Terry Simpson - Ashes and Blood

“Where else would they be?” Danvir’s brow puckered.

Ancel sighed. “For whatever reason, it appears that Kachien took the last set of refugees to Randane.”

Alys gasped, bringing a hand to cover her mouth. Danvir’s reaction was a tightening of his jaws and ham-sized fists. His arms looked as if they would burst from the sleeves of his coat.

“I warned you about trusting her.” Danvir’s voice hissed between clenched teeth. “I warned you.”

“You did. But nothing changes what has happened already.”

“What are Galiana and the others planning to do about it?” Alys wrung her hands.

“They have other issues to worry about-”

“Other issues!” Danvir blurted, his face darkening. “What could possibly be more important than our own?”

“Nothing.”

“But you-”

“Dan, you know I wouldn’t leave them to their fate, but we have you and the others here to worry over also. Granadia is no longer safe for any of us. In a few days we’ll be leaving to bring those here to some place safe.”

“There’s no safer place than where we are now, on this side of the Vallum.”

Ancel smiled inwardly. Danvir wasn’t dumb by any means. Never had been. “Maybe that was once true, but with shadelings here, and the Tribunal after us, not to mention the hate the rest of Granadia harbors against the Setian, we have little choice.”

“I am not Setian,” Danvir said. “I was born here.”

“Tell that to any one of the other kingdoms who have already sent threats to King Tozian.”

“Wait.” A frown creased Alys’ forehead. “You don’t mean heading to Ostania, do you?”

“I do.”

“What does my father think about this and the rest of the council?” Danvir asked.

The anger written across Danvir’s face was so raw that Ancel was taken aback. His friend had voiced his displeasure before he left with the others for Torandil, but his loathing of who they were had grown with time. Ancel wondered how many others felt the same way. “The council supported this decision, Dan.”

“I don’t believe you. Where is my father now so I can ask him?”

He had succeeded in avoiding the question once, but Ancel knew he wouldn’t be able to again. All he could picture was the pain and the anger his words would bring. Overcome with emotion he hadn’t realized he’d buried deep inside, he leaned back and closed his eyes against the urge to cry.

“What is it, Anc?” Alys’ fingers touched his, tentative at first, but then gripped him stronger, squeezing. “What’s wrong?”

Fighting hard to keep his expression steady, he met her eyes. “Your father … my father … the rest of the council … gave themselves up to the Tribunal to help us escape.”

“No, no.” Alys’ face contorted; tears streamed down her cheeks.

Danvir stood abruptly, fists quivering. “Tell me this isn’t true, Ancel. Tell me,” he pleaded.

Mouth downturned, all Ancel could manage was to gaze at his friend. Danvir spun on his heels and stalked from the room. Before Ancel uttered another word, Alys ran after Dan, sobbing. When they left, Ryne walked in.

“I guess they didn’t take it well?” Ryne crossed the room, outfitted in his leather armor, one hand on the greatsword at his hip.

Ancel scowled and turned away to gaze out a large window, its open panes stained in red, green, and blue to match the others in the castle’s northernmost tower. The city below was a beehive of activity. Along lanes and avenues, people packed their belongings into wagons and carts. Many, who weren’t natives, lined the docks or made their way to them along the roads and paths carved into the cliff faces that led to the BlueWater Bay. Ships and boats of all sorts congregated on the ocean. Soldiers in Dosteri colors kept order throughout the city, ensuring that the mass exodus did not lead to riots. At the front gates, more folk streamed out than in. Those on horse or in coaches and wagons inched forward. This high up, the crowd noise was more a buzz than the normal chaotic din associated with a city of Torandil’s size. The Guardian Wall and the Quaking Forest were the lone banners flying.

“Some days I wish I could make all this go away,” Ancel said. “The worry, the pain, the anger, the uncertainty, the war, the death to come … the betrayal.” Kachien’s involvement in what was happening cut deep, even if he found it hard to believe. The visions within the zyphyl had shown him other possibilities. Ones that confirmed his suspicions about the way the wolves acted back in Eldanhill. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

Ryne remained silent.

“If wishes had wings,” Ancel said to himself. Cohorts formed ranks on a wide avenue, enough to be at least one full legion, their weapon and armor reflecting the morning sun. He took a deep breath. Alys’ perfume still tickled his nose. “Do you think we have enough to accomplish our plan? And will the others,” he pointed out the window to those already fleeing the city, “the rest of them be safe from any retaliation?”

“I cannot reassure you that anyone will be safe. They are making a choice they have to live with.” Ryne paused. “As for our forces, Kendin and some of his Sven will accompany you. The Dosteri refuse to let you go without several of their cohorts. And apparently, while you were training in the Entosis, the remainder of the mountain clans, both Nema and Seifer made their way here. Half of them demanded to be a part of that battle. The other will fight at the Iluminus.”

Frowning, Ancel faced Ryne. “Why?”

“I noticed it when I first arrived in Eldanhill. Many of the Dosteri, the Nema, and the Seifer are of the same bloodline. They were originally Erastonians.”

“From Everland?”

“The same. It is because of your father’s actions that they still live. If not for the preparations he made right before the Shadowbearer War, the Dosteri as we know them would not exist today. They owe him a life debt they say. It extends to all his immediate family. They feel they owe him even more now with some of their people’s betrayal.”

A memory sparked within Ancel’s mind like a lamp blinking on at dusk. He recalled the entire passage from the Chronicle of Undeath, of the Dosteri’s rise and the essences. “So it seems one of your Chronicles is true.” If indeed it referred to him, then he still lacked fire, ice, and shade. That last brought apprehension creeping through his body.

“Unfortunately, yes.” The big man’s features saddened. “Do you know why I named it Undeath?”

“After the zyphyl, I think I do. I saw what happens when daemons harvest sela. The zyphyl showed me what will become of the people in Randane. Not just the ones from Eldanhill, but everyone not aligned to the shade.”

“It’s the fate most of us will suffer if the shade wins out.”

“And the Nine?”

Ryne shrugged. “Who knows, but from what I have seen, it wouldn’t be much better. At least not for us. Slavery, used as cattle, or worse.”

Ancel didn’t want to imagine what could be worse than that already mentioned. “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to help me in Randane?”

“What I would rather do, and what I must do, are two different things. We all have a part to play. I believe you’re strong enough for this. Don’t doubt yourself. It’s a precursor to failure. Strike hard and fast.”

“Even if it means I must kill some of my own? Or someone I love?”

“Then so be it.” Ryne’s gaze was cold and unwavering. “People die so others may live. It is a harsh reality, but a reality nonetheless.”

As much as Ancel agreed, he couldn’t find the words to say so. He turned away from Ryne and gazed outside once more. “Have them bring the preparations to an end. We must attack before word of our exodus reaches anyone.”