Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  Illarion stood as well. “Keep a watch,” he advised. “I fear that you’re not safe here. Had we room, I would offer you lodging, but as you can see,” he said, spreading his hands to indicate the camp, “we barely have shelter for ourselves.” He met Blaine’s gaze. “Tell no one your business, and leave with first light. May Esthrane’s hand be upon you.”

  Blaine and Kestel turned to leave. To their surprise, Borya and Desya stood and followed them. “We’ll make sure you get back to the inn,” Borya said. “A little extra muscle never hurts.” His strange yellow eyes flashed, and Kestel shivered.

  They reached the pub without incident and bade Borya and Desya good night. As they entered the Ram and Boar, the common room grew uncomfortably quiet when they made their way to the stairs. Feeling the gaze of the pub’s patrons upon them, Blaine and Kestel moved quickly out of view and were glad when they reached the door to their room.

  Piran and Verran both rose from their seats near the fire. “Where in Raka were you?” Piran demanded as they entered. “Geir got here some time ago. He’s gone out searching.”

  In response, Blaine held up the new disk. “We went to watch the traveling performers and came back with more information than we expected.” He gave Piran and Verran a quick recap.

  “Not bad,” Piran said, settling back into his chair. “But Verran and I turned up some information, too.”

  Verran moved away from the fire and propped one foot up on a bench. “I passed the evening in the common room. After I bought a round of drinks, people were happy to talk to me, and I fell in with the musicians who were playing tonight,” he said, tapping the pennywhistle in his pocket. “We’re not the first people to come this way looking for mages.”

  Blaine grimaced. “So we heard.”

  Verran’s expression sobered. “Yeah. Either we were followed, or someone had watchers in place, looking for you, Blaine. A man I’d never seen before came to the bar asking about ‘the strangers’ who had come in with the storm. I stayed out of sight, but I could hear what was being said. Whoever was looking for you gave the impression that we were trouble. After that, the room wasn’t quite so friendly.”

  “Was he talishte?” Blaine asked.

  “No,” Verran replied.

  “Probably not Reese’s man then,” Blaine said. “I wonder if he was connected to the fellow who followed us.”

  “Did you learn anything from the musicians?” Kestel asked.

  Verran shrugged. “They had a few opinions about the acrobat troupe and freak show that came into town a while ago. Been some accusations – never proven – that they’re petty thieves. There’s a rumor going around that the performers are under some kind of curse.” He ran a hand back through his straw-colored hair. “Gods above! I wish we could leave tonight.”

  Kestel sauntered toward the fireplace and sank into the chair Verran had vacated. She looked at Piran and grinned. “How did your research go, Piran? Did you use your wiles to get the ladies to bare their secrets?”

  “You’ve got no faith in me at all, do you, Kestel?” Piran returned with mock exasperation.

  “If you mean, do I think you’ll keep your wits about you in a whorehouse, the answer is no.”

  Piran sighed. “Well, then, you’d be surprised. I spent a pleasant candlemark in the parlor having a drink or two with the ladies. One of the girls, Calia, allowed as how she had seen a newcomer to town more than a week ago, a man who seemed to be looking for someone.” He grinned. “As you can imagine, she’s the one I paid for some companionship.”

  “We don’t want a report of your escapades,” Kestel replied with good-natured impatience. “You were supposed to be spying.”

  Piran drew himself up as if offended, although the mirth in his eyes said otherwise. “I’ll have you know I denied myself the pleasure of Calia’s significant charms and asked if we could use the time my coin bought to talk. She said it was all the same to her, so that’s what we did.”

  Blaine and Verran smirked while Kestel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’d heard that you were all talk. Tell us something we don’t know,” Kestel jibed.

  “How about this?” Piran said, growing serious. “Pollard’s got at least one spy here.”

  The joking mood vanished. “How do you know?” Blaine asked.

  “Turns out the spy took a fancy to Calia. He got drunk and started bragging. Said he worked for a very wealthy man and that he was sent to keep an eye on a group of escaped criminals. Gave her the impression he was the leader of a military team.”

  “Shit,” Blaine murmured. “What else? Are you sure he meant Pollard? I hate to say it, but he might not be the only wealthy man with a reason to keep an eye on us.”

  “He told her that his boss had powerful friends among the talishte,” Piran replied. “It’s got to be Pollard.”

  “How do you know she wasn’t trying to pump you for information?” Kestel said, fixing Piran with a gaze that had suddenly lost all humor. “Maybe she’s in league with him.”

  Piran shook his head. “Doubtful. She was angry. Turns out when she wasn’t properly impressed by the man’s story, he roughed her up. Madam Ellie had him thrown out, and he’s not welcome back.”

  Before anyone could reply, the glass in both of the room’s windows shattered and two streaks of fire arched through the air. Blaine barely caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a pitcher stuffed with burning rags before the vessel shattered on the bare-wood floor, sending shards of pottery and tongues of flames in every direction.

  “Get away from the windows!” Blaine shouted. The flames caught quickly amid the tinder of the bedding and the dry wood. Already the room was filling with smoke and the noxious smell of pitch and burning oil.

  Kestel’s quick reflexes served her well. She ducked the worst of the flying shards and was on her feet in a heartbeat, grabbing her cloak and what she could of their gear on her way toward the door. Verran and Piran snatched what they could easily carry and Blaine followed, barreling out of the door and down the stairs into the chaos of the common room.

  “The house is on fire!” someone in the crowded room shouted as Blaine and the others cleared the last of the stairs. Smoke was beginning to billow down the steps behind them. Screams, cries, and shouts filled the air as the drunken patrons shouldered each other to get out the door.

  “This way!” Kestel said, grabbing Blaine’s arm. He signaled to Verran and Piran and followed Kestel as she ran in the opposite direction of the crowd, into the pub’s back hallway and through the kitchen.

  “Head for the stables,” Blaine instructed. “Grab the horses. We need to get out of here.”

  They plunged out of the doorway and into the cold night. A crowd had gathered behind the pub as well as in front. As they cleared the doorway, there was a roar and the flames burst from every window on the second story, showering the yard with glass.

  “Those are the ones!” a voice shouted from the crowd. “They brought this on us.”

  The crowd closed ranks, forcing Blaine and the others to stop in their tracks. “We had nothing to do with this,” Blaine countered, holding up his hands as if to ward off the crowd.

  “We heard you were trouble!” another voice shouted. “We were warned.”

  “Someone threw pitchers with burning rags through our window,” Kestel answered, taking a step toward the crowd. “We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Happened because you were here, din’t it?” a man replied. “I’d say that’s on account of you.”

  “Drive ’em out!” a woman yelled from deep within the crowd. “Get rid of them!”

  “I say hang ’em all,” another man dissented.

  “Run them out!”

  “If you want to blame someone, here’s your man.” Blaine and the others turned sharply at the sound of Geir’s voice. He was standing at the back of the crowd, and he held a man by the shoulder so that his feet barely touched the ground.

  The crowd hushed, staring at Geir. “I saw him thro
w the pitchers, but I was too far away to stop him.” Geir shouted. “I caught him as he tried to run.”

  The man twisted in Geir’s iron grip. “Help me! He’s a biter and he’s got me!”

  Behind them, the roof of the pub caught fire. Flames shot from every window and door, and Blaine could hear the shouts of the bucket brigade in the front of the pub as they relayed buckets from the well to wet down adjacent buildings and keep the fire from spreading. It had grown warm enough where they stood to raise a sheen of sweat on Blaine’s forehead, and the firelight cast a flickering red light across everything.

  “The biter’s in league with them! Run them all out!” Voices took up the cry, and the crowd surged forward.

  The clatter of a wagon and the thunder of horses running at full speed stopped the movement of the crowd. To Blaine’s astonishment, the troubadours’ wagon drove toward them at breakneck speed, with Zaryae in the driver’s seat, her dark hair flying around her on the wind. She reined in the horses so hard that they nearly reared, stopping so the wagon stood between Blaine’s group and the crowd. Borya and Desya, who had been hanging on to the outside of the wagon, standing on the running board and clinging to the top rail, jumped down, each now armed with long swords in both hands.

  “Get in!” Zaryae shouted to Blaine and the others. “The boys will see to your horses.”

  Caught between the crowd and the heat of the flames, Blaine and his friends climbed into the wagon. As he ducked his head to enter the wagon, Blaine caught a glimpse of Geir rising straight up, still holding the arsonist.

  No sooner had Piran closed the door of the wagon when Zaryae gave an earsplitting whistle to the horses, who took off at a gallop. Blaine had to grab for the sides of the wagon to keep from being thrown from his feet. Kestel lost her footing as they rounded a curve at full speed but was prevented from tumbling to the other side of the wagon when Verran grabbed her by the arm.

  “We’re heading away from the crowd and the fire,” Piran observed. “Question is, what are we headed toward?”

  “And can we trust the people who saved us, or did we just land in worse trouble?” Kestel asked as she pulled herself to her feet.

  The wagon slowed after a few minutes so they did not have to cling to the sides to avoid being injured, but they were still riding fast enough that every rut and stone in the road jarred their bones and knocked their jaws together. Finally, the wagon’s speed decreased and they gradually came to a stop.

  Blaine poked his head out of the wagon’s doorway, holding his sword. “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Safe. For now,” Zaryae replied.

  Blaine jumped down from the wagon and looked around. They were outside of the wall, close enough to Riker’s Ferry that he could see the lights of town and the flare of the pub fire, but far enough that the unruly crowd was unlikely to follow. The cold wind was a relief. Steam rose from the horses, and their frames heaved as they breathed.

  A moment later, Geir touched down next to them. The arsonist was limp in Geir’s grip, and when Geir let go of the man, he crumpled to the ground.

  “If he’s dead, we’ll never know who sent him,” Piran complained.

  “He’s not dead. He fainted when I went up in the air,” Geir replied. “He’ll come around. We’ll find out who sent him.”

  “Pretty good drivin’, don’t you think?” Zaryae’s voice made them jump. The seer was still in the clothing she had worn at the show, with a worn coat and a stained scarf pulled over her outfit. “You’re lucky the warning came to me in time.”

  “Warning?” Verran asked.

  “Zaryae’s a seer,” Kestel explained. “She’s with the troubadours we saw in town, the ones who gave us the disk.”

  “I went to the wall when you left us,” Zaryae answered. “I sought a sign. I lost consciousness, and a dream came to me. I saw flames, and danger, and a journey. It was so clear, I couldn’t wait. I shouted to the others to pack up the camp, and I took the wagon after you. Borya and Desya had just seen you to the pub, and when the explosion came, they jumped on and we rode as hard as we could.”

  “We’re in your debt,” Blaine said. “Thank you.”

  “What about the others?” Kestel asked.

  “Illarion and Kata will leave by the back gate. We’re to meet them there. I don’t like being outside the walls at night,” Zaryae said, casting a nervous glance at the starlit sky, “but staying where you were wasn’t really an option.”

  “Without our horses, we’re stranded,” Verran said.

  As he spoke, they heard the sound of hoofbeats. Fearing that the mob had indeed come after them, Blaine gripped his sword and the others unsheathed their weapons.

  “Look, they’re coming!” Zaryae shouted, but her tone held a note of glee.

  Four horses were galloping toward them. Borya and Desya rode the rearmost horses and stood in their saddles, driving the other two horses forward with drovers’ calls and keeping them on course with the movement of their own horses. After a few minutes, they slowed, and as they neared the wagon, Borya and Desya dismounted and gathered the reins, leading the horses to where the group was standing.

  “That was some good riding,” Piran said appreciatively. “You’ve herded before?”

  Borya laughed and brushed his dark hair from his yellow eyes. “Desya and I grew up traveling in the Flatlands. If it’s got four legs and hooves, we’ve driven it from one side of the grasslands to the other. Your horses were much easier than a herd of goats!”

  A moan drew their attention. The man lying at Geir’s feet stirred. “Let’s see what our guest has to say,” Geir said, leaning down to grab the man by his shoulder. He jostled him awake and pulled him into a sitting position. The man eyed Geir with terror and seemed only barely aware that the others were nearby.

  Geir squatted down so he was on eye level with the man. “Look at me,” Geir said softly, his voice quiet, thick with compulsion. The arsonist resisted for a second, and then despite his terror, he raised his head until he was looking Geir in the eyes. No one spoke, but the arsonist’s face relaxed, his eyes heavy-lidded though open, and his body lost its tension.

  “Very good,” Geir said in a voice that was firm, yet reassuring. “Now. Who sent you?”

  “My commander.”

  Blaine could see the irritation in Geir’s face, but the talishte’s voice remained smooth. “You’re a soldier?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you swear your oaths to the king, or to a lord?”

  “To a lord.”

  Geir nodded. “Very good. To which lord are you oath-bound?”

  “Lord Pollard.”

  Blaine and his friends exchanged a glance. Geir moved a little closer to the arsonist, and Blaine knew that the talishte was strengthening the depth of his compulsion. “What was your task?” Geir asked.

  “I was to track a man, note his movements, discover his contacts, and report back,” the arsonist answered, in a voice that sounded on the edge of sleep.

  “Were you sent to kill him?”

  “If the opportunity presented itself.”

  “That’s why you started the fire tonight,” Geir responded.

  “Seemed as good a chance as any,” the arsonist replied.

  “What was he doing in Riker’s Ferry?” Blaine asked. “He got here before we did.”

  “Answer the question,” Geir prompted.

  “My commander said you didn’t seem interested in going back to Castle Reach, so Lord Pollard sent us out to the towns that remained, watching for you and asking questions.”

  Blaine looked up sharply. “There are more spies?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many more?” Geir asked, his voice soothing.

  “Don’t know. Just more.”

  Behind them, Piran began to curse. “That’s just great. Now we’re being hunted.”

  “Pipe down. We already knew that. This just means the hunt’s fresh,” Kestel replied with a sidelong glare at Piran.


  “Why did Pollard care where we went?” Verran asked. “What’s he think we’re doing?”

  “Answer him,” Geir directed.

  “He doesn’t know. Commander says Lord Pollard don’t like mysteries.”

  “Did your commander send spies to all locations, or just to some?” Geir pressed.

  “Lots of places aren’t there no more,” the arsonist replied. “Lots more got no people livin’ there since the storms got bad. That cut down on the number some. Commander said towns known for magic might draw you, or spots with no magic. Said you might be looking for a hocus, guy with a funny name. If you found him, we were supposed to kill you for sure. If not, like I said, report in, unless the opportunity was too good to pass up.”