A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (5 page)

He looked me over in silence. His eyes swept over my small and dirty body.

“By Xune,” he muttered, “you are him, aren’t you?” He reached out and put his hand through the cage. He touched my collarbone where my mother’s blade left a scar.

I did not flinch away.

“Can you speak?” he asked. “Do you know my language?” He changed his inflection. “
Apritti
?
Honlart apritti
?” Another tonal shift. “
Exl’rar? Rak’r mor exl’tgri
?”

“I know your language,” I said.

The man sucked in a quick breath. “Xune be praised,” he whispered. He turned to one of the men beside him. “Simenon! See this one free. Be on your guard, man, but do it!”

His companion turned toward me. I looked at him. Our eyes met.

For half a heartbeat, he seemed to falter.

Then he raised his axe and swung it down onto the crude chain that served as my lock.

It splintered under the heavy blow. I tried the door. The hinges creaked as it opened.

By now, the sound of hoof beats was impossible to ignore. I looked back and saw the riders returning.

The tall man took me by the shoulders and lifted me from the cart. He set me down and knelt to my level.

“They come for you,” he said gravely. “But they do not yet know what you look like.” His fingers touched the dirt, and he spread two lines of it on either side of my nose. Then, he pressed something round and hard into my hand.

“Take this. Do not lose it. Treasure it with your life. When the time comes, I will find you again.”

He straightened and looked at the approaching knights. “Go! Any direction away from the road. When the sun rises tomorrow, walk toward it. You will find the city of Hallengard. Enter in broad daylight. Avoid the alleys. Stay close to people on the main road. Follow the path until you see a grand structure in the heart of the city. It is a building unlike any other. The road splits two ways around it.

“Go up the steps. Show the first person inside what I gave you. You will be cared for.”

He looked up. The riders were getting closer. He pushed my shoulders in one direction. “Go now! We will distract them for you. Go!”

Another push sent me into a lurching run. I squeezed my fingers around whatever it was I held in my hand, afraid to look at it for fear of dropping it.

I ran.

My leg muscles screamed at me as I worked them. I saw a great flash of light, felt a blaze of heat, and turned my head just in time to see the cart go up in flames. The conflagration roared in the night.

Chapter Seven

I ran until my legs could no longer carry me. By then, the fire was just a small flickering light in the distance. I could hardly believe I was still alive.

I saw what had happened to Karl when he ran. I half expected the same fate. But when I passed his body, face down on the ground, and my insides tensed in anticipation… and when the arrow didn’t come… I thought that perhaps the man who had freed me had told me the truth.

I ran much farther than that. My ankle betrayed me first. I stepped into a ditch, my foot twisted, and I yelped out in pain as I fell to the ground.

My lungs cried for air but I didn’t breathe. I strained my ears for any sound of pursuit.

There was none.

Still, I crawled farther. I crawled until my hands were bloody and sore. I crawled until I sapped every last bit of strength from my failing body.

I crawled until I reached a tree. Then, tired, achy, and absolutely exhausted, I fell into my first slumber as a free man.

***

I woke late, with the sun high overhead, and panicked when I had no idea where to go.

Then I noticed the shadow cast by the tree. I crawled out and traced its outline in the dirt. I waited, and did it again. Using what could only be referred to as common sense, I discovered the journey of the sun in the sky, and set out in the opposite direction.

It was a slow, laborious process. My ankle was swollen and hot to the touch. I could barely walk. My limp made things very awkward.

In the light, I discovered that the object the man had given me was a coin. As I walked, I kept trailing my thumb over the raised surface.

It depicted a wooden cross with a body hanging from it. Flames licked up the corpse’s legs. The other side had a flowing script in letters I could not read.

The coin had become the single most important thing in my life. For, though I lost it later, when I retrieved it again, it helped define the man I would become.

***

“And here it is,” Dagan said, placing his fist on the table with a solid
thud
. “The mark of Rel’ghar.”

He withdrew his hand slowly, leaving the thick coin in the middle of the tabletop.

Earl choked on his drink as his eyes fell upon it. Patch sucked in a reverent breath.

The young boy reached out, tentatively, eyes darting to Dagan as if to ask for permission. Dagan gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Patch’s fingers brushed one cool, smooth edge. A sudden jolt ran up his arm, and he jerked back.

“Great Xune,” Earl muttered. His eyes flashed at Patch. “Do you know what that is, boy? Do you know how much that’s worth?”

“Viridian gold,” Patch answered. “I’ve heard stories, but I never thought… I never thought that I would see it in my life.”

“Hah!” Earl barked. “Say that when you’re my age, and then it’ll hold real meaning.” He looked toward Dagan, narrowly avoiding his eyes. “May I?”

The hooded man gestured him to go ahead almost absently. His thoughts were not on the coin.

He could sense Death coming.

He could feel it as surely as he could feel his right ear. It was not him Death was coming for, but he could feel it nonetheless.

Dagan’s eyes lifted from the table for half a breath. That was enough for him to get a count of everybody in the room.

Eight men sat by the bar. Two groups of five gambled in the corners. The barkeeper was watching over them. Dagan knew her three daughters were asleep upstairs.

Twenty-five occupants, counting him and his two companions. How many would die tonight?

He reckoned it would be twenty-four. Twenty-four was a good, even number. Twenty-four was a multiple of three. It meant that the trio of Death’s heads would feast on eight throats each.

When Death came, it did not like to leave any of its heads hungry.

Could he save them? Probably. Yet, life’s experience had taught him that cheating Death required a tribute equal to those spared.

Did he have it in him to offer the proper sacrifice tonight?

He looked at Patch. The boy was young, and held untapped potential. Perhaps it would be worth it to rescue him tonight. The experience would change the boy forever.

Sometimes, an unexpected mercy could pay dividends later.

Dagan returned his attention to the table. Earl was cradling the coin in the palm of his hand. His arm shook as he brought it over the lip of his mug. He turned his hand slowly. The coin fell away only when his palm was perpendicular to the ground.

It dropped in the warm ale with a hiss. Dagan heard the clink as it hit the metal bottom.

The mug burst into flames.

Earl gasped and jerked back. Patch gripped the sides of the table and brought his head closer.

Fearless
, Dagan thought.
A trait that will serve him well in the future
.

He decided, on the spot, that saving Patch would be worthwhile. The boy’s potential was too great to waste just yet.

Chapter Eight

“The mark of Rel’ghar has great history,” Dagan began as the flames leapt from the mug. “Let me speak of it now.”

Rel’ghar was a nation of great kings and witches. It was an empire that had stood untouched for millennia. Great wars were waged at its walls. Sieges and assaults that lasted years. The most fearsome foes were turned away like waves against a stony shore.

Rel’ghar withstood all.

But, there was one in the city who loathed it. His name was Vontas.

Vontas was the youngest of three brothers, like me. His father ruled Rel’ghar. He was a man strict but fair. The city flourished under his rule. Even as the rest of the world was ravaged by war and famine, Rel'ghar remained proud and untouched.

It was the jewel of the world.

Men, women, and children from the six corners of the world traveled in search of the famed sanctuary. Some spent their entire lives wandering without finding it. Others were killed a day’s march from its doors.

But all who made it had one thing in common. They were all pure of heart.

Long before the great city was built, longer still than the time that has passed since its collapse to now, the ground upon which Rel'ghar stood belonged to a coven of witches. Magic was feared and hated back then. The witches hid themselves in a place no one could find in order to preserve their way of life.

But one man did find them. His name was Rel. He had no hatred in his heart for the unnatural forces. He did not fear any of Xune’s creatures, because he knew that they were the same as he.

He was not a rich man, nor powerful. He did not own chests of gold or acres of fertile land. His sole belongings consisted of the clothes on his back and the thoughts in his mind.

Rel was a philosopher. He made his way from town to town, from village to village, and spent his days teaching those who would listen. His great desire was to make the mysteries of the mind known to all.

His task was not easy. He found men who were wary of his words. He found enemies. At a time when one cold snap meant the difference between a field full of crops and a slow death by starvation, his teachings were not welcome. They drew people’s attention away from the two necessities of life: food, and warmth.

Rel remained in each village for as long as he was permitted. He did not argue or complain when he was chased out. He trusted that the seeds of his words would take root and sprout. If he could show some people, somewhere, that life was more than an empty struggle, he left fulfilled.

The witches noticed his plight. They watched him from their dark place and whispered amongst themselves. “Here is a man unlike the others,” they said. “Here is a man we should not fear.”

So, little by little, they nudged Rel toward their coven. Bit by bit, they drew him closer. It took thirty long years for him to find them.

By then, Rel was a man old and grey. He had endured the harshness of the world, but it had not changed him. His purpose remained steadfast. His heart remained pure.

When he crossed the threshold to the coven, he fell to his knees and cried in joy. He saw the witches for who they really were: beautiful beings to be respected, not hideous creatures to be feared.

The witches told him to stand. They would not have him bow to them, as they would not bow to him. They considered Rel their sole equal in the world.

They fed and bathed him. They gave him clothes that would strike envy in the hearts of the richest kings. They spoke to him of their crafts, and delighted in his philosophy.

One year passed. Rel grew stronger and younger with each passing day. Such was the gift the witches bestowed upon him.

Yet Angelica, the most powerful of all witches, could not help but notice the growing sadness within Rel’s heart.

One day, as they walked arm-in-arm through her gardens, she spoke. “My dear philosopher,” she said, “you are carrying a heavy burden. Tell me, what troubles your mind?”

“You have been to kind to me,” Rel answered, “and I have no way of paying you back.”

“That is not your trouble,” Angelica said.

“You have given me everything a man can hope for,” Rel answered, “and I have no way of paying you back.”

“That is not your trouble,” Angelica said.

“You have granted me renewed life and vitality,” Rel answered, “and I have no way of paying you back.”

“That is not your trouble,” Angelica said.

Rel thought on his next words. He knew Angelica could see the true hearts of men. He could not deceive her—even if he so desired.

“My trouble is this,” he told her with a sigh. “And I shall only confide it in you. I have seen the wonders of your world. I have seen the power of your magic. But I am not the one who needs it. It is the men who are unlike me that need to witness it, for it shall grant them hope.”

“And what good is hope,” Angelic asked, “for men who are unworthy?”

“Hope is worth life itself,” Rel answered. “Hope is for all kinds of men. Hope is what drives them to build a better future. Hope is what allows men to become worthy.”

“The ones you speak of are already condemned,” Angelica said. “They are so because of their own choices. They will not change.”

“You see the hearts of men, but you pass judgment too easily.”

“You are the only one worthy to walk among our coven.”

“If that is the true wisdom of your soul,” Rel told her, “then cast me out.”

Angelica stopped. She turned on him. “You would forsake us?” she asked. “You would turn your back on us, who have given you so much?”

“You have given me the choice of abandoning my people. It is not a choice I can make.”

Angelica looked into Rel’s heart, and she saw that his words were true. His sincerity troubled her.

“Very well,” she said. “I shall not cast you out. Instead, I will let you return to the land you were born. If you come to us with five others—two men, and three women—who have your same purity of heart, they will be allowed to enter.

“But be warned,” she added. “If just one of them plays you false, you shall never look upon my face again.”

Rel agreed. He ventured back into the world. It took him twenty more years to find five others. But find them he did. When he returned to the coven, Angelica clasped him to her breast and whispered the words that would bind him to her forever, for she was in love.

Rel transformed before her eyes. His back straightened. His hair became a rich brown. He felt the energy return to his body. When he rose, he stood forty years younger.