From Ash and Blood

Chapter 4

"And if any man will hurt them,
fire proceedeth out of their mouth,
and devoureth their enemies;
and if any man will hurt them,
he must in this manner be killed."
— Revelations 11:5

The ringing of the blacksmith's hammer follows Mael to the edge of town, a cacophonous din of metal striking metal to bend it into a desired shape. Even when they had been speaking, the man—Folsworth, as he'd introduced himself—had continued to work, and now Mael's throat feels raw and hoarse from all of the shouting he was forced to do to make himself heard. One week of trekking through the countryside of Dunbray, buffeted by continuous storms that turned even the flattest of roads into a dangerous sludge liable to twist one's ankle with the slightest misstep, and he has no more information than he did when he started his search. It's enough to make anyone feel irritated and defeated, and Mael has never handled either emotion well. Too prone to melancholy, as Jenna would say.

He hunches his shoulders, turning his collar up against the rain. The night before, he had given in to Tristan and Lancelot's constant badgering to stay in an inn instead of making camp, a decision he still regrets; humans are entirely too loud for his tastes, filling the air of enclosed spaces with the stench of their ale-slick sweat, but he had borne it with what little good humor he had left. Part of him had even hoped that perhaps something useful would come of his discomfort. All he had gotten, though, was a hangover and a brief flicker of amusement when a drunken lout proclaimed, a frothing mug of ale swinging wildly from his hand and spilling onto the floor, that he had fucked the rebellion's leaders in a night-long orgy.

Humans, he thinks with a little snort, rubbing his fingers together to stay warm, are the most foolish of creatures.

Mael finds a small shelter meant for travelers and hunkers under it to wait for the others to arrive. His misgivings about bringing Tristan and Lancelot along have only worsened as they've moved from village to village, because while they're no doubt powerful they draw far too much attention for his liking. Their search requires stealth, redirecting attention from themselves so that even if their questions linger in the minds of those they speak with their faces do not, and the pair are about as stealthy as a boar in estrus. They squabble, pinch the backsides of waitresses, and drink far too much. If the rebellion hasn't learned of them by now, it will be nothing short of a miracle.

As if his thoughts of them were a silent summons, they appear, ambling slowly down the road with an uncharacteristically quiet demeanour. Lancelot looks at him blandly. "Nothing on my end," he says, before Mael has the chance to ask. "The moment I said I was looking for someone, the miller stopped talking."

"Yes, the blacksmith did the same," Mael murmurs. "And you?"

Tristan shrugs one shoulder, his face meticulously void of any emotion at all. "Nothing worthwhile. I managed to find a man drunk enough to talk when given a few coins, but all he had to say was that the rebellion may or may not be led by someone related to House Dunbray."

"House Dunbray?"

"Mm. But it's a load of horseshit. Everyone knows the family is gone, save for Lady Guinevere." Tristan nudges a stone with his foot, scowling darkly. "Killed their own king and murdered their daughters, the lot of bastards."

"Who?" asks Mael.

"The nobles of Dunbray, the king's family."

Mael's ears prick a bit at that. Ignoring the unusual display of temper from one who works so hard to be either unbothered or genial, he asks, "Why would that rumor exist? Do you know?"

Tristan snorts. "Because it's sensational?"

"You misunderstand my question." He holds out a hand, the palm facing up. Cupped between his fingers, a small flicker of light appears, one that he painstakingly shapes first into a deer, and then a stag, and then something far more monstrous. "Rumors have roots. The sighting of a buck in the middle of the night, for example, leads to a legend about a beast that haunts a forest. And from there, a god or demon is born."