Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Your ruffian, Irmina.

She left a red lip imprint using the paint he loved to see her wear. The mark was a mere smudge now, but he didn’t care. He kissed those lips at least once every day.

Charra’s low growl jolted him out of his reverie, making him aware of the slow clip clop of hooves on the dusty Eldan Road. With Danvir and Mirza on their mounts a few feet away, Ancel knew who the rider approaching from behind had to be. He didn’t bother to face him. Instead, he prepared himself for what was to come. At least the Headspeaker hadn’t waited until they were well on their way.

“What’s troubling you?” Edwin Valdeen asked.

“Nothing really.”

“Really?” Edwin raised a bushy eyebrow. The Headspeaker’s abundant facial hair contrasted with his shiny, bald head. “I would think that much is on your mind. After all,” he gestured behind them, “The caravan is already moving down the road, yet here you are staring home. And those two,” he nodded to where Danvir and Mirza waited, their horses stamping and tossing their heads, “look about as impatient as suckling babes.”

“It’s nothing much, Master Valdeen,” Ancel said with a little more confidence. The last thing he needed right now was to let Alys’ father know he was thinking about another woman.

“Missing Irmina again, aren’t you?”

Ancel deflated. Had his feelings become that obvious to everyone?

“I can tell you a thing or three about women, young man,” Edwin said as if he had not seen Ancel’s expression. “They can never make up their minds about what they want. You can never please them. But love them the right way, and they’ll give you their all.”

“Or snatch your heart from your chest,” Ancel replied in a glum tone, mouth downturned.

“There is that. I’ve been with my share of women. Alys’ mother was not my true love, but she’s the one I ended up with. She stood by me when I needed a hand and someone to lean on. She’s been with me ever since. In the end, that’s what matters. I’ve heard stories about your, shall we say, appetite?” Edwin’s voice hardened. “I won’t have my Alys mistreated by anyone, not even you. I would’ve thought your father would teach you better.” He gave his beard a quick stoke. “Then again he himself has been known to lead a merry chase or three.”

Ancel did not meet Edwin’s piercing eyes, instead choosing to focus on Eldanhill once more. The town’s lamps winked on one by one along the streets and lanes that carved paths like branches flowing from the Kelvore River to Eldanhill’s east. “I’m not trying to mistreat Alys. I do care for her. But…” He didn't quite know how to say the next part to the Headspeaker in a way that wouldn’t make the man furious.

“But?” Edwin repeated.

Ancel steeled himself and turned to meet Edwin’s eyes. “I still love Irmina. I think about her daily. At the same time, I’ve promised to never allow myself to be hurt that way again. To be honest, Master Valdeen, the women, they soothe me. They keep my mind from thinking about what could’ve been. They keep me from charging off to go find her. Alys plays a big part, but I cannot tell you what future there may be between us.”

The Headspeaker’s face had reddened with each sentence, and his jaw worked. He gave a few nods and caressed his beard again, his hand tightening at the end of each stroke. Finally, he said, “I’m glad you’re honest with me, boy. I can understand this foolishness in a way. I’ve promised Alys not to interfere, but one way or another, you’ll need to make a choice. I won’t stand for my daughter crying the way she does since she fell for you. You have until the Soltide Festival.” The warning in Edwin’s words was clear.

Ancel opened his mouth to reassure the Headspeaker, but his words fled him. He couldn’t bring himself to promise more than he could offer. Edwin gave him one last sharp look before wheeling his horse to follow the caravan.

“That could’ve been worse,” Danvir said as he and Mirza rejoined Ancel.

“I think it went bad enough,” Ancel said.

“Think on it like this,” Mirza chimed in. “He could’ve threatened to bring the question of his daughter’s honor before the Council.”

Ancel groaned. Another complaint like the ones already leveled against him wouldn’t go over well. Not even his father’s position could save him then. He could see it now. His father having to pay great debts to make good to the parents who said Ancel had sullied their daughter’s reputations and chances to land a good dowry. “Well, it’s not as if I didn’t make it clear what my interests were,” Ancel grumbled. “Most of those girls had their petals plucked long before me anyway.”

“Further sullying their names will gain you much sympathy.” Danvir shook his head.

“Now I know why the courtesans make such good business,” Ancel said, “No complaints, no attachments, maybe-”

“If you think your father’s upset now, imagine if you took to them. Although,” Mirza gave a mischievous grin, “What he doesn’t know couldn’t hurt.”

Danvir smiled, but the prospects didn’t lighten Ancel’s mood. Nothing thrilled him more than the chase and well, the working women didn’t offer much for sport.

“Just promise us one thing,” Mirza said. “Promise to wipe Irmina from your mind for this trip. It’s going to be your naming day. Start fresh.”

“I promise,” Ancel answered. The lie came rather easily. He was sick of everyone’s advice.

A breeze swept past them, carrying with it the chill from the Kelvore Mountains. Charra growled and fixed his gaze on the Greenleaf Forest and its darkened contents to the west. The daggerpaw stood stock-still. His bone hackles flexed before rising upright into hardened, knife-like protrusions. Each row swished into position and clicked. His golden eyes glowed.

“What’s his issue?” Danvir followed Charra’s massive head.

“I don’t know. He’s been this way lately. Restless and snarling at the slightest things.” Ancel attempted to act as confused as Mirza. His bay pranced a bit, and he snapped his reins and used his legs to keep it under control.

“Well, something has him spooked good.” Danvir peered in the same direction as everyone else, his brow furrowed.

“You think it could be…them?” Mirza asked.

Ancel stared at him. Danvir’s raised eyebrows and his eyes shifting from Mirza to him spoke for themselves. Ancel sighed. Their friend wouldn’t give up until he felt they no longer hid anything from him.

“I’m sorry,” Mirza said, his expression meek.

“So out with it then,” Danvir said.

Ancel told him what happened in the Greenleaf Forest. Danvir’s eyes grew round with the telling. By the time Ancel mentioned what his father had begun to say about wraithwolves, Danvir’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Gods be good. What do you think they were?” Danvir asked in a low voice.

“My Da says the tracks they found belonged to mountain wolves and daggerpaws.”

Mirza gave Ancel a dubious look. “What about the green eyes?”

Ancel shrugged. “He says it was the resinbuds playing tricks on our sight.”

“You never mentioned resinbuds,” Danvir chortled. “Those damned flowers do have a way of changing colors.” Relief washed across his face. “Think on it, if it were wraith-” he glanced around, “Two of you would be dead with your hearts torn out.”

“I guess you’re right.” Ancel gave a weak smile.

Mirza’s doubtful expression hadn’t changed. “Well, whatever they were, I’m not sitting around here if they’re what Charra is sensing now. I think it’s past time for us to catch up to the others.” With that, Mirza shook his reins and sent his horse trotting after the dwindling caravan.