Ashes of Xy (Blood of Xy #1)

Chapter One

Autumn Equinox, mid-afternoon of the last day of the

Reign of Xywellan and Queen Kara

Vren crawled under the low pines to the edge of the ridge, keeping to his belly, his head down. The branches above him swayed in the wind, the movement helping to hide him. Dried needles shifted beneath him as he slowly lifted his head. The cool breeze hit his face, whisked away the sharp scent of pine, and replaced it with the stench of blood, smoke, and death.

The battlefield stretched out below him, filled with the heave of a pulsing mass of men and horses. The airion and wyvern banners were the only way to track the sides in the chaos and haze. Beyond that stood the House Airion camp, command tent at its center, flags flying. Beyond that lay the walls of Edenrich, where worried sentries no doubt stared toward the battle.

Vren’s stomach clenched, in fear but also dread at what he had to do. He was of the marcusi. Be the wind, be the shadow, be the blade, be the silence of the night . How in the name of all the elements could he rescue a pregnant Queen from this nightmare?

A warm weight pressed against his leg, a soft whine rising to his ears as Dust crawled up to rest next to him. The vore was so large she stretched the length of his body.

The vore were fearsome fighters, true enough, with jaws that could crush a skull with a snap, but she too had no place on a battlefield. Her ears were flat to her head, taking in the sight with an intelligence equal to his own.

Although she would claim she was far smarter than any human.

He buried his fingers in Dust’s coarse guard hairs, sinking them into her soft under-coat and giving a nervous tug.

Dust nudged him with her wet nose.

“King Xywellan’s forces are losing,” Vren whispered. “The Wyverns will take the day.” Out of habit, he glanced for the sun but saw only the low, brooding clouds. “Probably before nightfall.”

The vore growled low, voicing her concerns. He could feel the vibration through his fingers.

“I know,” he agreed. “But I am summoned, and I am sworn to heed that call. I have to try.” He hesitated. “You’d best stay here. I know not what awaits me—”

Sharp teeth gleamed in the shadows as the vore jerked her head and snapped at his chin. He flinched out of instinct, but she never meant for those dagger-like teeth to strike him. Just wanted to let him know what she thought of his suggestion.

Vren shook his head. “Dust, I am serious. We each have our own missions. I am called to aid a pregnant Queen Kara in the midst of a battle. You are not, and the Wyverns would kill you on sight. It’s too dangerous—”

The vore shoved her muzzle under his chin. Vren sighed and buried his face in her fur for a moment, breathing in her warmth and scent.

“Together then.” He cast his eyes toward the low gleam in the sky that marked the setting sun behind the clouds, and started to crawl backwards.

They skirted the battlefield, making a wide curve so as not to be drawn into the great sea of combat, avoiding men and horses at all costs.

Vren noted the blue and white airion banners falling and the red and gold wyvern flags still waving in the wind.

Battle had already reached the camp in the form of looters intent on spoils. If any saw Vren, which was doubtful given his skill, they paid him no mind. But the command tent still held, with warhorses outside, saddled and waiting. Vren kept a wary eye on the beasts, but felt some relief at the sight; no doubt they were preparing to take the Queen to safety. He and Dust could act as the rear guard, covering their tracks and killing any pursuers.

Vren gave the horses a wide berth and used the shadows, only stepping into the light when he and Dust reached the entrance.

A fierce woman with hard eyes challenged his approach; her gaze flicked from him to the vore beside him. Not that Vren blamed her; vore were a rare sight, and enough to take any aback. At first glance a large dog, and then not, with the square jaw of a demon-spawn, bright fangs, and the focus of a killer. Dust drew the eye more than his own lanky frame.

“I am of the marcusi.” Vren spoke, which caught the woman’s attention. She frowned at him. “I am summoned,” he added and held out his token.

“Captain,” the guard called over her shoulder, and another emerged from the tent, her eyes even harder. She gave Vren a nod, produced a similar token, and held out her hand for his.

The two pieces fit together with a click, creating a small figurine. A black panther with crystal blue eyes.

“Come,” she said, turning back into the tent.

He followed, the vore at his side.

The tent was stifling. In the outer chamber warriors, all women, were arming themselves. Each one raked him with a glance, assessing and dismissing him. He was content that it be so. They had second glances for the vore, and those held respect and caution.

He was content with that as well.

The Captain held open another flap and Vren ducked through. A sleeping chamber, crowded with people. Here the air was thicker, reeking of blood and piss.

On the bed a woman was propped up by pillows, her black curly hair in disarray and pressed to her head with sweat.

A tiny babe nursed at her breast.

Vren sucked in a breath. Dust whined softly as she sat at his feet.

The white bedding was splotched with bright red blood. Between the new mother’s spread legs, other women were frantically doing…something. Vren stomach churned and he dropped his gaze, not wanting to know more.

“Majesty,” the guard said, and Vren found himself the focus of the room.

Even those ministering to the woman stilled for a moment as Vren knelt and said, “Hail to you, Kara, Queen of Xy.”

The Captain stepped to the bed and handed the Queen the token. Kara took it, rubbing the smooth black side with her thumb. She lifted her gaze and gave Vren a weary smile. “You are the marcusi I sent for?” She fingered the token. “Your name?”

“Majesty, I—” he shook his head. “I am one of the marcusi, sworn protector of the Blood of Xy. Until the snows summon and the stars call.”

Kara narrowed her eyes. “But which Blood?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind. It matters not. Very well, marcus. I will trust in your truths and in the ancient promise.” She grimaced as the healer moved between her legs. “You will take my daughter and flee.”

Vren’s head jerked up. “Majesty?” She couldn’t be serious.

Queen Kara ignored him, focusing on the other women in the room. “Well?”

“Majesty,” one of them said, “lean back and let me try—”

“No,” Kara was firm. “We both know the bleeding will not stop. I won’t die bleeding out on the birthing bed. Better to ride into battle with my warriors, sword in hand. Pack me up with bandages and bring me my armor.”

Vren’s heart sank further at her words. This was not a woman seeking rescue.

The chief guard stepped forward. “Majesty, no—”

The babe at Kara’s breast dropped the nipple and yawned. The newborn had a shock of black hair, just like her mother. For a brief moment the woman smiled down at her babe, then lifted a stark face to the others. “King Xywellan has fallen. I must rally our warriors or all is lost.”

“Majesty, you will die.” The chief guard placed her hand on Kara’s shoulder. More than a guard, then.

“Death comes for us all in time,” the Queen said. “I will not flee the field while one hope remains.” She grimaced. “Finished? Help me up.”

The Captain took the sleeping babe and the token. Many hands extended to aid Kara to sit on the edge of the bed. Her face was pale, breath coming in short gasps. “T’will serve. My armor.”

“Wait,” another healer offered her a cup. Kara downed it in one gulp, then grimaced.

“Give it a moment,” the healer said. Kara nodded, breathing heavily. Then she jerked her head to the Captain.

“Give her to him. And the token.”

Vren took the swaddled child, but not without protest. “Your majesty?”

Kara took a shuddering breath, then straightened her shoulders. “My armor,” she commanded.

The women started to help Kara into her padded jerkin. “Marcus,” she said, again with the tone of command, “Hide her. Keep her safe.”

“Majesty?” he asked. He shifted his gaze to the Captain, as if to confirm the Queen’s madness.

The woman met his stare with her own and gave him a nod.

Queen Kara continued as her attendants dressed her, “My warriors and I will rally the army. Give strength to the weakening hearts. I will not leave these warriors whom Xywellan led to their deaths.”

“Majesty,” Vren argued, “she’d be safer with you, with a host of warriors—”

“This has already been decided, Marcus,” Kara interrupted. “Even before the birth pains started, this was the path. If I live through the day, you will bring her back to me. If not, there is no one else I can trust with her safety. Or with the raising of the true heir to the throne.” She held out a hand. “Dagger.”

One was handed to her.

Half clad, Kara sat on the edge of the bed and nicked her left palm. Blood welled on her pale flesh.

The healer made a soft sound of protest; Kara gave her a cynical look. “As if it matters now.”

Someone handed her a small glass phial. She held it beneath her injured hand, letting the blood fill the glass. “Know what I know,” she recited. “Feel what I feel. See what I have seen and known. See what comes within this day.” Kara stared at Vren but he doubted that she saw him; her eyes were wide and slightly unfocused. “I give these memories freely unto you and to those you so choose.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “Quickly now.”

The phial was stoppered with cork and wax and placed in his hand as a healer bandaged her wound. Holding the babe tight, Vren managed to tuck the phial away securely as all the women, even the healers, started to armor and arm themselves, preparing for battle.

Queen Kara’s voice was muffled as her chain shirt was eased over her head. “Wellan extended his hand in peace to those poisonous Wyverns,” she said. “Brought them to court, treated them with honor.”

Someone brought out the chain leggings, but she shook her head. “No, the weight will be too much. Just the leathers.”

They pulled her to her feet. She paled for a moment, none too steady. But after a breath she nodded and was aided into the trous. To his horror, he caught a glimpse of blood on the bandages between her legs before they were covered up.

She stepped into her boots as another knelt to lace her in.

Kara looked him in the eye. He knew that expression. One who sees death approaching and has thrown caution to the winds. “And for his efforts to please, to placate, they turned on him, bringing this war, this civil war, this bloody, vicious, wasteful war.” Her women tugged at her, fastening buckles, armoring their Queen. “There’s no hatred worse than that between bloodkin,” she finished.

A warrior approached, knelt, and held up her sword. Kara took the weapon and buckled it on. “Are we ready?”

“Aye,” came the chorus. The others nodded, donning their helmets. They started filing past him, bowing their heads to the babe as they passed.

Kara was last, and she moved close, looking at her daughter. She gently drew one finger down the infant’s soft check. The babe stirred in Vren’s arms but did not waken.

“Forgive me, child.” For the first time, Vren saw Kara’s pain. “For I have brought you into a world of fire and blood and treachery and now must leave you. Such was never my intent.” She cupped her babe’s cheek in her hand. “Blessings upon you, Xylara, Daughter of the Blood, Daughter of Xywellan and Kara, Warrior Queen.”

The tent flap closed behind her before he could say a word.

Horns pealed with rallying cries.

Vren looked down into the tiny face of the babe as the enormity of what was happening hit him. A babe. None of his training had prepared him for this. Be the wind, be the shadow, be the blade, certainly, but an infant? Where could he take her? How would he feed her? Doubts and fears flooded him. He looked down at Dust, hoping she had some idea—

The vore was staring at a corner, ear perked forward.

A young woman sat there on a stool, pressed into the tent wall, out of the way. She had golden brown skin and a sprinkle of dark freckles around her brown eyes. The tangled coils in her black hair trembled, her face filled with resignation and terror. She too had a babe in the crook of one arm, its skin a paler version of hers. The other hand held a trembling blade, poised as if she meant to defend herself.

Vren was speechless for a moment, then it hit him. “Wet nurse,” he whispered.

“Aye,” came the barest whisper in return. “I am Amari of—” Her voice cracked and she stopped. “It matters not.” She tightened her grip on both the babe and the blade. “Kill us, please.”

Vren stared at her.

“I am no warrior and the Queen had enough to worry on.” She gulped, her dark brown eyes wide. “You must save her,” nodding to the baby in his arms. “Save the hope of Xy.” She took a ragged breath.

“But if you would—” she choked on her words. “I cannot kill him,” she whispered, looked down at her own babe. “And I would not wait for what must come.” She flipped the blade over and held it out to him, hilt first. “Please, have mercy. Don’t leave us alive for them to ravage.”

More horns sounded, pealing strong and clear.

Vren hesitated. Alone, he’d slip away with none the wiser. But the needs of the child in his arms outweighed his own.

“Can you keep up?” He moved closer to her, ignoring the blade. Dust whined, facing the tent flap, keeping watch.

Amari blinked at him as if not understanding his words.

“I will try to save you both,” Vren said. “But if you falter, I will leave you behind.” She was in skirts, true, but they were simple enough not to impede her much, and looked warm.

Hope dawned in desperate, swollen eyes. “You are truly a marcusi?” she asked with disbelief. “And that is a vore? I have heard such stories.”

“Only half are true,” he said softly as he pressed her elbow, urging her to her feet. “If you can keep up.”

“Yes, but promise me,” she said, rising. “You will kill us, if—”

“If I can, without risk to my charge.”

Dust huffed. She would deal with it, if necessary.

“Quickly,” he continued. “Grab what you can and let us be off. How long will they sleep?”

The woman was already reaching for a sling and tying her babe to her chest. “The birth was less than an hour ago. The Queen nursed her; my own just fed. A few hours, perhaps more.” She fumbled for an extra sling and handed it to him, then frantically gathered supplies, stuffing them into a sack.

“Good.” He took the sling and bound Xylara to his chest, then covered her with his cloak. “We will try to avoid being seen, but we must move fast. They will search for her, once they know—” he cut that thought off, not willing to ill-wish the Queen.

But Amari nodded, painful reality in her eyes. “Where?” she asked as she swept up a dark cloak and settled it over her shoulders before drawing up the hood. “There is no safety hereabouts. All those that were loyal to Kara are in the field with her.”

He paused, considering. The options were limited but…

Dust whined, rising to her feet, her hackles up. From outside came the tramp of boots and the clash of swords.

Vren drew his dagger and slit the tent wall along one of the seams. “Where they would not think to look.” He pushed through the canvas and reached back for her.

“Come.”