Reign of Ash (20 page)

Kata stood completely still as the ring dropped down over her and she caught it by its inner circle, then raised it overhead as she gracefully spun the fiery ring by one hand and then the other, tossing it aloft and catching it again. She bent double and lifted one long leg into the air, catching and spinning the blazing wheel, then straightened, holding her leg out in front of her and launching the ring once more. This time she caught it again with her hand, and from the sidelines flew a long, thin skewer with a thickened end. Kata lit the end of the skewer and straightened, allowing the flaming ring to fall to the ground, wreathing her in fire. She let her head fall back as she opened her mouth. The crowd gasped as Kata seemed to swallow flame, and as the skewer in her mouth extinguished, the ring at her feet flared one final time and went dark.

Illarion bounded to the center of the stage as Kata bowed and the crowd roared its astonished approval. She gave a vague smile. Illarion whispered a comment, and Kata’s smile broadened. She gave a shy wave, made a bow, then ran off the stage.

Borya moved the charred ring and burned batons to the side of the performance area as Desya brought a trunk from the sidelines and opened it so that it faced Illarion.

“Behold!” Desya intoned. “Illarion, master of knives.”

Kata began to drum as the other dancer began to play the lyre. Desya withdrew a lethal-looking, large, curved knife and blithely tossed it toward Illarion, who snatched it from the air as if it were nothing of consequence. Four more times Desya threw the knives and Illarion caught them all, keeping the other knives deftly wheeling through the air.

At first, Illarion juggled slowly, but the pace grew faster and faster until the knives blurred into a single silver ring in the firelight. The crowd clapped in rhythm to the drum, but Illarion’s concentration remained absolute.

Desya moved to stand just behind Illarion, then lay down on the ground, arms and legs splayed. Without turning, Illarion suddenly shouted, “One!” and threw one of his daggers into the air so that it arced behind him, but he made no move to catch it. The blade wheeled and embedded itself just outside Desya’s right thigh. Desya remained motionless, and Illarion appeared oblivious, but one of the women in the audience screamed and fainted.

“Two!” Illarion shouted, sending another blade up and behind him. This fell to earth, point down, to the outside of Desya’s left thigh.

“Three, four, five!” Knives flew, each in a different direction. One landed between Desya’s thighs, close enough to his groin to make Blaine wince. The last two landed just outside Desya’s shoulders, one on each side, so close they nearly pinned the fabric of his shirt to the snow.

The crowd howled in approval. Illarion gave a deep bow. “Good gentlemen and gentle ladies,” he boomed, as Kata tossed him his tall hat. “If you have enjoyed the marvels of this performance, please be so kind as to toss us a copper or two.” He spun his hat through the air and it landed at his feet, brim up.

“For those who would like a glimpse into the beyond, our charming Zaryae is also a true seer,” Illarion said, inclining his head toward the dark-haired dancer. “For a single silver coin, Zaryae will tell you the future.”

Many in the crowd surged forward to toss coins into Illarion’s hat. Zaryae came to the edge of the performance area and a few people called out to her, but no one moved to offer her the silver Illarion requested. After dropping a few copper coins into the hat, Blaine and Kestel turned to go.

Over and over again, circles and fire
, Blaine thought.
And symbols that match the disk. Were they mages?
Blaine wondered, stealing a glance toward the performers as they eased through the waning crowd.
What do they know? Or am I so obsessed with a failed quest that I see symbols and augers in the shadows?

“M’lady, if you please!” A slender hand reached out to pluck at the sleeve of Kestel’s coat, and they realized Zaryae had moved to stand beside them. “I have a reading for you, a warning from the gods.” Zaryae’s dark eyes were intelligent and canny. Up close, Blaine saw that her features were a bit too angular to be pretty in a conventional sense, though under any circumstances, she was quite striking.

Kestel exchanged a glance with Blaine, and it was clear that each wondered if the girl’s offer was a trap. “What kind of reading?” Kestel asked warily, and Blaine caught a slight motion as Kestel’s hand fell to her side, where a dagger was hidden among the folds of her clothing.

Zaryae glanced around them and pulled Kestel and Blaine closer to the performance area and away from the thinning crowd, so that the wagon blocked them from view. “You and your friends are in danger,” she murmured. “Borya and Desya were not the only ones to notice your arrival at the tavern. A black circle haunts your dreams, and you wish to restore what the Fire took away. Please, m’lady, come to our camp with me and I will tell you there what I dare not say aloud among so many curious ears.”

“Where is your camp?” Blaine asked, moving closer to Kestel to signal that the invitation had better include him.

Zaryae gave a nod of her head toward the left, toward an open space between buildings. “By the outer wall, beyond the stables. I have to go beyond the wall to receive the messages.”

That makes sense
, Blaine thought,
since the village is in a null zone and whatever magic remains lies beyond.

“I assure you, m’lady, you are as safe among my friends and me as you will ever be in this village,” Zaryae said, reading the expressions of mistrust that were clear on their faces. “The dreams foretold that you would come. Please, you must hear me.”

B
y now, the crowd had gone, as had the man who followed them from the pub. Borya and Desya gathered up the last of the batons and other props that lay scattered across the snow, while Illarion snuffed out the torches and carried them back to their wagon. Kata led a horse from a copse of nearby trees and hitched him to the wagon. Illarion strode over to join them.

“M’lady,” he said with a deep bow to Kestel. He met Blaine’s eyes for a moment. “And m’lord,” he said. “Borya and Desya heard part of your conversation earlier this evening and told Zaryae that the watched-for ones had arrived. Helgen cannot help you in your quest, and his first loyalty is to caution. Zaryae’s gift has told her something of your burden and she can help, if you will honor us with your presence at our camp.”

“All right,” Kestel answered, with a glance to alert Blaine that she knew the risk of accepting the invitation. Blaine let out a deep breath. He had already come to the same conclusion, yet he wished there were a way to let Piran and Verran know where they were going.

Out of habit, his hand fell to the pommel of his sword.

Illarion caught the movement and a smile ghosted across his face. “You are wise to be cautious, but our camp is safe.”

Alert for danger, Blaine and Kestel watched as the performers loaded the last of the gear into their wagon. Zaryae and Kata climbed up onto the driver’s bench and signaled for Kestel to join them. With a shrug and a glance toward Blaine, Kestel swung up to the high bench, leaving Blaine with the other men who walked behind the wagon as it made its way slowly through the slush.

“Your performance was very good,” Blaine said, falling into step with Illarion. Borya and Desya walked behind them, but whether they were merely following or acting as bodyguards, Blaine could not be certain.

Illarion gave a shallow bow. “We’re thrilled to have pleased you. Our audiences are not as varied as they once were.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been in Riker’s Ferry?”

Illarion gave an enigmatic smile. “Patience. Questions are best answered when we will not be overheard.”

Blaine glanced around them. A few people lingered in the streets, talking with one another after the performance, but by now the village green was deserted, and the rest of the pedestrians were hunched against the cold, hurrying to their destinations. He chafed at waiting to ask about the symbols and the recurring circles and flame but held his tongue. Laughter wafted back to them from where the three women rode at the front of the wagon, and Blaine smiled, guessing that Kestel was giving a performance of her own to win over the dancers and gain their trust.

The performers’ camp was not far. Blaine was grateful since the wind had picked up, swirling snow into the air and cutting through his cloak. Illarion offered Kestel a hand down from the wagon, which she accepted with a smile.

Blaine looked around the camp. A second wagon lay unhitched near the rock wall that marked the edge of Riker’s Ferry and the magic-null zone. The wagon was a little larger than the one the troupe had used for the performance, and Blaine wondered if it was where they slept when the weather was at its worst. To one side, a large plow horse was tethered along with two small goats. A ring of stones had been set to mark the camp, and within it was a well-used fire pit with a rudimentary spit to roast meat. In a makeshift wooden enclosure, a half-dozen chickens clucked and waddled across a cleared patch of ground. Cords of wood were stacked neatly near the fence.

“Share a meal with us,” Illarion invited with a grin and an exaggerated bow, tipping his tall hat. “Our food is plain, but our conversation is witty and you may find that which you seek.”

Kestel laughed and gave a curtsey. “We would be honored.”

Despite his wariness, Blaine could not resist the good spirits of the troupe. Zaryae and Kata began to sing as they set about readying the meal, while Borya and Desya chimed in on the chorus as they brought wood to make a fire and trudged to the well to draw water. Soon, a merry fire blazed within the fire pit, and Kata set a kettle near the flames for tea. There were five wide log segments set on end around the fire to serve as chairs. Desya went to the woodpile to bring two more for their guests.

“Come. Sit,” Illarion said. As Kata and Zaryae assembled the meal from the provisions in the wagon, the others took their places around the fire. Borya withdrew a large flask from inside his coat and passed it around the circle. Blaine took a small mouthful. The home-brewed whiskey was as strong as any distilled on Edgeland, and for a few seconds it took his breath away.

“We saw you in the pub earlier,” Kestel said, leaning forward with a look toward Borya and Desya.

Just then, Kata and Zaryae approached, each bearing two wooden bowls. One bowl held a pile of hearth cakes, small loaves of bread made of rough-ground flour and cooked on the hot rocks of a fire. There was another bowl of dried sausages, a third with hunks of cheese. With a sigh of resignation, Blaine saw that the fourth bowl was filled with pickled herring, something he had hoped never to eat again after he left Edgeland. The bread was passed around the circle first, followed by the other items, which each person took using the bread as a plate. Borya’s flask was offered more than once, but both Blaine and Kestel declined, mindful not only of the cold but also of the danger of their situation.

Finally, Illarion spoke. “You asked how long we have been in Riker’s Ferry,” he said, taking another drink from the flask. “We’ve been here for almost two months. Long enough to take the measure of this place.”

“Which is?” Blaine asked.

Illarion’s eyes lost their merriment. “As you already know, something about this land repelled magic. Before the Great Fire, the town drew those with a reason to elude magic – their own or someone else’s. Some came because they couldn’t control their powers and thought exile better than being consumed. Others came because they’d angered a mage and figured their chances to be better if the enemy had to use a physical, rather than magical, attack.”

“So why did you come?” Kestel asked. “This is a small town, and by the look of it, not prosperous. They seem unlikely patrons.”

“We barely gather enough coppers to feed ourselves and our animals in this godsforsaken backwater,” Desya said, his voice thick with contempt. He spoke with the heavy accent of the lands along the border with the Lesser Kingdoms, and Blaine had to listen closely to catch his words.

Illarion stared at the fire as he spoke. “The night of the Great Fire, the night flames fell from the skies and magic died, we were camped outside Castle Reach. One of our patrons, Lord Radenou, had been so pleased by our performance at his manor house that he had secured us a performance for the king.” His voice glowed with bitter pride. “Such an honor nearly killed us.”

Kestel frowned. “How so?”

“Because we were too close to the bloody castle when the fire-ribbon fell,” Borya said. He had the same heavy accent as his brother. In the firelight, there was no mistaking his strange cat eyes. Desya saw Kestel look at him and defiantly met her gaze, as if daring her to look away first.

Illarion resumed his story. “We were delayed by broken axles and muddy roads. As much as we cursed the mud it saved our lives. Had we arrived earlier, we might have camped even closer to the city, and we would have surely burned.”

“As it was, we still prayed for death,” Zaryae said bitterly. Kata, still humming the song she and Zaryae had been singing, wandered back toward the wagons.

Illarion’s expression grew somber. “We did not burn. But we were not entirely spared. A powerful blast of magic swept across Donderath that night, like the hand of the gods.”

“You were caught in a magic storm?” Kestel asked, drawn to look at Desya’s eyes once more.

“It came on us without warning,” Borya said roughly. “Three of our players and several of our horses died.”

Illarion continued quietly, “I can’t tell you how long the storm was upon us. It felt like hours.”

“Those of us who survived were changed,” Zaryae said. “Our magic was gone. But it was more than that.”

“The wild magic changed our eyes,” Borya said. “Before the Fire, our magic was unusual agility. What agility remains is merely mortal. We could do so much more with magic.”

Zaryae gave a quick glance over her shoulder, as if to assure herself that Kata was out of earshot. “Kata was badly hurt,” Zaryae said. “The storm was cruel to her. It took her magic, which had given her unusual speed – quite an asset for a juggler and a dancer. She was amazing,” Zaryae said quietly. “But it also affected her mind. She’s like a child now, simple, happy for the most part, but not herself. She still loves to dance, but the Kata we knew is gone.”

“Before the storm,” Illarion said, “I was quite the minstrel. The storm took my music along with my singing voice. Of those of us who survived, I caught the worst of the storm’s fury, and it left me badly injured. Beneath my costumes, I am covered with scars,” he said sadly. “I broke enough bones that things never healed right. I used to be the third acrobat with the twins.” He shrugged. “Now, I’m lucky to walk and do a little drumming.”

“Yet you still dream prophecies?” Kestel asked, looking to Zaryae.

The dark-haired dancer drew a long breath before answering, and her brown eyes held sorrow. “Before the Great Fire, I saw visions. I could touch a person’s cloak and see his past. If I held an object in my hand, I knew the secrets of the person who had owned it. People paid well for my visions – and some paid well for my silence.” She paused.

“Illarion’s body was most damaged by the storm. Kata lost herself, and the twins were changed. But when the storm stripped away my magic, its power roared in my mind.”

Her voice faltered. “I have never felt such pain. I went mad for a time,” she said, shooting an uncertain glance toward Illarion, who nodded and gave an encouraging smile.

“All I know is that for a while, I heard the voices of the gods, and the past, present, and future swirled around me like dust in a storm,” Zaryae said. “When I finally came to myself, my dreams were no longer my own. Every night, I descend back into the madness, and every morning, I wake from it. It’s as if the wild magic rages in my mind. Within the walls of the village, I can’t hear the voices. But if I venture outside, they return. I have learned that it goes easier on me if I don’t try to hide from the dreams. So every night, for a little while, I step outside the wall and let the dreams speak.”

“And now?” Kestel asked. “You said you had a warning for me.”

Zaryae smiled. “Knowing Riker’s Ferry, one doesn’t need a seer to get a warning. This town is filled with people who are desperate to remain hidden or to keep their secrets. But this warning came to me last week, during a storm.”

“What did you see?” Blaine’s voice was quiet.

Zaryae’s eyes fluttered shut. “I saw a dark disk ringed with fire. It floated into the air and covered the sun. Then I saw symbols, but I didn’t know what they meant. The disk fell and landed beneath a gallows, at the feet of a hanged man. The man slipped the noose and took the disk.” She opened her eyes and looked at Blaine. “The man in my dream looked like you.”

“Were those the symbols from your dance?” Kestel asked.

Zaryae nodded. “We often create our performances based on my dreams. When I dream things I don’t understand, performing helps me find an answer.” She paused. “We believed it would draw the hanged man to us. Then we heard from Desya and Borya that strangers had come looking for a mage. At the performance, when I saw you.” She looked at Blaine. “I knew the message was for you.”

“You said you wanted to warn us,” Kestel said quietly. “Warn us about what?”

Zaryae met her gaze. “When the hanged man lifted up the disk, bolts of fire struck the disk, and he burned.”

Which sounds a little too close to what happened at Mirdalur
, Blaine thought, remembering their failed attempt to bring back the magic.
Is the dream warning me away from trying again? Or just showing something that has already happened?

“We’re grateful for your warning,” Kestel replied. “And we’ll heed it. But do you know anything else about the symbols?”

Illarion and Zaryae exchanged a glance, and Zaryae nodded. Illarion reached inside his shirt and withdrew an obsidian disk. “After the Great Fire, we took refuge in one of the manor houses that had nearly been destroyed. It was deserted, but we found shelter in the ruins. As Zaryae and I healed from our injuries, the others picked through the rubble for anything that might help us survive. Borya found this in a metal box that was hidden inside one of the manor’s walls. When the wall collapsed, the hiding place broke open. Zaryae insisted we bring it with us.”

Kestel nudged Blaine with her elbow. He drew a deep breath and drew out his own disk. “Once upon a time, there were thirteen of these,” Blaine said quietly. “They were used to harness magic on this Continent.” He looked up to meet Illarion’s gaze. “If we’re lucky, they might help us bring the magic back.”