Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  Robert burst into Aaron’s training room. The boy winced at the sudden invasion of light. He jumped to his feet, immediately quiet and attentive. The old man felt a bit of sadness, realizing he would never have a chance to continue training such a gifted student.

  “You must run,” Robert said. “The soldiers will kill you. There’s a window out back, now go!”

  No hesitation. No questions. Aaron did as he was told.

  The floor was cold when Robert sat down in the center. He thought about grabbing the dying torch to use as a weapon, but against armored men, it would be a laughable ploy. A burly man stepped inside as others rushed past, no doubt searching for Aaron. He held manacles in one hand and a naked sword in the other.

  “Does the king request my tutelage?” Robert asked, chuckling darkly.

  Gerand stepped in beside him, hand wrapped in a cloth to soak up the blood. A bruise was already growing on his forehead.

  “Stupid old man,” the advisor muttered, and he nodded to the soldier.

  Robert closed his eyes, not wanting to see the butt of the sword as it came crashing down on his forehead, knocking him out cold.

  Chapter 2

  I

  nformation meant wealth, and Kayla loved both. She was not the quietest thief, and unlike many in her line of work, she did not take to the shadows as fish took to water. Her fingers lacked the dexterity for caressing locks into opening. But her ears were always listening, and her eyes sharp. Throughout her rough life she had learned that dealing with information could net her coin and safety… although it could just as easily earn her death. Sometimes secrets were too dangerous to sell.

  Watching the soldiers surround the home, Kayla debated the value of what she saw. Clearly the king, or at least one of his minions, was interfering with the shadowy war being waged between the Trifect and the guilds. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to make sure neither fell asleep. She lay atop a nearby home, having stalked the troops ever since they left the castle grounds by following along the rooftops.

  She could barely see the front door, but she had long learned to analyze everything about a man. What a man wore, and the way he walked, could identify him no matter how dark the night, no matter how well he hid his face. Kayla needed little of that skill, though, for when the man stepped out of the door, his hood flapped in the wind, revealing the scarred face of Gerand Crold. He held a hand against his forehead as if he had been wounded. Suddenly he realized the mishap with his cloak, glanced about as if worried, and then pulled it back over his face.

  Good luck finding me, she thought.

  Kayla smiled. Now this was something she could sell. Every week she met with a squat little man named Undry who ran a shop specializing in perfumes. She would whisper to him what she knew, and then he would give her a garish oversize bottle of what looked like perfume, except filled with silver and gold coin. From there the information traveled upward until it reached Laurie Keenan, the wealthiest of the three lords of the Trifect.

  Kayla heard shouting. Shifting her weight, she watched as a boy leaped through a window, hit the ground with a roll, and then darted away. A single soldier was in sight, startled by the broken glass and sudden burst of movement mere feet away.

  Before she knew she had reached a decision, Kayla was already moving. Her hand slipped into her belt, where dozens of slender daggers were clipped tight, designed more for throwing than for wielding in melee. Based on the shouts and frantic searching of the soldiers, they clearly wanted the boy. Whoever he was, he was valuable, and Kayla would not let such easy money slip through her fingers. If Undry would pay for rumors of newly hired mercenaries and extra large shipments, how much might he pay for the blood relative of a Trifect, or perhaps one of the many guildleaders?

  She threw her dagger. The shadows might not be a second skin to her, and silence only a loose friend, but when it came to throwing the blade, she knew of no one better. Before the soldier could give chase, a wickedly sharp point pierced the side of his neck and ruptured his windpipe. He collapsed, unable to cry out to the others. Sheathing the second dagger she had grabbed in case she missed, she looked for the boy.

  Damn, he’s fast, she thought, sprinting after. If the boy hadn’t been so panicked, he easily would have heard her clattering across the rooftops. He darted through alleys, cutting back and forth as if to lose a pursuer. His path remained steadily eastward, regardless of how crooked and curved. Once she realized this, Kayla began to shrink the distance by taking a more direct route.

  Where are you taking me? she wondered. A great cry rose up all around her. She stopped and crouched, feeling a bit of worry crawl up her chest. It seemed the soldiers had given chase after all, but not just the few that had surrounded the home. Hundreds rushed up and down the streets in small groups.

  “The boy!” they shouted. “Hand us over the boy!”

  They pressed into homes, swarmed over alleyways, and pushed aside any they wished. Slowly, systematically, they were sealing off the entire eastern district.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  Kayla wasn’t exactly the most wanted lady of Veldaren, but she was no friend of the law, either. A guard in a pissy mood could easily take away her daggers, and if any should make the connection between her and the guard she’d just killed…

  “Fuck me up, down, and sideways,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten herself so messed up. She hurried from one side of her current rooftop to the other, taking in the positions of the soldiers. Frantic, she ran back to the north edge, realizing she had taken her eyes off the boy. If he’d made a sudden turn, or jumped through a window, then it would be the soldiers who found him, not her.

  She did know this: Undry would not be the one paying her for capturing the child. Anyone worth having the entire city guard chase after deserved a far better ransom. A king’s ransom, in fact. When she spotted the boy, she let out a sigh. He was a walking bag of gold, and she’d never have forgiven herself for letting him slip away.

  He was limping now, though she wasn’t sure the reason. He was also veering off the road, and she felt a mix of feelings when she realized why. Before him was an old abandoned temple to Ashhur, which had been stripped of all its valuables when the elegant white marble temple farther north was completed. The grand double doors had been boarded shut, but those boards were long broken. Kayla smiled when he slipped inside, for she knew there was no way out. At the same time, she wanted to strangle the boy. If the guards searched inside, well… there’d be no way out.

  She looked down the street, seeing no nearby patrols. She shimmied down the side of a home. Without pause she ran across the street, kicked one of the doors open, and rushed inside.

  Where there had once been painted glass were now thick boards with even thicker nails. Where there had once been rows of benches were now splinters and ruts in the floor. The entire place stank of feces and urine. She paused just inside the door to look for the boy, and that was when he struck her.

  She felt a fist smash her temple, followed by a swift kick to her groin. As she staggered to one knee, she couldn’t help but smile knowing the boy had assumed a man chased after. Another punch struck her nose, but she caught his wrist before he could pull his fist back. She was not prepared for the sudden maneuver he made. His fingers wrapped around her own wrist, his body twisted, and then she was down on both knees, wincing as the bones of her arm protested in pain.

  Any delusions she had of his being a normal boy vanished with her shriek of pain. Her fingernails clawed his skin, but he didn’t seem to care. Face-to-face they stared, and if she’d expected to find fear or desperation, she was badly mistaken. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and as the boy let go of her wrist and tried to kick her chest, she realized he was enjoying himself.

  She ducked under the kick, spun around him, and then jabbed his throat with her elbow. When he collapsed, he rolled his body, avoiding the next two blows from her foot. He caught her heel on her third kick and then shov
ed it upward. She somersaulted with the push, snapping his chin with her other foot. As he staggered back, she landed lightly on her feet, drew two daggers from her belt, and hurled them across the room.

  They stabbed into the floor barely an inch to either side of his feet.

  “Soldiers give chase, you stupid boy,” Kayla said. “Do you want to get us both killed?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. Kayla drew two more daggers, twirling them in her fingers. The boy was smart, she could see that. He had to know he was beaten, yet she’d held back her killing blow. Surely that would earn her some measure of trust.

  “Your name,” she said. “Tell me, and I’ll hide you from them.”

  “My name…” He was not at all winded from the run or their tussle, though he spoke low, as if embarrassed by the sound of his own voice. “My name is Haern.”

  “The Haerns are simple farmers,” Kayla said. “Stop lying to me. We both know you’ve never bent your back in a field or soiled your clothes in pig shit.”

  “Haern is my first name,” the boy said, and he looked insulted she’d found out the lie so easily. “You haven’t asked for my last name yet.”

  She glanced toward the door, expecting soldiers to come barging in at any moment.

  “And what might that be?” she asked.

  The doors opened, a pair of guards with swords drawn standing at the entrance.

  “Here!” one shouted, the last word he ever spoke. A throwing dagger speared his left eye. The other guard swore, and then another dagger sailed through his open mouth and jabbed into the back of his throat.

  “Follow me,” Kayla shouted as she grabbed Haern’s shirt. He did his best to follow, but she noticed his limp had returned.

  “The door,” he said, nodding to where the dead guards lay.

  “No time,” she said. “They’ll be there soon.”

  On the opposite side of the temple was a boarded window. Kayla reached up and yanked on the boards. The wood was old and weather beaten, but she was not the strongest of women. She tugged and pulled, but the wood refused to break.

  “Give me a dagger,” Haern said.

  Kayla at first thought to refuse, then decided it couldn’t possibly make things worse. She gave him one.

  “Keep the pointy end away from me,” she said.

  Three more guards poured through the door and shouted for them to surrender.

  “Damn it,” Kayla muttered.

  “You handle them,” Haern said. “I’ll get us out.”

  As if completely oblivious to the danger, the boy used his dagger to slice into the wood surrounding the nails. Kayla thought him crazy, but he worked the wood like an expert. In a handful of seconds, the first nail popped into his palm.

  Still, many nails and boards remained. Kayla drew two more daggers and faced the guards. Remaining in the corner defending Haern was counter to her methods of combat, so she ran to the side, hurling dagger after dagger to keep the guards’ attention. A couple glanced off their mail, another ricocheted off the flat edge of a blade, but one sank deep into the flesh of a soldier’s thigh. He swore and pulled it out while the other two rushed closer.

  Kayla dodged and rolled, her lithe body narrowly avoiding the swings of the guards’ swords. Once she was on the far side of the temple, she turned and sprinted, rolling past the two nearer soldiers and straight for the wounded man. Down on one knee clutching his wound, he only had time enough to look up and curse again before she stabbed a dagger in his eye. She yanked it out as she passed, wincing at the eyeball lodged halfway up the slender blade.

  When she reached Haern, she leaped into the air and spun, her hands a blur as daggers flew. The two guards crossed their arms to block their faces, but she had anticipated such a basic defense. Sharp points dug into their legs, hands, and feet. Blood poured across the faded floor.

  “Hurry,” she heard Haern shout. She turned to see him toss her dagger back, hilt first. Three boards lay by his feet. He climbed up and out the window, not pausing to see if she followed. Kayla blew the wounded soldiers a kiss, then sprang after him.

  “How fast can you run?” she asked Haern when she landed outside. The drop from the temple was longer than it looked, and she felt her knees ache.

  “Not fast enough.”

  “Limp if you have to,” Kayla said, grabbing his arm. “But we’re still going to run, even if it’s on one foot.”

  He hesitated only a brief moment before looping his arm around her neck and running alongside. Shouts echoed behind them, and Kayla felt her heart thud in her ears. She had killed four soldiers now, as well as wounded two more. There would be no jail cell waiting for her if they were caught, just a thick stone and an ax.

  They hobbled down the road, Kayla desperate to add distance between them and the guards. She asked questions in a rapid-fire manner as they ran, hoping against hope for a plan to emerge in her mind.

  “You said Haern’s your first name. What’s your last?”

  Haern refused to answer at first, but then she cuffed him on the side of his head.

  “I’m trying to save your life, and mine, so talk.”

  “I… I’m the son of a guildmaster.”