Blood and Ashes (The Legend of Graymyrh Book 1) Read online

  Blood and Ashes

  The Legend of Graymyrh – Book One

  E.V. GREIG

  Copyright © 2017 E.V. Greig

  All Rights Reserved.

  Previously published as part of The Legend of Graymyrh – Complete Edition

  Copyright © 2014 E.V. Greig

  Chapter One

  Kebe was unchanged, Eltornius realised as he stepped off the galley ship that had carried him there. There loomed her ancient alabaster walls - stained to an ugly russet with the red sand of a thousand dust storms. The tattered rainbow of faded silk and sackcloth tents and bazaars still clogged the steep streets and narrow plazas. In the main square, a huge fountain bubbled up from deep beneath the sands - its life giving waters flowing blood red from the muck and dirt of their journey. Thrice daily, these same waters drawn into great wooden barrels were loaded onto carts and wagons and spirited away to the temple district for purification. Divided out into bottles and flasks, it sold to the parched citizenry of Kebe at an exorbitant rate. In the desert, few were willing to argue with those that could purify a well.

  Eltornius shook his head: dismissing the matter from his thoughts. He was not there to concern himself with the petty dealings of corrupt priests! If the Ca’Ryln were to fall into the wrong hands then all was lost. He had to find the woman whom he had been tracking. Her unborn child was the key to Graymyrh’s entire fate. Eltornius’s divinations had led him this far - to Kebe. Searching such a vast city would take precious time and worse yet, he could not be certain of how much time he really had. Kebe, after all, was part of Sherni’s domain.

  Suddenly he saw the woman that he sought. She was small and delicately formed, with angular features, light brown skin, nearly black waist length hair and deep brown eyes. She was dressed practically – a red linen gown that reached to her ankles, beneath a thick tunic of sheepskin and a woollen cap. Stout leather strips wrapped about her swollen breasts - for support when riding or running, he knew. The inside of her boots appeared padded with fur and straw: designed for long journeys and inclement weather.

  One hand clasped the small of her back whilst the other grasped the arm of a tall, slender female, whose greenish skin, pointed ears, long golden tresses and catlike eyes named her at once for a dryanth. A second such creature - male and with brown hair - walked behind them, leading a trio of horses. Of somewhat broader build, a faint foreshadowing of hair about his lower jaw marked him as being of human descent. These must be the fabled guardians!

  ∞∞∞

  Lonrari Silverferne frowned, wrinkling her nose at the unaccustomed stench of a human city. At her side, Kyshaa groaned again as her unborn child stirred within her. The Ullensian woman's time was close now: foul luck that her mate had perished of the plague of the Cobweb Road! For a male, and a human at that, Davar had been a proficient fighter. He had also known how to speak the language of this desert land, something that neither Lonrari nor Kyshaa could do. To his credit, Luath could manage a handful of phrases: the par’anth was bartering with one of the local traders; procuring food.

  The dryanthi priestess sighed, and hoped that it was edible this time. Yesterday had seen them duped with rotten fruit and stale bread. She was beginning to have her doubts about their recent flight. Far from the threat of Sylvangarde they might be, still there was much about Kebe that troubled her. Whatever Davar had claimed to the contrary, still the very land seemed twisted and unclean to her senses. She supposed it did not help that there were so few trees.

  There was a robed stranger watching them. He appeared human, perhaps local, perhaps not. Lonrari tensed and met his gaze. “Halt there - what would you have of us?”

  “It is more what you might have of me.” The stranger bowed. “I am Isyl Eltornius Bern. It is rare to see anthir in this savage place, and your Ullensian companion appears greatly in need of rest. Might I offer you all my hospitality?”

  “Ah, your hospitality is it, eh?” The dryanth sneered: flexing her talons. “Why would we trust you? Do you reckon us so very foolish that we would accept an invitation from a stranger in such a place as this?”

  Eltornius shrugged. “Ah well, at least none can argue that I tried!”

  He flung out his arms and arched his back. Red flames engulfed his entire body: encircling first Lonrari and then Luath, before licking at the sides of some of the nearby tents. He gestured again, almost carelessly this time, and the air around them seemed to ripple and shift. There was the unmistakable stench of sulphur and then both he and Kyshaa vanished.

  ∞∞∞

  Slo’annathorys Shadowhawke was far from his home, and extremely bored. Kebe, for all of her vaunted wonders, was really rather dull, in his opinion. It was also hot and far too smelly. Between the camels and the horses, the goats and the unwashed population in general, the sylvanth really could not decide what stank more. How can the skree’akh bear it? It is worse even than Banor’s foul varynthi farting!

  A small hand reached up then and tugged at his sleeve. Looking down, Slo’annathorys saw the young Anyosian boy whom he had adopted as his servant. “What is it, Ruiryk?”

  “I have to go.”

  Oh, Joyful Sun, now we shall have to go to an inn to use the privy. Which means Banor will drink, when I wanted him to stay halfway sober for once, damn the luck, damn it all! Slo’annathorys resigned himself to yet another night of what passed for carousing here, and forced a smile for Ruiryk’s sake. “Come on then. Banor - where is the nearest inn?”

  Banor positively twinkled. “I knew that wee lad was good for something!”

  ∞∞∞

  Lonrari winced and peeled away the remains of her tunic. The skin touched by the flames had blistered and she had lost almost half of her hair. She would heal with time; it had merely been fire, not the cruel bite of cold iron. Luath had been more fortunate, having had the presence of mind to dive headlong into the fountain. Doubtless, the locals would not appreciate that! “You shall find enemies, Luath.”

  He handed her a flask of water. “It was necessary. That Isylth was powerful – too powerful for us to confront alone. We must seek aid if we are to rescue Kyshaa and her baby.”

  The priestess stared at the bard as if he were mad. “The flames have surely boiled your wits, par’anth! Where would you have us seek aid? Who would you have us turn to?”

  Luath bowed his head, ears lowering at the mockery in his companion’s voice. “There is one who could help us. There are tales told of a mercenary: they call him Nanruir. I have heard rumours that he often bides here in Kebe during this season. If we can but find him then I am certain that he will aid us, for coin if not for honour.”

  There was a long moment of silence as the two anthir reflected on how little coin they still possessed. At last Lonrari spoke. “Very well - let us find this Nanruir. We can worry over paying him later.”

  ∞∞∞

  Slo’annathorys settled back onto a thick pile of silken cushions and sipped at his steeped bean juice. The hot bitter brown liquid was an acquired taste, he decided grimly, setting it aside. He winked at one of the many dancers; a blonde haired girl of perhaps twenty summers. She kept her face impassive. Smiling quietly, the sylvanth pulled out a single gold piece and began to toy with it.

  The girl shimmied closer. Slo’annathorys patted the cushions next to him and held out the coin. She hesitated then edged forward towards him. “Is it real?”

  “It is real,” he assured her, locking his slender fingers around her wrist and pulling her down beside him. “You may keep it - I have many more.”

  “What do you want for it?”

  “I only want to talk. You are clearly n
ot Nandorian - or even Ixranian for that matter. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that you were from Anyosia. Tell me, how did one of that people ever finish here?”

  “Slave traders, how else? They came up behind me and I smelt something strange. I dreamed for what seemed like days, of wagons rattling and oxen lowing. There were men’s voices too: all of them strangers, speaking many languages. Then I woke up here, and after that, I never dreamed again. That was four years ago, now.”

  “Then I will take you home, so that you may dream again.”

  “Ah, that’s cruel to offer!” She scowled. “Why must you tease me?”

  “I am not teasing you, fair one.” The sylvanth toyed with a strand of her hair. “I meant every word, I swear.”

  “But I don't understand – why would you? Who are you to care about my fate?”

  “They call me Nanruir.” Slo’annathorys sprang to his feet and stretched languorously. “I am sure that you have heard of me, although it is not my name.”

  The slave became very still and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve heard of you, sir!”

  He smiled at her and drew his sword. Flinging back his scarlet cloak, he nodded curtly to his companions. Banor gulped back the dregs of his goblet and wiped his beard with one gnarled hand. Ruiryk dropped the platter of sugared figs that he had been eating and drew his dagger. He squared his small shoulders and lined up next to Banor. The old varyn belched, scratched his armpits and finally hefted his battle-axe.

  Slo’annathorys stepped past them; knowing that the two would watch his back in the ensuing combat. He locked eyes with the yellow-garbed slave-keepers. “I am Prince Slo’annathorys Shadowhawke – exiled heir to the throne of Sylvangarde, sword master of the Striking Griffin School, wielder of the Living Rose, and the bearer of the Banner of Naevar: the Blood Maiden! Your kind has named me Nanruir – some from fear, and others from hope. I expect that I am known to you?”

  “Oh yes, you’re known!” The slave-keepers sneered and charged towards the golden haired sylvanth. “There’s a fine weight of coin offered for those that fetch your head!”

  He smiled and closed his eyes: waiting for them to strike. The light from the lamps glinted on the blades of the halberds as they sliced easily through the pale rose coloured silk of his tunic. There was an odd sort of sound, like metal twisting back on itself. No blood flowed. The entire room went silent.

  Slo’annathorys opened his jet black eyes, raised the Living Rose up and held it at right angles to his nose; peering over the green crystal blade at his opponents. The crimson silks of his lower garment rustled softly as he shifted his weight in preparation for his attack. “The Great Claw of the Heavens snatches the Drowsing Dove from her nest!”

  His blade sang through the air. Slo’annathorys leapt backwards once more and flicked his sword briefly. A faint spatter of blood hit the floor. The slave-keepers gasped and clutched at their chests - realizing with horror what it was that the sylvanth now held in his off hand. Arterial blood seeped past their fingers. Slo’annathorys sheathed his blade and dropped the three ruined hearts. Men and women alike ran screaming - fleeing for their lives by any exit that they could find. In the midst of the confusion, Slo’annathorys gathered his companions and slipped out into the night. Banor was chuckling to himself as he brought up the rear. Ruiryk was all but running to keep up with his master. Slo’annathorys scooped the boy up and set him on his shoulders.

  Behind them, the Anyosian slave was stammering her thanks. The sylvanth turned and frowned at her. “Hush now - we must go quietly for a time.”

  “Oh - forgive me, please!” She blushed and clung to his arm; stinking of cheap perfume and fear.

  Peering closer, the sword master could see the bruises on her arms and legs, the faded welts on her back. He wiped away her tears. “That is enough sadness. Now you must be brave for a time - will you do that for me?”

  “I - I will be brave - for you.” The girl let go of his arm. Humans were simple creatures. They were easy to comfort, easier yet to control, and so very fragile.

  Banor spat. “Looks like company headed our way.”

  The sylvanth turned and looked, Ruiryk still clinging on to him. “What do dryanthir seek here - we are a little far from your forest!”

  Much as he had expected, the female snarled her response. “Your king holds no sway here - it is none of your concern!”

  A chilly silence ensued, broken only by Banor’s sniggering. Slo’annathorys kept his face impassive. “You would infer that I, whom men have named Nanruir, am a servant of that tyrant?”

  She stiffened warily: dim hope lighting in her green eyes. “We are, as it happens, in search of an individual known as Nanruir – are you truly he?”

  “I am known as such to the skree’akh, yes. My true name is Slo’annathorys Shadowhawke. These are my companions – Banor and Ruiryk. The girl's name is yet unknown to me, for she has just joined us, but I expect that she has one. Now I must know: what happened to your hair?”

  “We were caught in a fire – our human companion Kyshaa was snatched at the same time. I am Lonrari Silverferne.” The dryanth bowed. “This is Luath Windriversson.”

  Slo’annathorys reached down to where Luath was now kneeling and pulled the Par’anth to his feet, inferring by the action that he acknowledged him as kin. “It is good to meet you both. It is still a wonder to me that even half-bred dryanthir would be here!”

  Lonrari coughed. Her lungs were still thick with smoke. “Well, enough of this chatter. We must find Kyshaa and her baby before their captor has a chance to harm them!”

  Slo’annathorys bowed. “Follow me: I know just who to ask for help on such matters.”

  ∞∞∞

  Antabi Dezzaf was unprepared for the mismatched little band that awaited her outside her home. The elderly seeress peered suspiciously at the strangers. “Who is this we have at my door so very late, hmm? Travellers I think.” She frowned and wrinkled her nose. “Bah! I smell anthir and...and humans? Eughh! I hate stinking tall folk! Show me coin now or get you gone!”

  The taller of the two male anthir knelt before the wizened old veldaan and held out a gleaming silver piece. “For you, wise one. I am Slo’annathorys Shadowhawke and these others are my companions. We are seeking a young Ullensian woman, abducted by an Isylth calling himself Eltornius Bern. We are fearful for her life. She was with child - it is most likely that she has birthed by now.”

  Pocketing the coin, Antabi nodded. “Very well then - if child be in danger Antabi will help. Get you in - we will scry together for missing mother.”

  All but little Ruiryk had to duck their heads in order to enter the dwelling - even Banor towered over the diminutive veldaan. Slo’annathorys crawled in, as did Luath and the Anyosian girl. Lonrari grumbled and made her way inside by means of an awkward crouch. “This had best prove fruitful!”

  Ruiryk had clambered up onto what looked like a makeshift bed - a mixed pile of rugs and straw pallets. The young human watched their wizened old hostess closely as she filled a fire blackened iron cooking pot with a few handfuls of dirt, some sprinklings of crushed sage, a pinch of diamond dust and some small bones that looked as if they had come from a chicken. “What are those things for?”

  The words slipped out far louder than he had intended. Banor tutted and wagged a stubby finger in Ruiryk’s direction; shushing the boy. Lonrari glared - a cold and predatory sort of look. Ruiryk gulped and clapped both hands over his mouth.

  “Never worry, small one.” Slo’annathorys reached across and pulled Ruiryk down to sit between him and the Anyosian girl. “The sage is to give the vision clarity, whilst the dirt is a focus to stop the seer from losing their way.” The sword master pointed to where Antabi sat crooning to herself - her pale green eyes open but seeing nothing of the room. “The diamond is to shield against demons and djinn and hags and so forth.”

  “What about the bones?” Ruiryk sat entranced by the spectacle before him. He had never seen anything like this
during his life in the backstreets of Anyos.

  “Those are a gift - food for the seer’s spirit companion. The companion is what guards the seer from any sort of physical harm. It is a special sort of creature, which only the seer can see. Some scholars believe that it forms from some primal part of the seer’s own mind. Others insist that is sylth. In truth, no one really knows, but what is known is that is certain death to attack any seer whilst his or her spirit companion is present. They are formidable protectors.”

  Lonrari snorted. “This is all nonsense! I thought that you were supposed to be our guide.”

  Slo’annathorys fixed her abruptly with his inscrutable gaze. His cold, dark eyes drew her towards him. Lonrari felt oddly numb - as if she were floating through icy waters. Down she sank: plunging into cold sleep. She gave a small moan and crumpled.

  The sword master smiled his thin smile. “I prefer this one sleeping, but what of you, Luath? Have you a thought on it?”

  Luath fixed his gaze upon the floor. “I think that you could find better sport than this, mercenary.”

  “Mayhap you are right.”

  The par’anth relaxed. He was no fighter, and well Slo’annathorys knew it too! Male dryanthir nurtured their forest home, and the females defended it. They were the warriors and the hunters. Indeed, such a band of female scouts had taken his Anyosian sire as their captive. Their leader, a flame haired dryanth named Asyll-Acoran, or Wind Which Dances on the River, was but a dim memory to Luath now for she carried her mongrel son at her breast only until weaned. His sire raised him from then, amid the other males of their glade. Asyll-Acoran gave him life and a name and nothing more for she did not return. It was the law of Haph: dryanthi esthanthir never took the same mate twice. They carried their infants with them on their wild, deadly hunts. Sons they returned to the glades of their birthing. Daughters, though, they kept: raising them in the secret ways of Haph. Warlike ways; forever closed to males.