Terry Simpson - Ashes and Blood

“Well,” Mirza said, “I’ll get some of the men in my cohort together and go take a look for these wolves of yours.” He leaned closer to inspect the giant. “Why’s he so blue and black in the face and hands? You would think he’d been standing outside for an entire winter. I mean, that can’t be good. He’ll probably lose a finger or two or worse. Some of the dead tissue is gone past anything mending can do.”

“I don’t know, but he was moving fine enough until Da shot him.”

“Wait,” Mirza’s brow bunched, “Ancel,” his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “we tried to damage that arm of yours since you got those … Etchings.” He glanced around after saying the word before continuing, “But nothing affects it. How could your Da’s arrows …”

“ Divya, ” Ancel whispered. “That’s what Da used. I’m sure of it. He also sounded like he knew the man or rather the Etchings, but then he stopped talking about them.”

“Did you ask him-?”

Ancel cut him off with a flat-eyed expression.

“Right,” Mirza said, “I forgot your Da is as stubborn as you are when you want to keep a secret. Anyway, you think he’s near invincible to normal weapons like you?” Mirza’s gaze drifted to the giant.

“Maybe, but remember it still hurts when I get hit on mine.” Ancel paused. “There’s something else …”

“What?”

“I think he might have recognized my Da. He knew Kachien for sure.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Remember when she told us about her orders in Ostania?”

Mirza frowned.

“About the man and the boy?”

Mirza stroked his red beard for a moment then nodded.

“Supposedly, he’s that man.”

“Didn’t she say they died?”

Ancel shook his head. “No. She said she failed.”

Silence ensued as they continued their trek through Eldanhill. One of the soldiers in front yelled to keep the way clear as they reached the more crowded parts of town, passing along the tight stalls and shops of Market Row and into Thanairen Square. The noise of criers and others shouting their wares drowned out the rumble of the dray’s wheels. Stalls occupied almost every space within the market. Peddlers rubbed or blew in their hands or simply stomped to drum up some warmth. Some stayed close to fires. A few shoppers congregated near where peddlers sold soup or hot broth. The aroma of food and the press of unwashed bodies mingled for an unpleasant odor. A fur seller in one corner was doing brisk business. He nodded in Ancel’s direction. Ancel shook his head. He had no pelts or furs to provide the trader this day.

“Any word yet about when or if they’ll close the Mystera?” Ancel asked as they turned east down Henden Lane. Off to their left began Learners Row and the line of large, three and four storied buildings, halls, and open spaces where the Teachers, all retired Ashishin, held their classes.

“None yet, but Jillian left earlier to escort what’s to be the last convoy to Torandil.”

Ancel breathed a sigh of relief. The animosity between Jillian and his father had grown since the man took Mother. He often felt it was only a matter of time before they fought openly. This must have been Galiana’s way to dissolve the problem. Always plotting, that woman. He shook his head.

Chests puffed out, several cadets garbed in blue and sporting the gold shield and sword of Dagodin in training stepped out from the Row. When the cadets looked toward the guard and saw Mirza’s green uniform, they ducked their heads quickly and hurried toward the market. Ancel smiled. They hadn’t even acknowledged his father where he strode with the horse’s reins in his hands. Stefan was the commander of all the military in Eldanhill, but his furs and leathers often made him appear as unassuming as the next man.

“Remember when we were just like them?” Mirza gestured with his head toward the young soldiers.

“Yes, less than a year ago.”

“Look at us now.” Mirza spread his hands to show off his uniform and matching jacket. The crossed swords of a Dagodin Knight glinted on his lapel.

“You mean look at you now,” Ancel said.

“Bah. Why do you do that?” Mirza flicked at his hair in irritation. “You’re more than any of us.”

“And yet still I’m not. If someone asked after my title, what would you say?”

Mirza tilted his head to one side, stroking his beard again. Eyes narrowing, he contemplated for a bit more before he shrugged.

“Exactly. For all my talent and this so called Gift, whatever it is, I’m nothing,” Ancel said bitterly.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I understand.” Mirza took a deep breath. “Listen. Whatever you’re meant to do, you’ll find a way just like you found one past your issues with Irmina. Right there,” his gaze roved over the giant, “is your start.”

“Start to what though?”

“That, my friend, is a good question.”

Ancel gazed out toward the Kelvore River as they made the sharp turn off Henden Lane onto one the many small alleys crisscrossing this part of town. Swollen by precipitation from the northern ranges, the river’s deep swirling waters rushed by. A gray mass of clouds hung over the mountains. Set next to the Kelvore, this was the one part of town without walls. “You ever wonder where we would be if things didn’t happen like they did?”

“I don’t wonder. I know. We’d be dead,” Mirza replied.

Ancel contemplated his words for a moment. “If you let Dan tell it, we may as well be dead by staying here.”

Danvir had decided to leave with the old, the children, and the others who didn’t wish to be a part of the fighting to come. Ancel recalled hugging his broad-shouldered friend before Danvir set off as part as the escort to Torandil.

“Dan turned into a coward.” Mirza hawked and spat. “I never expected that from him.” Mouth twisting in contempt, he continued, “We were supposed to be in this together, going off to be knights, fighting to keep Granadia safe. Now the world’s at stake, what does he do? He flees at the first sign of killing like some green-eyed girl.”

“Not everyone is made from the same mold, Mirz,” Ancel said. Sometimes, he did miss their big friend. He could picture Danvir’s oversized nose and ears and his eyes bulging at the sight of the giant. “Not everyone can be as cold as you when it comes to taking a life either, not even me.”

“We do what we must.”

“Indeed.”

“Speaking of old friends, you heard anything from Alys?” Mirza broke into a wry smile.

Ancel’s lips gave an involuntary twitch. He missed her. “The last eagles to arrive said they’d reached Torandil safely. Good thing too. Just in time before the hardest bit of winter hits. For a while there I was worried. Waiting for that eagle made me wish there was a faster way to travel between cities, you know, like the ancient Travelshafts or something.” Ancel pictured himself riding through the tunnels that stories said existed between the major cities, arriving in a third of the time it would take to make such a journey by horseback.

“If wishes had wings, pigs would fly,” Mirza said.

“I always thought that was a dumb saying. What does it mean anyway?”

“Who knows,” Mirza shrugged, “it sounds wise, and that’s all that matters.”

Ancel snorted. He eyed the sky again. Snowflakes swirled down like white ash from the thick, gray quilt stretching from the Kelvore Mountains all the way to the Red Ridge farther east.

“Although I don’t like why Danvir left, I wonder if we shouldn’t have done the same,” Mirza said.

Surprised to hear Mirza admit as much, Ancel arched an eyebrow.

“I mean, I know we stayed to arm our soldiers properly and all. And to recover from the Sendethi attack, but we should have left by now. Time is dragging. Every day I expect shadelings to charge from the Greenleaf or pop out of thin air. It’s not a good feeling. The fact that the Council isn’t turning away any refugees doesn’t help. More and more people are beginning to talk as if we’re home, like the old days, as if everything is fine. It isn’t.”