The Ashenborn Read online

  “What would you like to do now?” Cordoc asked, stretching.

  Selaphiel pursed his lips in thought.

  “Would you like to practice some sword play?” He said as they walked over to the training quarters near the stables.

  “Sure,” Cordoc mocked. “It would give me a chance to know more strategy on how to beat you.”

  “Oh?” Selaphiel said. “They say you become more apt to face your fears when you continually put yourself in your fears’ way.”

  “Your name is fear now?” Cordoc jested.

  “No,” Selaphiel retorted. “I’m just saying you are fearful of loss.”

  “Let’s go,” Cordoc responded.

  “If you wish.”

  Cordoc grinned mischievously, as he had been practicing.

  Chapter 2

  An Old Enemy

  Elder Derrick flew slowly through the night sky. Ice hung from his long silver-gray claws. He heaved a heated breath. The strain of the temperature at this height made it hard to fly. He felt tired but knew he needed to return to Lifesveil as quickly as possible. His visit to Mavet had provided proof of the monsters now dwelling among them. After arriving at Mavet, he had found the battalion that King Hroth had described in the letter. He searched for some time from the vantage point of the sky but could not determine anything out of order.

  The men sent by Alanias arrived a day’s time after he did. He had ordered them to search the forests that were common around Mavet. He made sure to emphasize the importance of no detail being left unnoticed, or anything strange not being reported back to him. He wasn’t able to gather enough information from his meeting with Hroth. Hroth made the situation more confusing than it should have been. Derrick had wondered while speaking to the king how Hroth could have survived this long. He did not believe that he was being lied to as too many witnesses had seen the events described, but he felt a twinge of doubt.

  However, his dragon fragment acted strangely when he visited the area the suspicious battalion had been spotted, which changed his mind immediately. This reaction alone quelled any doubts he had. Upon further investigation, he found fragments of a strange metal spread in the underbrush. The battalion was lost to the depths of the darkened trees, the only thing left behind the strange pieces of discarded metal. If it was intentional, he did not know, but he knew the only source of this particular substance. It was a dark, murky purple and consistent with Taneemian armor of the past.

  Derrick’s thoughts went back to the War of Stones, the last great battle Yadir had seen. That same demonic metal was found around the dispatched bodies of the Taneems, a sight he would never forget. The armor itself was made of something not found in this realm. Like the monsters, it did not seem to belong in the land of flesh and blood. Taneems were horrifying alive, but they were even more unnerving when dead. Even though they appeared to be lifeless corpses, he knew better. He thought back to how he had dispatched many of them with claw and blade.

  I was more energetic then, he thought, keenly aware of his lack of youthful energy. He was tired from flying, but he was also weary in his soul. He thought how unwise he had been, how he had foolishly underestimated the power of an enemy. He had been brilliant in battles in his youth, had fought hard for both Ashenborn and Lifesveil.

  And how less painful everything was, he grumbled to himself, the ache moving through his body. Time has a strange way of taking things from people.

  He blinked his eyes several times, attempting to put his mind back on track.

  Lifesveil’s guards had come upon a living Taneem. A straggler. The creature had been wounded from Mavet’s arrows. The moment he laid eyes upon those soulless sockets of loose skin, he knew his fears had been realized. A terrible growl rose from its narrow throat. Guttural and familiar. Derrick closed his eyes, knowing that as long as he lived, he would never forget the sounds those demonic creatures made. All of the Taneemian shared in inhuman voices, voices that haunted men after they had the misfortune to hear them.

  So many bad memories, so many failures. The world was changing, changing back to what it had once been before the great war. The past would not return if what was happening was properly acknowledged, if action was taken and taken swiftly, Derrick thought. The young, inexperienced guard had fallen to the Taneems’ murky flames, his screams a memory added to that which would not be forgotten.

  They had killed it without hesitation, not out of bravery but from fear. Derrick confirmed its temporary death, for the Ashenborn had not yet discovered how to completely kill the creatures. It is not that they had not tried, but that they lacked the knowledge. The Taneems had disappeared at the death of their summoner, Dothros. It now seemed there was someone new to command them. The creature had melted into a mixture of flame and liquid, its cruel, dark presence disappearing, knowing well to leave the area.

  He had hoped it would be left alive but could not blame the quick reaction of his men. He shook his head. Droplets of cold vapor dropped from his jaw.

  His sturdy wings labored under him. His wings, an extension of himself, were beginning to turn numb. He shook his scales, and ice fell from him like breaking glass. His muscles rippled, and a cloud of steam rolled from his massive scales. He lowered in altitude, sinking beneath the clouds. A large mountain range appeared below him. He could no longer feel his limbs.

  “That’s no good,” he whispered, and began to descend toward the closest mountain. The peak opened up to a level surface. He landed abruptly, if not gracefully. He breathed a ring of fire into the ground of the mountain. The bright flames stood firm against the roar of the cold and wind as he shrank to human form. Lights flashed as he extended his human arm into the fire. Magic poured into his wrist. The gem housed beneath his skin, looking brighter than usual, ignited in flame and light. Sparks and orbs of radiance cascaded from the flames that engulfed it. Derrick rubbed his palms together and held his hands in front of the fire. He coughed a puff of fog. The wind had subsided some, and he realized he would arrive at Lifesveil within a few hours.

  He kicked himself for not rejuvenating his strength sooner. He was aware of how much of his magic he had expended. After warming his hands, he removed his sword from his belt and held it into the fire. The blade sparked and became translucent, and it seemed as though he were peering through a window. The blade was a portal to a distant yet familiar place. The room before him was large; the portal through which he looked was the great mirror inside of Aaish, the hold of the Ashenborn. This was how Ashenborn passed messages to each other, when matters warranted it. A bird was more commonly used because this form of speaking required them to use so much of their power. Birds were easier, but birds were also easier for unwanted eyes to intercept.

  “It is I, Ashen-Elder Derrick of Lifesveil,” he said above the roar of the wind.

  He turned the blade, looking around the room through which he was communicating. This ancient mirror and other items were used to amplify the Ashenborn’s powers but were also used as a form of speaking over long distances. He turned the blade, viewing the room from different angles. He cleared his throat and repeated his name again several times.

  What is going on? he thought. He removed the sword, tying it back to his side.

  They have not responded in some time now. He tried to shrug it off. This had been his seventh attempt to speak to someone. Perhaps the other elders were busy with other tasks, but he felt deep in his gut something was off. He put his hand back to the fire. The orb in his wrist shone a bright sun glow of topaz. He removed his wrist from the fire, his hand unburned, and placed the vambrace over it.

  Should I contact others individually instead of Aiash? he wondered.

  He turned northwest, looking in the direction that would eventually lead to the Ashenborn temple, leagues away from these mountains.

  Should I head there now?

  He attempted the same communication method w
ith the kingdom of Edywin to the north. When the Ashenborn had been more numerous, an Elder had been assigned the duty of protecting each kingdom. The Ashenborn had been fewer now and cared less for this particular duty. Again, he received no answer.

  Peculiar.

  He shifted back and forth, the soft snow like powder under his feet. He extinguished the fire with the wave of his hand. In a burst of light, he regained dragon form and ascended back into the skies. His form felt full of power, but not of energy. Only sleep could rejuvenate his vitality. He headed south to Lifesveil, his mind made up. His first priority was to his kingdom and those who resided there. He would worry about the Ashenborn later; they would hear his findings in due time. He let himself drift on the breeze for some time before eventually reaching the different climate of Lifesveil. In his exhaustion, he knew his senses were dull and unattentive. He landed near the castle and made his way to the king’s quarters. Light slowly began to penetrate the darkness, confirming the sunrise.

  Derrick could not believe how long he had been flown.

  Regardless, he thought, the king must know now. He entered the castle, knowing that despite the early hour, the king would be awake. Derrick found Alanias eating and drinking morning wine. The king looked at him with surprise, his expression of someone not quite awake who had been startled.

  Alanias motioned for Derrick to join him, and Derrick sat down without hesitation.

  “Wine, my lord?” a servant asked.

  Derrick shook his head.

  “My apologies for intruding,” Derrick said.

  Alanias shook his head and waved his hand.

  “It is of no concern,” he said, putting down his goblet.

  “What news do you bring?” Alanias asked, wiping his mouth with a cloth.

  Derrick repeated his story to the king with every detail that he could recall, leaving nothing out. For an hour he recalled the tale and his discoveries, and the king was silent throughout. Alanias propped his hands under his beard, intently listening. As Derrick finished, he noticed Alanias no longer was eating his food but had pushed it away, and several men appeared to remove the remains of fish and fruit. The king motioned for the attendants to leave. After the last of the attendants left, Alanias drummed the table, his face unreadable as his thoughts concentrated elsewhere.

  “The Taneemian have returned, Alanias. We must do something,” Derrick said, breaking the silence.

  Alanias cleared his throat.

  “Zarx, and Zarx only, will be the only other person to be told this,” Alanias finally said. “He must know so as to put the necessary men in place to protect our walls and all those who have traveled here for the Ashen. I will tell them after the competition.”

  “Don’t you think we should cancel the Ashen?” Derrick asked, concerned.

  Alanias pushed away from the large table and stood, using the edge of the table to steady himself.

  “The people need celebration, and we will not deprive them of it because evil has shown itself once again. Lifesveil needs this.”

  Derrick nodded, but he asked, “But could it be that the celebrations should be postponed?”

  Alanias paused and turned slowly to him.

  “You do not think we are in danger of them being in Lifesveil, do you?” Alanias asked, concern in his voice.

  “No,” Derrick said. “We have only just discovered they have returned. It is doubtful that they have gained much substance to them, but immediate action should be made within the Alliance of Yadir to hunt them down, lest we repeat the War of Stones.”

  “I will make it our priority,” Alanias said. “But the Ashen will not be moved. It means more that we show no fear than fold under. Just because our ears hear of evil does not mean we are unprepared to contend with it.”

  “But my eyes have seen it. It is true; we have that guarantee of it. Surely a celebration at this time is not warranted,” Derrick said.

  Alanias looked at him seriously. “A celebration is warranted, regardless of how bad the times are,” Alanias said, his eyes shining. “I do not want to stop something that gives hope to our people; that is why no one is to know the Taneemian are back until after the celebration is done.”

  “Not even your sons are to know?” Derrick said, looking at him in surprise.

  “Especially them,” the king said, smiling. “Today they celebrate becoming men; tomorrow they put those attributes to the test.” At that, Alanias turned his back to the elder, signalling he did not wish to speak about the matter any further.

  Derrick stood also.

  “I have heard nothing additionally, nor have I been able to speak to my order further. I have even attempted to contact Edywin, but no attempt has been successful.”

  “You wish to go to Aiash?” Alanias said, following Derrick’s thoughts.

  “Yes, but only after checking our walls. And guaranteeing all are safe during the Ashen,” Derrick said.

  Alanias rubbed his beard and paced around the table, the echo of his footsteps resounding through the room.

  “Good. Maybe a course of action can be made.”

  Derrick looked down at the vambrace on his forearm. He hoped that going to Aiash would resolve whatever problem there was, but he could not help but notice the same strange feeling in his stomach.

  “As for now,” Alanias said, “We must act as though nothing is wrong. The people need not fear for the moment until it is necessary.”

  Derrick agreed hesitantly, out of respect for his king. He did not fully agree with this course of action.

  Alanias called his servants back into the room.

  “Bring me Zarx,” he commanded.

  The morning of the Ashen dawned brightly. The sun shone and birds sang as Selaphiel trudged slowly to the opposite end of the sword room, which was decorated with numerous weapons, both common and exotic. Some of them he had never used, nor did he know how to use them properly. Standing opposite him was Cordoc, his back also turned. Selaphiel and Cordoc were tired from days of training. They had each poured themselves into preparation for the competitions of the Ashen. They both were aware of the eyes of their younger brother Jakobin, who stood anxiously outside the barrier of the sparring area.

  “Begin,” the armory attendant said.

  Selaphiel gripped the wooden sword tightly, leveling it with his shoulder in an offensive position. He and Cordoc had been training for many hours prior to this event, and both of them were well warmed up for the coming day. Cordoc rolled his arm and tilted his head. Their blood was boiling and both were eager to fight. Of the many spars they had fought, Selaphiel predominantly remained ahead of Cordoc.

  He was sure that his brother was getting better with every time they met blades, which concerned him. Selaphiel smiled and closed his eyes. Cordoc chose to tilt his blade slightly, in a perfect position to block him if need be. Selaphiel grinned knowingly and moved forward at a slow pace. Cordoc had used this same stance several times prior in fights, and he was familiar with its use. Selaphiel changed the position of the wooden training sword to adapt. He knew this was his opportunity to take the offensive. As he moved, Cordoc’s movements mirrored his, with a loud crack of wood.

  “You’re too quick,” Selaphiel laughed.

  Cordoc was a keen observer of most things, and he often caught on to more than even Selaphiel did in swordplay, even though he had a trained eye in swordsmanship himself.

  With a blur of movement Selaphiel struck harshly, only to be countered by Cordoc’s quickness. Selaphiel circled left and attempted another blow but found it equally unsuccessful. Within a few movements, the rest of the room was a blur to him and all Selaphiel focused on was the exchange of blows. Selaphiel exposed a weakness and was able to land a smack upon Cordoc’s wrist. Cordoc’s blue eyes squinted, and his mouth scrunched into a scowl. Selaphiel smiled and drove forward but was rewarded with an equival
ent bruise on his own hand. Cordoc winked and pushed him back.

  “Not so fast,” Cordoc goaded.

  “You keep getting better,” Selaphiel said, acknowledging Cordoc’s maneuver. “Eventually I am not going to be able to hit you.”

  “Can’t have my younger brothers getting the best of me,” Cordoc said as he glanced toward Jakobin.

  “If this is your best, then I’m not worried,” Jakobin said coolly from outside the ropes.

  Selaphiel smiled cheerfully and called for shields from the attendant. The stout man handed them both shields, which they tightened with leather straps. Selaphiel tied his on as tight as it would allow without cutting off his circulation.

  Cordoc shook his head, speaking softly, “Selaphiel, you may be better with a sword, but if I could have a bow …” he trailed off.

  “I would look like a porcupine,” Selaphiel said, finishing Cordoc’s sentence. “However, we are not using bows,” he added with a wink.

  Cordoc rolled his eyes and lifted his shield. Selaphiel jabbed with his shield this time, pushing Cordoc, and with a swift movement he swung left, bouncing off Cordoc’s shield and redirecting his sword to the right. With a narrow margin, Cordoc managed to block his sword with effort and a scowl.

  “Too many times you have done this same move,” Cordoc mocked. Selaphiel knew it wasn’t so much an insult as it was an attempt to throw him off guard. He would not allow it to distract him.

  Selaphiel shrugged and lifted his shield to block the swish of Cordoc’s sword. Selaphiel doubled back, unable to make an offensive move and finding himself in a corner without room to spare. Selaphiel again took the offensive, pushing forward with his shield, and in one smooth motion, he landed another blow to Cordoc’s wrist. He sighed in disappointment. This blow had won Selaphiel the spar. The attendant raised a hand toward Selaphiel. Jakobin clapped slowly, an unamused look on his face.

  Cordoc wiped sweat from his brow and unfastened his shield, handing both sword and shield to the attendant. Selaphiel did the same. He struggled to suppress the grin that spread across his face.