Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (7 page)

“
C
orden, what are you doing? Come on!”

Corran groaned and turned from where he had been staring back in the direction of Dunslade Town to hurry after the rest of the group. They had left the Moss Woods a few days ago but still walked along the edge so they could head back inside come darkness.

“Why the long face?” Henry asked, putting his own face right next to the
horse’s
. He raised his eyebrows so they stretched far up into his forehead.

Corran forced down his irritation. “Just tired,” he muttered, rubbing one hand across his face. Who knew what he looked like – it was a good thing no one in this group owned a mirror.

“Well we’ll be stopping soon enough. And I heard Gerard say he’s going to tell us all about dragon history tonight!”

Corran held in a biting reply. Every night so far Gerard had been plying his recruits with false stories about the dragons. He had no doubt this would be another. By this point he had come to the conclusion that some of the mountain folk were just traitors to Auland and hadn’t been coerced into anything. It made him despise the man even more.

S
o far there had been nothing to give him any clues on how to get the dragon out. He didn’t want to ask too many pointed questions in case Gerard started getting suspicious, so he was
just as stuck as he had been when he had first joined the group. The only improvement was that the hangover was gone, although he was at the point of wishing he had some ale anyway.

He saw the others turn into the trees ahead and heaved a sigh of relief. The exertion of walking all day wasn’t a problem for him, but it was monotonous. Henry, at least, was good company. They talked horses, and when that faded he would start whistling a tune that prevented any awkward silence. Corran just had to ignore it when Henry got excited at the prospect of dragons. Hitting his new friend over the head in irritation might not go down well.

As he, Henry and the horse and cart trundled to a halt in the forest, the others were setting up camp in a semi–organised fashion. He lingered to one side as Henry unpacked supplies from the cart, running a hand through the horse’s mane. She was ageing; grey hairs dotted her muzzle, her mane was thinning and she moved stiffly. Corran felt sorry for her, pulling a cart around all day every day with this company.

The smell of food pulled him away from the horse and he patted her nose one last time before moving to sit with the others. As watery mushroom soup was passed around he wondered why no one was even attempting to hunt. He’d seen rabbits about that would at least add some substance to this. If he had his sword he could do something, but the dragon bone hilt might be a bit of a giveaway. Garth wouldn’t last on this kind of food for long though; he already looked weathered and he kept coughing. The nights sleeping on the ground couldn’t help either. It poked with sticks and rocks and was always too cold.

Corran dipped the stale bread into his soup to soften it, watching as Gerard built up the fire. It seemed to burn brighter than usual and he shuffled back.

“Where’d you learn to look after horses, Corden?” Henry asked, sprawled across the floor.

Corran shrugged. “My father had a pony for carrying the cloth reams.” His life as Corden had expanded greatly in the past few
days
as he’d come up with stories to answer people’s questions. The
y
were all far too nosy for their own good and bugged him for every detail of his fake life. How long until he gave himself away?

“Don’t keep us waiting Gerard!” Henry called across the fire, apparently content with Corran’s short answer. He lapped up the soup like it was filled with exotic spices and the tenderest meat. His bread was long gone. He hadn’t seemed to notice any of the hardships of this journey so far and Corran wished he could work out how.

Gerard settled down and took several sips from his soup before speaking. Yesterday he’d told lots of happy stories about how humans and dragons used to get on so well, fighting off invaders and working together. Corran found the whole concept laughable. He made it sound as though there’d never been any conflict. Even the best of allies disagreed sometimes, and the idea that dragons and humans had even managed that was ridiculous.

“The dragons assisted in building the Wall, not realising it would be their downfall.” Gerard didn’t have the finesse of storytelling that the minstrels at Dunslade Town did, but he made up for it with passion.
Stupid, misplaced passion.
“Acting as transport was a step down from battling off invaders, but
they saw the value of it – they wanted to make the most of living in peace as well.”

Even though dragons were the
bloodthirstiest
creatures you’d ever meet. Sure, they wanted peace,
Corran thought to himself, resuming his sarcastic inner monologue that was his way of coping with Gerard’s stories.

“The Wall was completed and the invaders stopped, but then there was nothing for them to work together for. Invaders stopped attacking, and King Ivor stopped employing the dragons to patrol the borders. But the dragons still needed gold.”

Corran glanced around and found almost everyone else enraptured by this fairy tale. Henry’s eyes were wide and the old man’s mouth was parted, bread forgotten in his hand. The only person who looked as bored as Corran felt was one of the men about the same age as Huw. He was a carpenter – Walter – and so far Corran hadn’t heard him speak a word. He stared into the fire with an unreadable expression, but traces of anguish flickered on his face.

Corran sneezed as wisps of smoke trailed too close to his nose,
then
refocused on Gerard’s words. Of course it was ridiculous, but it was always good to know what the enemy was saying.

“–
skirmishes
near the gold mines as the humans withheld the metal, saying there was no reason to give it to dragons who weren’t doing anything for them in return.”

Exactly as it should be.
Why throw away precious metal to dragons
who
’ll only horde it?

“Why did the dragons want the gold so much?” Garth asked, a thoughtful look on his face. “It’s valuable, but so are a lot of other things. Why gold?” Originally from a coastal town,
he knew little of dragons – the creatures had never gone far from the mountains. And now the poor man he was getting all his information from a terrible source, filled with lies. Well, that was what he got for siding with Firesouls.

“They need it to hatch their eggs.”

Corran looked up in surprise. He’d never heard that one before.

“Dragons are magical creatures – simple warmth will not suffice for their eggs. Gold powers them, and the eggs must be surrounded by it as they grow and when they hatch – else they will be born without the power to breathe fire, or communicate with the mind. A dragon grown and born without gold is not a true dragon. It is more like a lizard with wings.”

Gerard’s expression drew inwards as he described it and there was some degree of pain that knocked on Corran’s curiosity. That pain suggested personal experience – and personal experience meant that maybe this wasn’t just another lie. A glance around
their
group told him that this was news to everyone else as well. For the first time in these evening stories, he spoke up.

“Why doesn’t everyone know this?”

Gerard responded with a gentle, understanding smile. It was so patronising Corran wished he hadn’t asked.

“Everyone does, in the mountains. In the villages there
dragon lore is taught to every child by those who used to be Fliers
. We do not speak of it widely outside the mountains.”

“So why tell us?” It didn’t make sense – if this was all real, why would Gerard take the risk of telling strangers a crippling weakness? His father would be ecstatic to hear such information.

But Gerard met his eyes and that look quelled his daydreams of glory. “Because you are Firesouls. With that link to dragons, you are honorary mountain folk. And because you must know every detail of the war to understand that it was not simple greed, as so many people seem to think, that led to the dragons’ end. It was a battle to avoid extinction – and if not for all of you, they would have lost it.”

Corran’s heart beat fast against his chest as he met Gerard’s gaze. It lasted only a few seconds longer before the man leaned back and continued his silly story, telling how dragonslayers came north–east to claim their fame, but Corran’s attention had faded. That last line – it made it sound like it was
his
fault that the dragons were not dead. Fear filled him again as he imagined how his father would take that news. Would he view Corran as responsible, even though he had been only a tiny child when it happened?

A wave of hatred rose in him for this creature leeching off his insides. He pushed it inside to try and find the dragon, to let it know how much it was hated. Living inside him for sixteen years would not ensure the creature’s survival – it would only ensure that its eventual death was painful and definite.

/What a charming late welcome… common courtesy is not just a thing for dragons, you know
./

Corran yelped and jumped to his feet, one hand clawing at the side of his face where the voice had seemed to come from. Everyone was staring at him, but instead of staring back he turned in a circle, searching out into the darkness of the forest to try and find some other source of that creaky, dry voice – anything but the dragon.

“It spoke to you?”

Corran flinched and spun to glare down at Gerard – unfortunately, Gerard was now on his feet and taller than him.

“Something bit me,” Corran snapped. That made his yelp even more pathetic – but better that then admit what had just happened. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. He slumped back to the floor, ignoring Gerard’s watchful eye. The smoke tickled his nose and he sneezed again.

His mind reeled in shock and disbelief at the confirmation that voice had brought. Gerard didn’t tell fairy tales. He told horror stories. Corran had been playing shelter to a monster all his life. He was the host to a despicable creature that had invaded him and should never have existed to start with.

/Some people might say the same about you
./

A shudder ran through him, goosebumps rising all over his arms. This time Gerard did not let it go.

“There is nothing to be afraid of. This kind of fire was used by new Fliers to build a link with their dragons.”

He waved a hand through the oddly coloured smoke and Corran shifted his glare to that. Gerard had built it – what had he done? And what was it doing to
him
?

“With time you will not need the goldsmoke to communicate, but you have to practice. Breathe in the smoke and allow yourself to adjust to it.”

Gerard retook his seat but Corran was disquieted to realise that half the group stared at him and not their leader. He shuffled further from the flames. There would be no communication. This dragon would have to be stifled so tight it choked until he could do away with it. Was it possible? He didn’t care. He was the son of a dragonslayer and he would not let a dragon beat him.

Gerard continued his story, but shivers ran through Corran as the faint whisperings of laughter echoed through him.

CHAPTER 7

G
iselle pulled her new woollen cloak closer around her and continued to chew on the lump of bread that Sarra had forced into her hand at lunch, now several hours past. She had never eaten so much in her entire life. Even living with her guard as a young child it had been limited, but Sarra seemed intent on fattening her up as much as possible. It didn’t seem to be having much of an effect so far – she was still as skinny as ever – but at least the occasional blurry vision and dizziness had faded. Unfortunately, there was a limit to how much she could eat before her stomach felt like it was about to burst, and Sarra did like to push her as far past that as possible.

Voice had been quiet since they set off from Tyrun, but as they rounded a corner on the hilly road to look down at the valley below he rumbled to life.

/This is familiar.../

“Familiar how?” Giselle asked
,
trying her best to ignore the curious look fixated her way by Sarra. The inability to talk privately with Voice was the worst part of this trip so far. It was even more irritating that she never managed to overhear Sarra talking to Muire