From The Ashes (13 page)

"And you, dear youngling—Lucretia, Raven-Heart."
 
At the very mention of her name, the council began to applaud to such effect that a flock of wild night birds flew blackly from tree branches into the deep and purple sky.
 
A fleeing cloud.
 
"Unto thee do we bestow special honor.
 
For fearlessly have you employed the gifts bestowed by Valhandra for a cause predating even your own birth."
  
Once again Oreus regarded the entire council.
 
"Would that we possessed such faith as our beloved sister, when we ourselves were but fledglings."

Completely aware of the effect her beauty had upon all who beheld her, the impostor who had killed the true Lucretia and taken on her likeness now feigned a smile and inclined her head.

"Rejoice brethren, for our redemption is nigh," declared Oreus.
 
"And now, among the faithful, in the villages of Talen Wood, in the great Citadel of Valdshire Tor, yea, verily, in thine own hearts," once again he lifted his chalice and cleared his throat, "Prepare
ye
the way for the beneficent reign of the Great Deliverer!"

They all responded lifting their chalices.
"The Great Deliverer!"

"The Deliverer."
The false Lucretia scoffed quietly as she tapped her cup against those of the other council members.
 
She smiled again at the old men as they imbibed of the ceremonial Dragon'sblood Wine.
 
Noble warriors though they were, able-bodied and powerful though they were, she could not help but laugh at the pathetic manner in which they would meet their demise.

First, Hephesta fell.
 
Clutching his throat, his eyes widened with something entirely alien to those who'd known him and certainly to himself:

Fear.

A chorus of confused cries filled the courtyard.
 
All gathered around the fallen Hephesta.
 
The impostor did not join in.
 
Rather, she watched with satisfaction as the pulverized Shikar stone mixed in the wine began to take its toll.

One by one, they fell.
 
Ancient warriors who had arrogantly considered themselves immortal.
 
Just like Hephesta, now writhing, now frothing.
 
A most pleasing sight indeed.

Now, the impostor did not even attempt to restrain her smile.

Having witnessed the violent throes of death and realizing what was happening, three of the surviving Elders—Oreus amongst them—stopped short of drinking the poisoned bloodwine.
 
They saw her laughing and charged forward, swords and crossbows at the ready.

"Lucretia, what have you done?" cried Oreus.

Timena and Cerbeas trained their weapons upon her.
 

"You have not only betrayed us, but all Sojourners,” said Cerbeas as he drew his crossbow.

"And it is you who have betrayed the true ruler of this world!"
 
Her hands trembled.
 
If only she could fly this very moment.
 
But she had prepared for this, trained her reflexes, her mind.

"You have turned against Valhandra, Himself," said Timena.

"Valhandra is dead!"
 
The impostor stood defiant.
 
One hand still in her pocket, she fingered the razor-stars fashioned out of smooth Shikar stone.
 
Their very presence weakened her, but not for long.

Oreus lifted his staff.
 
The orb atop glowed blue and white.
 
The impostor knew better than to hesitate.
 
"Would you compound the pain of this betrayal by compelling me to deal with you as I must?"
 
His eyes now brimming azure pools, Oreus pointed his staff.

"But I am not Lucretia, old fool!"

Stunned, Oreus hesitated.

The impostor let out a feral cry and leapt into the air.
 
She forced her eyes shut and invoked utter blackness around her entire being.
 
In one swift motion, she flung the three Shikar razor-stars at Oreus, Timea and Cerbeas.

The first struck and lodged itself into Oreus' forehead.
 
He let out a roar and fell to the ground, convulsing and howling in pain.
 

The second caught Timea in the leg just as he began to transform.
 
He cried out and fell to one side, trembling and foaming.
 

The third grazed Cerbeas just as he completed his equine transformation and flew from the slaughter and bounded clear over the stone wall.

Unhampered by the fetters of a human body, the impostor flew up and looked for him.
 
But to her dismay the night did not betray her quarry.
 
Even from this vantage point high above the courtyard, she could not see him, though he had galloped into the night in the form of a mighty stallion.

It mattered not.
 
Cerberas had been grazed.
 
If he survived, it would not be for long.
 
She would simply report that the mission was prosperous.
 
And this would more than suffice, unless her master condescended to having the bodies counted.
 

Alighting on the Great Table of the Ancients, the impostor smiled with satisfaction.
 
The only remaining testament to their existence would be the carcasses, whatever had not yet been picked apart by vultures.

CHAPTER ONE

Six Months Prior

In the blackest of nights
, a fortnight before the seventeenth birthday of a slave named Render, the moon, full and blood-red glared down upon Talen Wood, a ways from the Citadel walls of Valdshire Tor.
 
Three boys bent upon nothing good approached the lad as he lay down, trying to sleep.
 
Render’s master—last seen with his beard bathed in drivel—reclined in his chair, a drunken stupor barely veiling his cherry-nosed countenance.

Outside the damp broom closet better known as Render's room, in that fetid cottage in which he and his master dwelled, one of the boys tapped furtively on the wall.

"Render.
 
Hssst! Render."

"What?
 
Who's there?" So poor was his vision he could barely see the fingers before his face, for the sands of slumber had encrusted his eyes.

"Come on, Render.
 
Are you going join us or not?" He recognized the voice of Kaine, his elder brother.
 
He too was a slave belonging to an old master on the other side of Talen Wood.
 
Some two years his senior, Kaine led this band of mongrels
who
, despite all their capers, had always eluded capture.
 
They were the closest thing to a family he had.

Atop the ledge of the window sat a black cat, not unlike the one he had seen a day or two prior.
 
It ceased licking its paw and washing its face.
 
With turquoise eyes, it stared straight into Render's.
 
Throughout Render's life, black cats appeared frequently, though he had never been able to take one as a pet.
  
The cat looked over to Kaine and his companions, then back at Render.
 
It leapt down from the ledge, almost daring Render to follow.
 

Kaine appeared in the window and grinned.
 
"Coming or not, Rend?"

"After last time?
 
I shouldn't go anywhere with you again."
 
But something about that cat drew Render's curiosity.
 
The way it regarded him, as if it knew of something interesting, an adventure or a pirate's chest full of gold and trinkets.
 
Perhaps a magical sword.

Render stole past his snoring master and out the door.

"Come now, you old tortoise," said Kaine, the oldest of the boys.
 
He stood at least a head taller than Render.
 
Kaine brushed his fire-red hair out of his eyes, smiled and slapped a heavy hand onto Render's shoulder.
 
"Hungry?"

"Do birds fly?" Render's master afforded him but one meal each day, though he toiled without respite in his stables and fields and barnyard from the rising of the sun till dusk.

"Well, they're hungry."
 
Kaine tossed a glance to Folen and Stewan, the twins.
 
When they faced each other, they looked like reflections.
 
Beneath the dirt lay bespeckled cheeks which in the daylight took the hue of apples.
  
This more than betrayed their tender age of eight years.

How diverse a band.
 

Yet one thing bound them in common.
 
They were orphans, all of them.
 
And all of them slaves.
 

Searing pain like a branding iron scathed Render's back when he stretched his arms to yawn.
 
Wounds from yesterday's lashing reopened.
 
He winced and groaned but dared not reach back to touch it.
 
"You'd better go on without me," he said.
 
"If Bobbington catches me..."

"On then," Kaine said,
raising
up fistful of tree branches fashioned into spears.
 
"I heard dinner grunting by the stream."

 
Render's eyes opened wider, though it brought no clearer vision in the gloom. "You don't mean—?"

"A boar," whispered Stewan, excitedly.

"Wild, fat boar."
 
Kaine handed Render one of his spears.

"Do let's go," Folen said, pulling Render's sleeve.
 
He held up a glinting dagger which he'd undoubtedly stolen from a traveler who'd taken pity on him, and stopped to give him a piece of bread.

"Yes, do let's," Stewan echoed.

"I don't know."

Kaine leaned down and whispered, "Big.
Fat.
Juicy boar."

Charging into the wood, Render joined in and let out a mighty cry of ancient hunters.
  
The thought of fresh meat teased the tips of his tongue.

Less than half an hour later, and arguably twice as hungry and frustrated than before, they returned.
 
The entire village now lay quiet as a graveyard.
 
The boar had proven a most crafty beast indeed, and escaped.
 
Grunting merrily into the bush, it seemed to mock them.

Bested by a pig.
 

The shame.

Thankfully, darkness blanketed the night.
 
Not a soul stirred.
 
But this did nothing to prevent Render's stomach from making a formidable growl.
 
At that very moment, amidst Folen and Stewan's giggles, the black cat climbed up onto a barrel just outside the door and mewed.

"Hello," Render said and walked over, with confidence.

"Wait," Kaine whispered.
 
"Don't frighten it.
 
We can cook it."

"Not to worry.
 
I've got a way with cats.
 
They trust me."
 
Render took pity on it, however.
 
It was but a bag of fur and bones.
 
From deep within his pocket he pulled out a scrap of salted fish, stolen from his master's cupboard, and put it under her nose.

Mroooow!
 
The cat hissed and scratched his hand.

"Ow!
 
You horrid little beast!"
 
A pale beam of moonlight revealed three dark lines growing deeper and wider on Render's hand.
 
Straight across the oddly shaped birth mark which to him always looked like an ancient symbol.
 
Like those found in the archeology books he'd liberated from Bobbington's shelves.