The Ashenborn Read online

  Zarx’s gaze followed Alanias as he walked across the room.

  “You mean the Rite?” Jakobin said bluntly.

  Alanias winked. “All the better time to bring up the subject.”

  “And you think,” Zarx paused and scratched his chin, “that the Ashenborn will cooperate?”

  “Their purpose is to fight the Taneemian and those who threaten the life of all,” Alanias said. “Or so they say.”

  The brothers made their respective and proper good-byes and left to prepare for their upcoming assignments.

  Jakobin smiled broadly as they closed the war room door behind them, leaving Zarx and King Alanias in the room.

  “What?” Selaphiel said, looking at Jakobin as if something strange had happened.

  “You heard Father,” Jakobin beamed. “He has entrusted me with carrying out the investigation and defense of the south village.”

  “It seems Father trusts you more each day, Brother. You have gained his respect as you have grown,” Cordoc said.

  “Plus you made a very good point and spoke wisely,” Selaphiel added.

  Jakobin walked down the hall as if he were a hundred feet tall.

  “Do not let it go to your head, however,” Cordoc said, watching him.

  “I was not amused by Zarx attempting to take me away from it,” Jakobin said.

  “He just cares for you,” Selaphiel said. “Besides, you know how Zarx is skeptical of magic. We and Derrick are the only ones who wield it with whom he seems to get along.”

  “It explains his not really acknowledging the evidence that Father said Derrick provided,” Cordoc said.

  “Maybe that makes sense,” Jakobin said as he came to a stop. “Zarx has better cause to hate magic than any of us do. He fought in the War of Stones and saw the majority of his family killed in it. No wonder he is hesitant to believe the Taneemian have returned.”

  “Or too afraid to acknowledge it,” Cordoc said.

  The man stood in the darkness of the shadows. He wore silver armor that covered the gleam of magic in his eyes. He crouched on the mountainside, viewing the large expanse of the prison with hungry eyes. He looked down at the vambrace on his arm and the silver fragment that was wrapped around his wrist. He watched as the guard changed, and the new men began to crank the chains of the prison, causing it to lift into the air, giving the appearance it was floating. The prison sat at an angle until chains pulling it from the opposite side straightened it. Its height, after several minutes of watching, was breathtaking. The man placed his opposite hand over the fragment but stopped as he saw another man in silver armor walk into the prison.

  “Zarx,” he whispered, annoyed. He stooped on the ledge, listening to the conversation below him.

  “Make sure to be ever watchful. The king wishes for us to be more cautious than ever,” the man heard Zarx say.

  “What is all the fuss about? This prison is never bothered.”

  Zarx looked at the guard, agitated.

  “Do not ask me why, but follow my order. An order of the king should not be questioned. Next time you ask a question like that, I will have you striped for insolence.”

  The guard went red in the face and gave a curt “Yes, sir” before heading back to his post.

  Zarx walked around the prison, looking disgusted.

  Daemos approached the red-faced guard and whispered a few words to the man, who nodded in return.

  “Why the look?” Daemos asked Zarx, after having chastised the guard.

  “These walls are not made by an ordinary person. I am not a fan of Ashenborn magic,” Zarx spat.

  Daemos chuckled. “You hate what you do not understand. If the Ashenborn are all like Derrick, then they are a fine people.”

  Zarx looked amused at Daemos’ statement.

  “May I ask what you are looking for, General?”

  Zarx ran his hand across the wall of glowing light.

  “Before leaving for the king’s errand, I wanted to check the prison, though what I expect to find I am not so sure myself.” He put his hand up to his face, as if he expected to find the light smeared upon his fingers, as if it were slime.

  “Derrick has said there is no need to supply more guards, though I have been arguing the opposite. His belief is the prison will hold against anything.”

  Zarx looked around sternly. “Daemos, what are your thoughts?”

  “I trust Elder Derrick; there has never been a reason to be concerned, and all here remain vigilant, despite the fact that this place is all but impervious to attack from the ground.”

  Zarx snorted, “So attacks from the air could be problematic.”

  “Well, what could reach up this high?” Daemos said, unconcerned.

  “Dragons,” Zarx said.

  Daemos raised an eyebrow.

  “It is nothing. The prison seems fine; no worries of an enemy dropping from the sky,” Zarx said only half in jest as his gaze landed on the shadow of the man standing onthe mountainside.

  “What about there?” he pointed upward.

  The man in the shadow held his breath, not daring to move, unsure as to whether Zarx saw him.

  Daemos followed his finger and saw the large overhang high above the prison.

  “If anyone attempted to enter the prison that way, the fall would kill them,” he answered.

  Zarx nodded and squinted up at the ledge. His eyes held on that point for what felt like minutes to the man, but finally Zarx shook his head and brought his eyes back down to Daemos.

  The man in the shadows breathed out and clenched his fists.

  “Another perfect opportunity …” the man said sarcastically to himself. “Just leave,” the man whispered, following the two men with his gaze, knowing full well that they could not hear him.

  Zarx paced back and forth, his cloak swaying behind him.

  “Daemos, congratulations on becoming a White Dragon. I look forward to serving with you in the castle,” Zarx said, changing the subject abruptly.

  Daemos bowed. “Thank you, General; it has been my dream to serve the king directly.”

  “The highest honor indeed; I can now refer to you as one of the elites,” Zarx grinned.

  “Thank you. I serve at the king’s pleasure,” Daemos answered.

  “Will you miss it?” Zarx asked.

  “The prison?” Daemos replied, regarding the walls of light. “Only a little. I imagine my vision will improve from not having to look at these lights constantly.”

  “Indeed whom have you selected to replace you?”

  “Sephor, as he has proven himself to me.”

  “An excellent choice.”

  Zarx began to pace, seemingly bothered by something.

  “Is something wrong?” Daemos asked, becoming aware of the continual movement.

  “I am not sure,” Zarx said. “I feel … displaced?”

  “Displaced?”

  “Like I should be doing something else, or there is something I am missing.”

  The man in the shadows clenched his teeth.

  Just leave, the hidden man thought again.

  Finally, Zarx shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts.

  “Well, Daemos, I expect to see you in a few days, actually the day after the Ashen,” Zarx said, preparing to leave.

  “Thank you, sir.” Daemos bowed, and with a turn of his cloak, Zarx headed for the gate, his men behind him. At the gate, he turned.

  “I almost forgot. When he returns, Derrick will come with Selaphiel to visit the prison again. It is no cause for concern, just making you aware.” With that last word, he departed.

  Daemos stood where he was, turning his eyes to the ledge where the man hid. Daemos squinted and cupped his hands over his eyes.

  “Dragons?” Daemos whispered, confused by what Zarx had
meant. After a moment, Daemos disregarded the area and left as well. Sephor, second-in-command to Daemos, took his spot.

  “Too late now, and who knows when there will be none watching so persistently,” the man whispered. He looked at the vambrace on his arm, and back at the prison.

  There is more planning to be done. Fewer mistakes to be made this time. He slowly walked to the edge of the mountain and looked down at the treacherous landscape below him. He felt heat radiate through him as he prepared to jump. He left the cliff with a clack of rocks hitting the mountain side. He let the cold wind race around him, embracing the feeling of exhilaration. He opened his eyes just before he hit the jagged rocks and flew away into the night.

  Selaphiel concentrated, his eyes bright with magic. He formed orbs of bright light, making them spin around him in the stable. The royal stables where were the best horses of Lifesveil were kept. With effort, he willed larger orbs of light to form, making several dozen around him in total. With a wave of his other hand, he formed them into various patterns, straight lines, even zig zags. Sweat formed on his face as he willed them individually to move.

  The princes’ inborn ability to use magic took effort to control. He and his brothers practiced regularly to maintain that control by doing exercises such as this one. Their power, he knew, was a gift, but there were those who called it magic. This was not the most appropriate word for it, though it was often referred to as such. Selaphiel even referred to it as magic and did not mind the use of the word to describe their power. True magic, however, was actually power gained by spells from books, not something that could be used by blood.

  Cordoc had his nose buried in a scroll next to him. Selaphiel glanced at Cordoc, who was paying him no attention. He noted that Cordoc was squinting in the dim light. One of the larger orbs drifted above Cordoc, illuminating what he was reading.

  “Thank you, Seph,” Cordoc said, not looking up.

  Selaphiel let out a puff of relief, releasing his power except the one orb hovering over Cordoc.

  “Elder Derrick sure fooled me into believing that doing this is easy. Though each time I feel like I am making more progress,” Selaphiel sighed.

  “What are you reading?” he asked, looking over his brother’s shoulder.

  “Just information regarding your and my estates.”

  Selaphiel looked at him as though this were the most boring thing ever.

  Cordoc rolled up the parchment, and simultaneously the light flickered and dissipated.

  “We will both maintain estates soon. Father has said we will gain our own holds after the tournament.”

  “I just want a place to fish, with lots of woods.”

  Cordoc shook his head.

  “You and your common lifestyle.”

  “I enjoy time to myself; when you fish you …”

  “… Always enjoy it even if you don’t catch anything,” Cordoc interrupted, adding, “But I wonder if you ever come away empty-handed when you fish.”

  “You never will let that large trout I caught go will you?” Selaphiel said, winking.

  “How could I? You were the only one who caught something, and a massive fish at that. I sat there for hours and still had nothing to show for it,” Cordoc said bitterly.

  “You will catch something one day,” Selaphiel said encouragingly. “You are just not following the techniques I showed you.”

  Cordoc scowled, for he was not one to like being beaten at anything, and if he was, he worked hard to make sure he was not outdone again. However, fishing seemed to elude him no matter how hard he tried. He laughed, knowing that his brother’s technique was to chew on smoked pork while fishing.

  “Elusive, slippery … fish,” he joked.

  “Speaking of elusive fishes, where is Jakobin?”

  “Likely training with Zarx, or the Silver Talons. Much like myself, he dislikes losing. With nothing found in the villages, I imagine his focus has shifted toward tomorrow’s festivities.”

  “He had better focus,” Selaphiel said, a sly grin on his face.

  “Swordsmanship is just one feature of the tournament,” Cordoc said, sitting up and dusting himself off.

  “And fishing is not a part of it,” he finished.

  As he spoke, a horse neighed nearby.

  Tomorrow’s tournament consisted of five competitions: dueling, archery, jousting, agility, and finally, a test of wisdom. Cordoc had tried to discover what form the final competition would take, hoping to get an edge but had found it to be a tightly guarded secret.

  Selaphiel reached down, grabbed a long piece of hay and put it in his mouth, holding it between his teeth.

  Cordoc looked at him with narrowed eyes.

  “You do realize that horses relieve themselves here?” Cordoc said.

  Selaphiel froze, and with a loud spitting noise the wheat left his mouth like an arrow from a bow.

  Cordoc rubbed his nose and snorted.

  “I forgot about that,” Selaphiel said as a horse neighed again. Selaphiel turned and looked dumbly at the horse standing ten feet away from them.

  “I don’t suppose you have some water with you to wash my mouth out?” Selaphiel asked.

  Cordoc gestured to the water trough.

  Selaphiel made a puffing noise.

  “Well, I am off to find water,” he said as he left the stables. “Clean water.”

  “I will come with you,” Cordoc said. “Gives me a bad taste in my mouth having seen you do that.”

  Selaphiel did not let Cordoc see him roll his eyes.

  They were south of the castle, near a local market they often visited. The large hut was filled with goods, including meats, cheeses, wines, and many other things that were good for purchasing. On the front was a makeshift sign that said “Dalion’s,” which was also the name of the owner of the humble place.

  As they approached, the front door burst open in a quick motion and a scraggly-looking man fell on his face in a puff of dirt and grass.

  “And stay out!” came the shout of Dalion, who had thrown the man outside.

  The scraggly man struggled to his feet and ran, face as red as an over-ripe apple.

  Both Cordoc and Selaphiel paused in a mixture of surprise and confusion. They cautiously entered the hut and saw goods hanging from the ceiling or placed neatly onto shelves with signs signifying their price in gold. Dalion, a large-framed man with a balding head, greeted them with a bow while dusting off his hands. A few men and women were in the shop, browsing the wares.

  “My lords, what brings you to my humble shop?” he asked with a northern accent.

  “What happened with the man outside?” Cordoc asked curiously.

  A mischievous look gleamed in Dalion’s eyes.

  “He tried to steal some bread.”

  Selaphiel sighed. “Why not call the guards?”

  Dalion looked amused. “Because I enjoy handling it in my way.”

  “Besides,” he said, tossing around a loaf, “they will be informed.”

  “That could be dangerous. You never know who you might offend,” Cordoc said.

  “Maybe,” Dalion responded. “But I have that there,” he said, pointing to a large crossbow resting on top of the doorframe.

  “Ah,” Cordoc said.

  Dalion shifted his weight onto his other leg and grinned.

  “I would like some wine, please,” Selaphiel said, handing over two gold pieces from his change purse.

  Dalion’s eyes gleamed. “Of course, Prince. Less for me to drink later,” he said with a snort, disappearing into a back room to fetch the wine.

  “Dalion has always been an interesting person, hasn’t he?” Cordoc whispered.

  “Yes,” Selaphiel whispered back. “But he means well enough.”

  Dalion returned with a full wineskin after a few minutes.
r />   “Red dragon brew,” he said, placing it on the counter.

  “Thank you, Dalion,” Selaphiel said, putting down another gold coin.

  “You both are always welcome. For you to visit a place as common as this honors me,” Dalion said as he scooped up the coins.

  “Well, you have some of the finest wares; besides, where would I get the hooks for fishing?” Selaphiel winked and took a sip from the wineskin.

  Dalion’s eyes darted behind them and he lowered his head like a lion stalking its prey.

  “Dalion?” Selaphiel asked.

  “My apologies, Prince.” Dalion shook his head. “You do not know how often people attempt to steal from me,” Dalion said, motioning toward a woman who had her back turned to them.

  Cordoc grabbed some smoked pork and gave Dalion a silver piece for it, placing it in a sack he carried at his side.

  Selaphiel eyed Cordoc understandingly.

  Cordoc thanked Dalion and stood near the door admiring the crossbow.

  “Has Jakobin been around here today?” Selaphiel said.

  Dalion shook his head. “I have not seen him in a few days.”

  He scratched behind his ear. “He rarely visits anymore. Though I think it has to do with the coming festival. Your brother is competitive for sure; he always asks if I have a leg up on any new weapons.”

  “We all are competitive.” Cordoc shrugged. “All of the time. And that’s interesting. Be sure to inform me before him if you do hear of any new weapons.”

  Cordoc slyly placed ten pieces of gold onto the table and slid them toward Dalion.

  “Well,” Dalion said. “I will see what I can do.”

  “True. Jakobin has always wanted to be the best amongst us,” Selaphiel confirmed, ignoring the money exchange. A few more men came inside the shop and bowed to the princes as they entered.

  “Well, we will leave you to your trade, friend.” Cordoc said.

  “Do not be strangers, Princes,” Dalion said, bowing.

  “Nor you.” Selaphiel said, exchanging salutations.

  Outside they walked on the marble path, noticing the many people walking around them, but giving them their distance. The archers in their towers were watchful and had their eyes upon them always so they could wander around without worry of an attempt on their lives.