Ashes And Spirit (Book 3) (50 page)

W
ell, we took the border nations.” Oksana kicked a piece of broken stone, sending up a small puff of dust. “Fat lot of good it did us.”

“You seem displeased,” Sadira said, standing on a partially crumbled wall.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Calladar is completely ruined. It won’t be livable for years, likely decades. New Sharren is nothing but a half-finished, empty city, and Marden is littered with nothing but bodies. Not exactly the comfortable life I thought we would have after this.”

Sadira cast the blonde a condescending look. “Did you truly think they would leave behind anyone if they could help it? They’re Guardians—it’s in their nature to waste time on evacuations. If they spent fewer resources on that and more on building up defenses, perhaps the outcome would have been different.” She leaped lightly off the wall and smoothed her skirts. “That, however, is neither here nor there. It
is
a shame the keep was destroyed, it was said to be quite luxurious. Even so, there are plenty of lovely dwellings that survived intact. I’m sure they will do.”

“And with those taken from the border towns, there should be no shortage of people to do your work for you, Oksana,” Azurynn said as she glided by.

Kovan laughed darkly and strode past them. “The border towns yielded a decent amount of people. With the exception of Basc and a few others.”

“Only because you decimated them.” Oksana shot him a scowl.

Kovan shrugged. “It was a necessity.” He stared off into the distance, his twisted expression manic. “The Kojen have searched every dwelling and brought every child under a year to me, both dead and alive. None of them are him. He must be found.”

“I’m sure he will be found soon.” Sadira tried to placate him. She tired of his obsession, but if the child’s death restored Kovan’s balance, then so be it. “I have my spies looking and listening.”

Kovan glared at her. “You will tell me immediately of any information you receive.”

“Of course.”

He turned and walked away.

Sadira shook her head and moved toward a large, ornate structure with balconies on its second and third floors. It would do nicely. “Come,” she called over her shoulder. When she sensed hesitation behind her, she paused and looked back at the huddled group of women and men. It was a shame her other sister had taken her own life. She had been most obedient. “Need I remind you of what happens when I have to repeat myself?”

They hurried after her, many touching the scars her shadows had left upon them. Sadira looked around when she stepped into the cool, dim interior. Everything was coated in dust. “I’m going to explore more of the city. When I return, I expect everything to be clean and a meal made.”

“What if we can find no food to cook?” one man asked, his straight back at odds with the tremor in his voice.

Sadira patted him on the face on her way back out the door and looked him in the eye; he flinched as if she had slapped him. “You had better hope there is something because if there isn’t, it will be more your problem than mine.”

She walked back out into the sunlight and paused to survey their new possession. Black dragons perched on many of the crumbled buildings. Shadow Riders, both old and new, prowled the streets looking for housing. It was good for all of them to have this city. To no longer be relegated to living under a rock in the desert. Finally, they were free of the Kormai.

Only the two clutches of eggs remained there. Dreth and several mages would watch over them until they hatched. Soon, Azurynn’s dragon would lay the clutch she was heavy with. At least there was never a shortage of eggs or those willing to attempt hatching them.

Sadira stepped into the street and walked down it, noting that many of the tall trees with ferny tops had managed to survive. All things considered, it was amazing just how much of Marden had come through the battles relatively unscathed. It was a victory well worth celebrating.

Three days after her return to Markene, Kirynn sat alone in the woods far from the city and encampment of refugees. Although there was much to be done, none of it mattered right now. Even her exercises to provide emotional distance between herself and the ravages of war offered no relief. She couldn’t manage to separate herself. Friends had fallen beside her since her first battle, and it had never fazed her. Not like this. She’d taken the lives of many over the years and never batted an eye. It was what needed to be done.

Boromar hadn’t sought the war with Kanther, only protected what belonged to it once Kanther became the aggressor. The war with them had been just that—a war with other soldiers. Yes, occasionally villages were caught in the crossfire but both armies had actively avoided it when possible. And she’d felt a certain amount of regret and sadness when innocent people in those villages had died, but she hadn’t known them. It was easier to keep the distance when one didn’t know the deceased.

Even Trilene, as bloody as it was, she had been able to turn off. As hard as it had been to turn away from defenseless people in order to preserve her own life and continue fighting, in the end, she hadn’t known them.

Welan was different. She had known all of them and cared more than she should have. Medar, always trying to smooth the thin hair on his head. Little Annoc who had teethed on dragon claws and crawled his way into everyone’s heart. Tenyi, so determined to learn the zahri, who had looked at Kirynn with eyes full of admiration. Their mother, Anly, kind and protective of her children. And the many others who had become her friends in one way or another. All dead. All butchered by Kojens or dark mages.

Kirynn had managed not to think about any of it—until her return to Markene. What remained of the Shaderians camped out in makeshift tents brought it all back.

Anly, cut down while she held Annoc. Both of them finding their way to Maiadar at the same time. Tenyi, wielding her zahri just like Kirynn had showed her but without enough skill to protect her younger sister. If Kirynn had been faster, paid more attention to the village during the battle, Lenya wouldn’t be alone now. She couldn’t bring the people of Welan back, but she would make sure Lenya grew up healthy and strong. It was all she could do.

Kirynn closed her eyes but couldn’t close her mind to the images of their deaths, of the blood-soaked ground. She barely noticed the tears running down her cheeks. Crying was something she hadn’t done since she was a small girl. But the weight of Basc and now Marden and Welan, and of all the other villages, came crashing down upon her with more force than she could defend herself against.

Pressing the heels of her hands against her forehead, she leaned forward and gave in to the choking sobs that filled her throat. Just this one time, her grief needed an outlet and in the heavy silence of the late summer woods, she found it in tears and solitude. In her mind, she sensed Syrakynn quiet and supportive, always there for her no matter what.

Kellinar wove his way through the tents, many of which were in the process of being dismantled for the Shaderians move to Kanther. The Calladarans and New Sharrens helped. With so many hands, the work was made light for all. Conversation and quiet laughter between the many who had found new friends in the camp created a hopeful, if uncertain, air.

The day dimmed as clouds covered the sun. He glanced up with unease. There shouldn’t be a storm here, not right now. The disruption in the weather patterns created something akin to an uncomfortable itch under his skin. Kellinar embraced his power and studied the sky. The movements of the air currents were erratic and disorganized, their pattern torn asunder by the actions of the Shadow Riders in New Sharren. He sensed nothing but confusion when he reached out to the currents. Flaming Shadow Riders, the dragon-blasted gits had done more damage than they could comprehend. It was going to take months, if not years, to right the patterns again and that was only if there were no other disruptions.

He let go of his powers and brought his eyes back down to the people around him. They had enough to worry about without the weather adding to it.

Master Po waved at him, coiling ropes from the dismantled tents. Kellinar waved back and continued on before he realized Po wanted to speak with him. He pushed down his mood, fouled by the weather, and changed his course. It took a while to work his way through the controlled chaos while dodging small children who had managed to slip under the watchful eyes of their mothers in order to run playing, squealing, and causing all manner of trouble.

Many of them ran around with stuffed rags fashioned to resemble dragons as they battled with imaginary Shadow Dragons. How quick the young were to recover from the effects of war. How soon their minds turned away from the tragedies and allowed imagination and fun to replace them.

Some, however, remained far too somber and serious, their eyes still full of the grief and horror that had visited them. They stayed close to adults, rather than playing, as if they feared straying too far.

Kellinar turned his attention away from the children as he reached Po. “Good afternoon, Master Po.”

“And to you, Di’shan.”

“I got the impression from your rather elaborate hand signals that you wished to speak with me.” Kellinar picked up a tangle of rope in the pile Po worked on, and began coiling it.

“That I did. I fear I am faced with a bit of a conundrum.” Po set aside the coil he’d just finished and began on the next rope, his fringe of wispy, white hair dancing about as he worked quickly.

Kellinar raised his eyebrows. “Is there a problem I need to sort out?”

“Possibly.” Po straightened with a sigh. “I have discovered that this body of mine is not in a condition to be worrying about angry things with swords trying to kill me and to be leaping about in Slides with the threat of death hanging over my head. Even if I knew how to use a sword, or any weapon at my age, I’m pretty certain my joints wouldn’t appreciate me trying to use them in such a manner.”

“So you wish to return to Galdrilene.” He reached out and gave Po a pat on the shoulder. “There is no shame in that, my old friend.”

“Old?” Po’s bushy white eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. “Young man, I said I was no spring hatchling and that at my age I shouldn’t tempt the Fates. I said nothing of being old.”

Kellinar shoved his mirth down and managed to keep a straight face. “Of course not, Master Po. I didn’t mean to imply you were old.”

“As long as you didn’t. Now…where was I? Oh yes.” He swatted a fly trying to land on his nose and went back to the task of coiling ropes. “I, and the other scholars, do indeed plan to return to Galdrilene, and therein lies my conundrum.”