening in the palisades that stretched to each side on the edge of the cliffs, hiding the paths beyond. The walls, cliffs, and bridges were carved from the same rock, as if a god chiseled it into shape.

  The cliff faces sparkled with a fading, orange luminescence: reflections of the dying sunlight upon the many stones and metal contained within. Ancel stared in wonder as lights appeared in openings above the battlements and in the mountain itself. His mouth opened of its own volition. Those are windows.

  Subtle changes in the form of the cliffs turned out to be buildings, parts of them hidden by the walled paths or roads. Homes, he realized. Rounded and square roofs jutted out before becoming one with the stone from which they originated.

  “Amazing right?” Mirza grinned next to him.

  “When …”

  “I first came here with my father a few months before Danvir, you, and I left for Randane. I couldn’t believe my eyes either.” Mirza gestured around them. “All of this sitting here in the mountains. I tried to tell you about it, but you were still mooning over Irmina.” He pointed ahead of them. “Come let’s catch up to the others.”

  Ancel shook himself and looked around. He had stopped to stare at his surroundings. Ahead of them, Shin Galiana and Ryne stood waiting. They spurred their horses and caught up.

  Distant clangs in a familiar, constant rhythm echoed. A smithy? The sound repeated around him from dozens of directions. He was certain they were hammers. He discerned the shushing sounds of steam on hot metals, mixed in with other clanking noises. There must have been hundreds of blacksmiths. Where the chimneys for each were located, he could not tell. Occasionally, he noticed a low rumble of what he thought to be a cart’s wheels, and a loud, squeaking noise he did not recognize.

  “There’s at least fifty smithies here.” Mirza paused and licked his lips, his apprehension obvious. Normally he would rattle off whatever it was he knew.

  “Go on,” Ancel encouraged.

  Mirza smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Harval also has a quarrying operation, and only Ilumni knows, how many carts going back and forth from the mines deep in these cliffs. The squeaking? The wheels of an ore tram. Someone needs to get to oiling. They usually have six or seven of them hitched together. You know,” a thoughtful expression pinched his face, “I can’t figure out how they get them to move or stop on those rails.”

  “Earth and air essences,” Shin Galiana said. “Air to move and earth to stop.”

  “They use Ashishin to run them?” Ancel’s brows climbed his forehead.

  Shin Galiana gave him a look that said he should know better. “Do not be foolish. Almost all in Harval are Dagodin.”

  Ancel had not expected to hear that either. “But shouldn’t they be off fighting …” His voice trailed off.

  “Dagodin are good for other things besides weapons. Without the ones adept in using divya tools, we wouldn’t be able to build much of what we do. This town would not exist.” She gestured up at the cliffs. “Harval is an old town and produces most of the stone and metals used throughout Barham and Doster, the same as Eldanhill and the villages to the north provided for Sendeth. Much of the divya created here are for quarrying and mining.”

  “Weapons too,” Mirza added.

  Galiana inclined her head.

  Ancel frowned. If they did produce that much, then Harval must have several dozen Imbuers. He always wanted to see how they worked their craft. The books considered them something of an enigma, more Dagodin than Ashishin. The Tribunal only recognized Matii who could use their Forges in battle as Ashishin.

  By now, they stood directly under a vast majority of the stone bridges. With the amount of homes, Ancel would have expected there to be a pungent stench from drainage or refuse, but there was only a slight whiff. Curious, he searched for drains. He picked them out near the cliffs, each disappearing into the rocky foundation.

  Shin Galiana led them into a gateway, several dozen feet wide and tall, carved into the cliff on their left. It opened into an impossibly large cavern, housing line after line of stables and pens. The smell of manure and livestock permeated the air along with a cacophony of animal cries. The cavern contained various domesticated animals, from horses to fowl.

  On spindly legs, backs littered with small humps, several slainen ate from a trough. Their beady eyes ignored everything around them as they chewed contentedly. More than a quarter of the pens contained hibernating dartans. The creatures appeared as little more than large, mottled shells, their limbs withdrawn into their carapaces.

  Ancel glanced from Mirza to Shin Galiana. Mirza had one of those silly grins on his face again. Curious, Ancel backed his horse up outside the door. The sounds died. He opened his mouth to ask how but stopped. A Forging.

  He returned inside. Several young boys mucked out stables and pens. They washed them down with buckets of water into drains that ran along the back of each stall. A couple of dogs lazed about, barely raising their heads at the newcomers. One of them trotted over to Charra and sniffed at him. Charra growled. Head bowed, the dog slunk back to its original spot and lay down.

  “Shin Galiana,” exclaimed a rotund, pock-faced old man, with short, straight hair and a bald spot on the crown of his head. “Pleasant surprise. It’s been the Ewald Stables’ blessing of late to be graced by this many Ashishin.” The man’s watery gaze drifted to Ryne several times. He shook his head.

  Shin Galiana nodded to the man. “Nice to see you also, Master Ewald.”

  He gestured behind him. “Been a busy week as you can see. Why, with rumors of troubles beyond the Vallum, and the re
cent clashes in Sendeth, business has increased tenfold.” His eyes darted from side to side; he took a breath and added, “I heard Eldanhill was involved. Something about the Setian returning.”

  Master Ewald’s voice reminded Ancel of when he had a hoarse throat. A raspy mix of whispering and coughs. Shin Galiana had a barely noticeable frown on her face as she regarded the stable master.

  “You should not believe everything you hear, Master Ewald,” Galiana’s expression gave away nothing. “Some things are not worth repeating. Others are … like the rumors of these troubles at the Vallum.”

  The stable master nodded as if satisfied with Galiana’s answer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t mention you heard it from me, Shin Galiana, but some of the peddlers from Torandil have said war is brewing.”

  Galiana gave the man a skeptical look. “But there is always war beyond the Vallum.”

  Ewald peered around nervously. “Not like this. I heard there’s been more fighting than usual. Our armies have actually lost ground. But you did not hear any of that from me, Shin Galiana, no, you did not.”

  “I will remember not to mention it.”

  Master Ewald bowed to her. “Where’s my manners. Welcome, welcome back to Harval.” He gave Mirza a nod and a grin. “And you Master Faber, tell your father that Milnar is looking for him. He has some new ore and a new mine Devan may be interested in.”

  Mirza returned the grin.

  Ewald stroked the stubble on his chin. “And you must be … wait don’t tell me,” he said, as Ancel opened his mouth. “I would know that face anywhere. Stefan Dorn’s boy. You’re welcome here too, lad.” He smiled at Ancel’s nod of affirmation. Finally, he gave Ryne another once over. “And,” he paused, “any friend of Shin Galiana’s is welcome here also.”

  Ryne actually smiled and nodded to Ewald. “Call me Ryne.”

  He held out one of his massive hands to the stable master, who stepped forward and took it tentatively. Ewald’s eyes widened, while he shook Ryne’s hand.

  “Ah, my manners again,” said Ewald, with a shake of his head. “Dismount, the boys will take your horses.”

  Ewald signaled to several of the stable hands who were gawking at Ryne.

  “Master Ewald,” Shin Galiana said after they dismounted, “you mentioned that quite a few Ashishin visited Harval.”

  The stable master nodded.

  “Are they still here?”

  “Why, yes. I think they may be at the town hall or the Stoneman’s, or both.” Ewald put a hand to his chin as he contemplated his answer.

  “Hmm. Tell me, since it has been so busy, which of the inns do you think still has room?”

  Ewald stroked his chin briefly before he answered. “Why, the Stoneman, of course. I’m sure Master Gebbert has space on the upper floors.” He eyed them for a moment. “And the warmest baths too.”

  Instinctively, Ancel looked down at the grime and dirt covering his furs. He had not realized just how dirty they had become.

  “Thank you, Master Ewald.” Galiana reached into the folds of her clothes. Moments later came a distinctive clink as coins changed hands. “That will be all.”

  Ewald’s cheeks reddened. “Thank you, Shin Galiana. Well, I will leave you to it then and return to my work.” He hurried off.

  Outside the stables, night had descended on Harval, and bright lamps illuminated the walls of the buildings. Galiana led them up a path, and before long, they traversed cobbled, drain-lined roads next to cliff homes. They encountered few people on the streets as most of the populace had retired to their homes. Those they came across wore thick fur coats and hats. Ancel shivered despite his clothing. The temperature had dropped considerably, the wind wailing through the pass. In counterpoint to the slight reek of the drains along the streets, the air was refreshing on the bridges. The incessant work at the smiths continued as if the day had only just begun. Higher and higher they went, crisscrossing from one side to the other. Below them, the town sparkled, lamps and windows like small lightflies.

  Soon, they stood in front of a four-storied structure, a sign outside proclaiming it to be the Stoneman’s Inn. Shin Galiana pulled open the door, and held it while they passed inside. The soft tinkle of music and shaded lamps greeted them. Ryne had to duck to enter. Mirza found it funny and copied Ryne’s entrance, which held its own humor because the door dwarfed Mirza. Ancel smiled.

  They stood in a spacious, plain room with several stone benches against a wall. A table, made of smooth, milky-white stone, dominated one side of the room. Ancel had never seen the like. A buxom woman with earth-colored hair sat behind it.

  The woman’s eyes grew round at seeing Ryne and narrowed when they took in Charra. But when her gaze reached Shin Galiana, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She jumped to her feet, smoothing her blue dress.

  “Blessed Shin, welcome to the Stoneman.” She bowed from the waist. “I’m Hylda. One moment please, I will fetch Master Gebbert.”

  Before Shin Galiana could utter a word, the woman had slipped through a door behind her.

  Glass lamps hung from metal braces around the room. No flames flickered within the glass. Ancel crossed the room and examined one of the lamps. He could feel the heat from it, but still could not discern any actual flames. A red hue emanated from within. Even without his Matersense, he understood. He sucked in a breath and turned to Mirza.

  “I know. Firelamps,” his friend said with a grin that he soon wiped away.

  Ancel started to reply when a man with a chest like double doors, bright eyes and a mouth that snarled when he smiled, entered the room with Hylda at his heels. Burn scars crawled down the side of his face until they disappeared under his shirt. The skin was blotchy and layered in a few places where it had grown over itself several times, leaving that side of his face leathery.

  The man ignored Ancel’s stare. He gave a small start when his gaze took in Ryne before he composed himself. “Welcome, Shin Galiana. Hylda, prepare the steam baths.” With a frown in Ryne’s direction, he added, “And the pool.” The good half of his face twisted in distaste at the sight of Charra. “We don’t normally allow animals, Blessed Shin.”

  “Make an exception in this case,” Galiana said. “Charra is a well-mannered daggerpaw.”

  Gebbert sighed. “Come, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  Shin Galiana thanked the innkeeper. They followed him through to the next room. This time, Ryne did not need to duck.

  They entered a circular walkway where the music’s volume increased. Loud laughter and the buzz of conversation mixed with the tinkle of dishes. Mirza signaled for Ancel to follow him next to the chest-high wall on their left. He copied his friend and peered over the side.

  The inn had nine floors in all, five below them, all lined with similar walkways. Pillars supported each floor at specific intervals. Flights of stairs on opposite sides led to landings. The walls, pillars, and floors were all of the same smooth, white stone. Ancel rubbed his hand along it. Marble.

  “The Stoneman is one of the most expensive Inns in Harval.” Mirza had a twinkle in his eyes. “And the most fun.”

  The expanse of the bottom floor contained the common room, filled with dancing and carousing patrons. The Whitewater Inn could easily fit inside the Stoneman ten times over. Liveried servers bustled from table to table to patrons, and on a marble stage, a scantily clad woman danced and sang.

  She swayed seductively, her melodious voice like the sweet tinkles of a chime, as she sang to the strumming of a harpist sitting behind her. Seeing her dance immediately sparked memories of Kachien and Irmina. Would he see either of them again?

  Mirza snickered. “That,” he said, pointing at the girl as if she did not stand out, “is one of the reasons I love this place.”

  Ancel reluctantly turned away from the wall and hurried to catch up with the others, Mirza chuckling next to him as they continued on their way.

  “Master Faber,” Gebbert said, “I would welcome you downstairs, but
your father gave me a scolding the last time. The man has a tongue like salted steel.”

  Disappointment flashed across Mirza’s face, but one look from Shin Galiana wiped it away. Ancel grinned at his friend this time as they reached the stairs and went up several flights.

  “Ah, Master Gebbert,” Shin Galiana said, as if she just remembered something. “I heard that a few Ashishin have visited Harval. Are they at the town hall?”

  Gebbert shook his head. “I see old Master Ewald has been blabbering again. No, Shin Galiana, they aren’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “Each one was dispatched to a weaponsmith. From what the smithies been saying, they’re helping the Imbuers. I’ve never seen this many divya. Not in my lifetime. Some say it’s the Luminance War all over again.”

  Shin Galiana had a thoughtful look on her face. “Thank you, Master Gebbert.”

  “Well, here we are, Shin Galiana, these are the only two rooms left. Yours is down the hall, one door over.”

  “Two are more than enough.” Galiana’s brows were drawn together in a tight frown. Ancel wondered what troubled her.

  “They’re both royal suites,” Gebbert added, the good half of his face beaming, “usually reserved for dignitaries and such. I can have some attendants bring over a couple of beds for the young men.”

  Shin Galiana shook herself. “Thank you again.”

  “You’re most welcome.” The innkeeper hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d be careful around the other Ashishin if I were you, Shin Galiana.” Gebbert paused.

  “Continue,” Galiana encouraged.

  He cleared his throat. “Two months ago, several Pathfinders and a High Shin, think his name was Cantor, came to Harval. They were asking after you four.”

  A sense of panic grew in Ancel’s chest. Mirza hissed.

  “Are they still here?” Galiana asked.

  “No, but almost everyone knows they were looking for you. Especially with him.” He nodded to Ryne. “Not too many fit the description of a giant with tattoos. If I were you, I’d leave as soon as I can. Harval may be a neutral town and all, but it’s only a matter of time before someone sends word to the Tribunal.”