King of Ashes

  Mareed tried to roll to his right, only to be greeted with the toe of Hava’s foot under his chin. The one thing she was better at than any student in the school was kicking. Donte and Hatu had complained more than once of the pain she inflicted with her wheel kicks, and she had seen the bruises she’d left on them.

  Her attacker fell back and Hava kicked him a second time, but he managed to grab on to her foot and twisted, causing her to fall. She hit the ground and rolled, turning and coming to her feet as he struggled to get up, still half blinded by tears and blood from a smashed nose and a kick to the head.

  She started another kick but saw him roll away, anticipating it, and so let her momentum turn her halfway. Spying a large rock, she continued rolling forward as he came to his feet, grabbing the rock as she passed.

  It was clear to Hava that Mareed was a trained fighter, and only his underestimating her had kept her alive. He had expected a simple town girl who needed to be silenced, but instead he was faced with a girl trained to be a skilled killer.

  She weighed throwing the rock but decided that if she failed to render him unconscious, she would leave herself unarmed. She cursed the rule that forbade weapons being carried at school and admitted she now understood why Donte was always armed, no matter where he was.

  Mareed circled slowly, seeking to cut off any route Hava might choose if she decided to run. He held his knife ready to cut or thrust and kept himself prepared should she attack first.

  Hava waited for Mareed to move. Her best choice was to use her speed and agility to counter his attack, hopefully ending with a solid blow with the rock, hard enough to render him unconscious or break bones. And she knew she probably had only one chance.

  Time seemed to slow for Hava, and in a quick internal dialogue she asked herself what his best move would be. She instantly decided that he would force her down the hill backwards, hoping she would trip or lose her balance, even for an instant, and give him an opening.

  Without further thought, she feigned a stumble, and as she had hoped, Mareed seized the opportunity to attack. She started flailing her right arm, then as he lunged she wheeled to her right, keeping her left leg in place; as he went past her – his blade perilously close even as she moved away – Hava brought the rock down as hard as she could on the back of his head.

  There was a loud crack and the shock ran up her arm. Mareed crumpled facedown into the dirt. His entire body shuddered and he went still.

  Hava circled away in case he was pretending, but when she saw his face she knew he was truly dead. His eyes were open and fixed.

  She stood for a moment, nearly panting, and then started to shake. Despite years of combat training, assorted bumps and bruises, and the occasional bleeding wound, this had been her first real contest with her life hanging in the balance, and the reality of that struck hard.

  For a full minute she just stood staring at the dead man, feeling the need to alternately laugh and cry, and then she felt sick. She turned her head and vomited up the apple she had eaten a little earlier. Spitting the sour taste from her mouth, she turned and walked down the hill, and across the meadow.

  As she reached the now-empty wagon, the driver glanced at Hava, then suddenly fixed her with a stare. ‘You’re bleeding, girl!’

  She looked at her right arm and realised her tunic sleeve was crimson with blood and it was now flowing around the rock she still held. ‘I guess I am,’ she said. Suddenly her legs gave out. ‘I think I need to rest a little,’ she said.

  Hava was on the verge of losing consciousness when strong hands gripped her and helped her rise. Her attention sharpened a little and she realised two of the burlier male helpers were guiding her inside.

  They sat her on a stool beside a table in the kitchen and Hava’s focus faded. A sharp pain in her right arm revived her and she realised that one of the instructors was sewing her cut, making careful tiny stitches. Standing behind her was Mistress Mulray. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A man on the hill was spying on the school. He attacked me and I killed him.’

  With a gesture of her head, Mulray indicated that two male kitchen staff should go and investigate. It dawned on Hava that the reason there were no guards at the school was that every member of this household was a trained sicari, and the students were only slightly less deadly. For some reason it had never occurred to her before, but now it seemed obvious.

  Hava was handed a mug of juice. ‘Drink,’ the instructor said. ‘You’ve lost blood.’

  The pungent sweet taste told her she had been given a large mug of pomace grape juice before it was drained of the lees and fermented into wine. In hen still unfocused state she wondered why she hadn’t known there was a vineyard nearby.

  The juice helped to revive her a bit and she remained silent until the instructor stitching her arm finished. ‘Tincture,’ the woman said, and applied a liquid that burned. ‘That will keep it from festering,’ she told Hava as she bandaged her arm. ‘The wound is long but not deep. Still, keep it covered for a few days and if it itches, don’t scratch. Let it heal and put on a fresh bandage in three days.’

  The instructor stood and Mistress Mulray said. ‘Now, tell me what happened.’

  Feeling less groggy, Hava recounted the entire encounter as best she could. By the time she had finished one of the two aides had returned with the large canvas satchel. He said, ‘We found the body. We searched and found the blade and this.’ He handed Mistress Mulray a black lacquered badge with a metal pin.

  Mulray’s eyes widened enough for Hava to know that the sight of the badge alarmed her. The older woman motioned for the satchel to be opened and its contents dumped on the table.

  More than a dozen pieces of paper fell out, along with charcoal sticks and erasing rubber. Hava said, ‘He said he was drawing … something. But the other smaller ones are drawings of faces.’

  Mulray looked at them and Hava saw blood drain from her features. ‘These are students,’ she said.

  Hava’s expression was one of open confusion. ‘Why—?’

  Mulray held up her hand and said, ‘Get Hava’s go-bag from the student barracks. She sleeps in a quiet room tonight.’

  She looked at Hava and said, ‘Rest. I’ll have food sent to you. I do not want you leaving your room or speaking to any other students. You will return to Coaltachin, and I’ll have further instructions for you tomorrow.’

  Mulray departed, and seeing no reason to stay, Hava stood and followed an instructor to one of the many small rooms in the school. She nodded thanks to her companion, who closed the door. Hava lay down and while her mind was still trying to comprehend what had happened, she fell asleep.

  HAVA AWOKE AS THE DOOR opened. She had slept until dinner, risen to eat, and then quickly fallen asleep again. As predicted her wound was sore and starting to itch. A young girl at the door said, ‘It’s time to go.’

  Hava rose and realised she’d slept in her clothing, and from the angle of the sun coming through the window that it was later than first light. She hurried through the school and as she was about to turn towards the kitchen, the girl guiding her said, ‘No, this way.’

  Hava followed, trying and failing to recall the girl’s name, until they reached the door leading to the stabling yard outside. There, a fine two-horse carriage waited, with a high front seat for the driver; behind him the square body of the wagon housed a bench seat with side boards to keep passengers from falling out, with an opening on either side above a single step held in place by fancy ironwork.

  Hava hadn’t seen its like before and was impressed by the size of the large spoke wheels. Mistress Mulray waited under a canvas covering held above her by a latticework of intricately carved wooden supports. The older woman beckoned Hava to get in, and she complied, sitting next to the mistress and holding her go-bag in her lap. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked Mulray as the driver flicked the reins and the horses began to move forward.

  Hava said, ‘I slept a lot and my arm hurts, but n
ot so much I can’t ignore it.’

  Mulray smiled. ‘You’re a bit of a surprise.’

  Hava didn’t know how to respond, so she remained silent. After a moment, Mulray said, ‘I let you sleep because you needed it, and I wished to speak with you alone. Rather than wait for a ship, I’ve ordered one to set sail the moment you’re aboard. I have documents for the captain and will give them to him in person.’ She looked at Hava, and said, ‘Now, we have some time to continue our conversation. I would like you to recount what happened with that … artist, now that you’re a little more lucid and may recall details you missed yesterday.’

  Hava repeated her narrative, adding a few details she had missed, and when she was done, Mulray reached over and patted her hand. ‘You were perfect, given the circumstances.’

  Stunned, but trying not to show it, Hava looked away, contemplating the lovely morning as they rode down the hill to the town and harbour beyond. Finally she said, ‘Thank you. If I’m truthful, I had no plan. I just … acted.’

  ‘As it should be, Hava,’ said the older woman. ‘You’ve been trained to act in certain ways without thinking – to do what needs to be done.’ Mulray paused for a moment, keeping her hand on Hava’s. ‘Master Facaria is a very … traditional man. He has his detractors, but he often sees things the rest of us miss.’

  Hava noticed the us and realised that not only was Mulray in charge of the school, the leader of the Powdered Women, she was of equal rank to the male masters.

  ‘Here is what you must understand,’ Mistress Mulray continued. ‘First, no one must hear of what occurred yesterday; no one. You may only speak about it with members of the Council. If they do not ask to speak with you about this, you will forget everything; yesterday was without incident. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  ‘Good.’ Mulray looked squarely at Hava and added, ‘There’s one thing I must say. You asked if you weren’t pretty enough to be a Powdered Woman. Men seek many things, and most men can be blinded by beauty. A woman like Nessa will have powerful men competing to get her into their beds. Some might marry her, should they be able, but in the end, she is to them nothing more than a thing, a prize to be paraded before other men. That is the secret of her strength; she will hear many secrets because some drunken fool wishes to impress her, or believes he loves her and can rely on her confidence. She will always betray them and serve Coaltachin.’

  Mulray paused, then said, ‘A man who sees you for what you truly are is rare. Facaria is such a man, and so he understands this. We women live at the sufferance of foolish men who are blinded by beauty. Facaria, and the few men like him, know better. Listen to him, and ignore those who treat us as if we are possessions, trophies for their power and prowess. They are men who can be manipulated and used: they are prey to be gutted.’

  Mulray fell silent for a few moments. At last she said, ‘There will be times when you will feel alone and need to know who your true allies are. Train yourself to separate the false from the true. Can you do that?’

  Hava was uncertain how to answer.

  Seeing the girl hesitate, Mulray asked, ‘Do you know anyone who would put his life at risk to save yours?’

  Without hesitation, Hava answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A boy I know,’ said Hava, thinking of Hatu.

  Mulray said, ‘You had no lovers before coming here; you said you were a girl who follows the rules. So, he is a friend?’

  ‘Hatushaly,’ said Hava. ‘He would risk his life for me, I think.’

  ‘Think or know?’

  Hava considered for a moment, then said, ‘I know.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mulray. ‘Knowing there is someone like that out there, even if they are miles away from you, or it’s been ages since you’ve seen them, that can make a difference.’ She tapped the side of her head with her forefinger. ‘Knowing it, yes, that can make a difference.’

  They rode silently as they passed a lumbering oxcart, and Hava returned the driver’s wave while Mulray ignored him. For the rest of the journey, the head of the Powdered Women occasionally made seemingly inconsequential small talk, interspersed with long periods of silence.

  Finally they reached the seaside town where Hava had landed only a month earlier. The carriage rolled through the town, the name of which was still unknown to Hava, a situation she didn’t find surprising: few foreigners had set foot on this island since the creation of the school of the Powdered Women, so the town needed no official name.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, a dockworker hurried over to assist Mistress Mulray as she stepped down. She waved him away, making it clear his help was unnecessary as she easily descended, despite wearing a long narrow skirt.

  Hava, in her usual trousers, had even less need of help. She shouldered her go-bag and followed Mulray to the end of the docks, where a small, fast ship waited. When they reached the gangway they were spied by a heavyset man who hurried to meet them, touching his forelock with his right finger in a casual salute. ‘Good to see you again, Mistress Mulray.’

  ‘You as well, Captain.’ Mulray indicated Hava. ‘She will be your only passenger, and this is your only cargo.’ She handed him a large sealed pouch. ‘As fast as you can to Corbara, and see personally that this reaches Master Zusara.’

  ‘Understood,’ he said, taking the pouch.

  Turning to Hava, she said, ‘The captain will deliver you safely to Corbara and arrange passage from there to Morasel. Try to remember what you’ve learned here, you’ll find some of it useful.’

  ‘I will,’ replied Hava.

  Mulray bit her lower lip as she thought for a moment, a fact Hava found revealing: Mulray had something to say to her but was considering how to say it. Then Mulray said, ‘I was wrong on one thing.’

  ‘What, mistress?’

  ‘I know exactly why Master Facaria sent you here.’

  Hava’s eyes widened slightly.

  Leaning forward, Mulray spoke softly into Hava’s ear. ‘So you would learn with certainty what you should never become.’

  Hava was speechless, and Mulray walked back to the carriage.

  Hava finally turned to the captain, who said, ‘You must be something special, girl.’

  ‘My name is Hava,’ she said, as he turned towards the gangway.

  ‘And I am Captain Joshua,’ he replied. ‘It’s a quick trip; the winds blow favourably and strong this time of the year. We have a cabin for you.’

  As she followed him up the gangway, Hava said, ‘Captain Joshua, I want to work. I will grow bored with nothing to do.’

  ‘Work?’ said the captain, looking over his shoulder as he stepped down onto the ship’s deck. ‘What, you want to be a pirate?’

  Hava’s gaze narrowed under her furrowed brow. ‘Pirate? Why pirate?’

  ‘Because the only women crewing ships on this ocean are pirates; they have a funny liking for it.’

  Hava said, ‘I’m fit and I learn quickly. I’ll go mad if I have to sit around with nothing to do.’

  The captain laughed. ‘Well, if you can deal with a rough crew—’

  ‘I can,’ she said firmly. ‘This isn’t my first ship’s passage.’

  ‘Well, then, Hava the Pirate you shall be. I’ll have someone show you where to stow your gear, and you’ll berth in your cabin, not with the crew,’ he said. ‘And I’d advise you to eat alone: the men can put a starving man off his meal with the way they go at chow.’ He motioned to a crewman who looked only a few years older than Hava. ‘This is Hava,’ he said to the sailor. To Hava, Captain Joshua said, ‘This is Daniel; he’ll show you your quarters and then start your education.’ Looking back at Daniel, he said, ‘This young lady would like to become a pirate, so you’ll train her. When she’s on deck, she’s a recruit.’

  The blond youth broke into a broad smile. ‘Prettiest recruit I’ve ever seen, Captain.’

  ‘Belay that. Pass the word, she’s under Master Zusara’s protection.’
>
  All hint of humour fled Daniel’s face at the mention of the leader of the Council. ‘Sir,’ said the young man. He turned to Hava and spoke deferentially. ‘Follow me and I’ll show you around.’

  As Hava followed Daniel, wondering what it meant to be under the protection of the most powerful man in Coaltachin, she heard the captain bark, ‘Make ready to set sail. Cast off all lines!’

  Hava tried not to grin. She was going to learn how to be a sailor!

  • CHAPTER SEVEN •

  An Incident on the Covenant Road

  The next day found Declan up early, as the sun was rising and Oncon lay shrouded in morning fog. He had bid Roz goodbye as she started her journey home, checked the banked fire in the forge, ensured the water buckets were full, then picked up his masterpiece and began to ready it for its buyer. Word had reached them that Baron Bartholomy would arrive soon to finalise the purchase of his sword.

  As the sun brightened the eastern horizon, Declan sat on a sturdy hitching rail carefully polishing his masterpiece. It was the only tangible evidence that he had been made a master smith. He had to remind himself that, yes, it had indeed happened, and Edvalt was waiting for him to make his choice, to stay or to leave.

  Not for the first time, Declan considered the irony of Edvalt’s mastery of weapons making. He seemed to find making weapons, especially swords, distasteful, yet he was brilliant at it.

  Early in his apprenticeship, Declan had begun to realise that as gifted a smith as Edvalt was, weapons were the true measure of such gifts. Blades for scythes and perfect tines on rakes reflected good craft, but swords and pole arms reflected art. Farming tools and wagon repairs required no mastery of the fire and the folding of steel. Most common smiths were content to buy their materials from a monger, ready-forged into low-grade steel.

  A smith could work his entire life devoted to simple iron repairs and never once fold steel as Declan had the day before. Despite the chance that his apprentice might never again find the need to forge a weapon like it, Edvalt had seemed almost desperate to pass on his knowledge. Declan was young enough he couldn’t imagine feeling that way, though he conceded that he might some day, should he father a son.