Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I (15 page)

It lent him some extra strength – or at least some extra agility – and he ducked down to slip underneath his enemy’s sword and slide his own diagonally upwards through his stomach. He felt it when the pressure ended and it came through the other side. The blood trickled down over his sword hilt to cover his hands. He yanked back and watched as the man toppled over, the blood starting to spill out of his mouth and the new hole in his stomach. For a few seconds, all he could do was watch the grotesque image of a man killed by his hand – but then he jerked himself out of it and glanced around.

The campfire was still going and lit up the surroundings.
A horse galloped across the clearing and people stopped fighting to throw themselves
out of its way. There was Giselle, running away with two men chasing her. How was she free already? He jumped forward to tackle one of the men. He’d been lagging behind, slowed by a limp, but the fury on his face made Corran wary as they circled each other, the man trying to catch his
breath. These raiders were amateurs at best; their swords were cheap and they had never been trained. It was horrifically different to the tournament fights.

He brought up his sword just in time to meet the man’s sudden blow. He was far faster than Corran had been expecting but his attack was clumsy, and that was what saved his life. He parried it away at the same time as he pushed his worries about his brothers away and focused all his energy on fighting this man.

He was right about having the upper hand, despite being smaller; it was not difficult to kill him. He wielded his sword like a club rather than a graceful weapon. The man dropped to the ground and this time Corran didn’t waste time on regrets. He set off after Giselle.

She had disappeared into the forest and he kept his eyes alert as he looked from side to side for her and any other raiders. She hadn’t made it far, but neither had the raider who’d followed her. She was staring down at him, bloody knife in her hand and shock plastered all over her face. He stumbled to a halt as he took in the scene, trying to work out how on the stars she had managed that. She didn’t even seem to know he was there.

With a jolt he realised that if ever there was the perfect moment to kill her it was now. She wasn’t glaring at him. She had a knife in her hand, but he had a sword and he doubted she had ever been trained.

He crept closer, sword still half–raised. What if she turned? It didn’t matter. He was bigger and stronger and a better fighter. She wouldn’t stand a chance. The sounds of fighting filtered through the trees but no one else was here to see. He strengthened his grip on the sword.

/The King said ‘alive’
./

He stopped, heart hammering out of control. Frang was right – but he had ulterior motives. He wanted his leader alive.

/Do you want to disobey your king
?/
Frang asked with more force. The words beat in, sending a shudder through him. His hand hovered. He pictured himself diving forward, the sword slicing through her. It had been easy with those men. It would be the same with her.
So easy to become famous, to be a dragonslayer.
Except… was killing a girl really being a dragonslayer?

It was against King Rhian’s orders. He had no right to kill her. Perhaps if he delivered her personally to the King and explained who she was, he’d have enough gold to move away from Dunslade Town and make his own home in Tyrun. He’d be rewarded just like his father was for services to Auland. Maybe, just maybe, he could find Tilda and invite her to stay with him there. Giselle wasn’t exactly innocent from what he had seen so far – but she was still a young girl. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

Huw would call him a fool. But Glyn wouldn’t. Glyn didn’t care about glory. He cared about doing the right thing. He had promised Glyn information and he would never be able to get that if he killed Giselle now.

He lowered his sword, staring past her at the raider she had somehow killed. Images flashed up in his mind of the men he’d killed in the last
twenty four
hours. The limping man who had never stood a chance. The man he’d stuck a hole through like a pig.
The two men last night, one speared on the other’s sword.
There had been so much blood… so much more than he’d been expecting. He sheathed his sword, suddenly feeling sick about
holding the weapon that had killed those men, and tried to wipe his hands clean on his shirt.

The nausea didn’t go away. The bloody images ran through his head – the same blood that was now all over him. He spun away from Giselle, finally alerting her to his presence as he threw up all over the ground.

*

They had tidied up evidence of the fight as best they could. The extra horse that had been running around was caught and they returned to their previous campsite to bury Walter. It was a silent company that continued north. This time, Garth travelled in the cart and the supplies were packed onto their new horse. He was getting weaker by the day and now Giselle and Henry had started coughing too. Every so often Corran stretched his body, feeling for any weakness. The dragon sickness that had been so casually mentioned when Garth was placed in the cart, one more thing to add on top of his mountain of worries. So far he felt nothing untoward, except for the frequent headaches that Frang sent his way. One pounded against his skull now.

He did his best to focus on the new horse the first day after the attack. It helped keep his mind off things. He had no idea how the raiders had got their hands on such a beautiful mare.
A little young and temperamental, but in the right hands she would turn out well.

Gerard approached Corran while they were eating that night. Corran groaned inside and stared down at his watery soup. Mushroom again. He had not been in the mood to hunt tonight, but he was
never
in the mood to make conversation with Gerard the Idiot.

“Corran… how are you doing?”

Corran shrugged.

Gerard nodded, as if he understood. “Have you had any luck contacting your dragon?”

“Nope.”

Frang giggled as Gerard nodded again, patting Corran’s shoulder. His voice dropped in volume, forcing Corran to lean nearer.

“How would you feel about teaching the others to fight?”

Corran blinked in surprise. “Like… sword fight?”

They had taken the raiders’ swords last night and bundled them up in the cart, but Corran wasn’t sure if people like Giselle would even
be
able to lift a sword.

“Not necessarily. But fist–fighting, defending yourself with a knife, how to hunt. That kind of thing.”

Corran nodded. Sword–fighting might be a little out of their range, but simple fighting and hunting was another matter. Perhaps teaching Firesouls how to fight wasn’t a good idea, but it would at least take away some of the boredom.

/I might even let you have a break from headaches
./

“When do you want me to start?”

“We’ll take an hour out of every morning, if that’s okay?”

His headache vanished the moment he nodded.

Gerard announced it that night. While Giselle looked dubious, the others had agreed enthusiastically. The attack had put everyone on edge and they all seemed keen to have some extra defence that might stop the same thing happening again.

It started the next morning. Garth had been allowed the extra hour’s sleep but everyone else stood in front of Corran, waiting for instruction. Even Sarra and Gerard joined in, and they had fought competently enough when the raiders attacked. He had thought last night about the best thing to teach them
first and settled on the basics – how to throw a punch and not end up with broken fist. As a result of being paired up, they also learnt how to dodge a punch.

“No – Eian, I said, fist
closed
.”

Tess just dodged the punch, but next to her Maria cried out as Giselle’s fist grazed her cheek. He felt sorry for her – he had tried to match them up somewhat evenly, but Giselle was in a league of her own. She had no technique but she was so wild and forceful that she could cause a surprising amount of damage. She couldn’t seem to hold back any force when she punched.

“Giselle, why don’t you swap with Sarra?” he suggested. Gerard would at least be able to dodge most of her hits.

The lesson went on, and while he had been right that they didn’t enjoy getting hit for an hour he couldn’t fault their efforts. They joked around and even included him in their jokes. He found himself in a good mood for the first time he could remember since leaving Dunslade Town. He praised their progress, just as he’d wished his father had always done rather than point out more flaws – but he also didn’t let up on those (like Eian and Giselle) who couldn’t seem to process his instructions and just kept punching like they always had.

Each morning was a new lesson.
How to clean and store a knife.
Where to stab someone if you wanted to maim them, or just slow them down, or kill them – and how to avoid being stabbed yourself.
He focused more on defence than anything else. These people were never going to be proper fighters and he didn’t want them to be.

They saw no sign of others following them, but they kept a rapid pace north. No more was said about him being the son of a dragonslayer. Even Giselle seemed to have mellowed towards
him somewhat. He had no idea if throwing up in front of her had helped, but at least she was only glaring occasionally instead of all the time. He settled down next to her by the fire after tending to their new horse, named Ember thanks to Henry. She shot him a suspicious look.

“What?”

“I’m just sitting here. It’s closer to Ember.” It didn’t seem to fool her at all – she just rolled her eyes and returned to glowering at her bowl.

He eyed Giselle. When they were walking she always seemed more lighthearted, but she walked apart from the others and he would hear her muttering to herself. She never seemed to get the hang of talking to Baltair only in her head rather than out loud.

/Whereas you, my dear, are fantastic at yelling silently
./

…
My dear?

/I thought you’d like that
./

Corran rolled his eyes. He did his best to push Frang away, but it was like pushing a boulder. His laughter echoed through Corran’s head, making it even harder to concentrate on coming up with some conversation to entice Giselle into realising he wasn’t a bad guy.

Because what else could he do? He had been in this too long now to leave with nothing. He thought he could kill Giselle if he had to, but he did not think he was capable of kidnapping her and dragging her all the way to the capital. He could dream all he liked of presenting her to King Rhian and announcing
who
her dragon was, seeing Huw’s shock and his father’s pride – but Giselle had proven to everyone that she was not just a little girl who could be trundled around. Tess had told how she had fooled the raiders into panicking, making it so easy for them to
march in and take over. She had got herself and Tess and Garth free of six big men and killed one of them without any help. He cringed to imagine what might happen if he tried to do the same and hold her captive.

What else might Baltair be hiding that he could get to through Giselle? The mountains were visible now and got larger every day. He should make the most of being around her before more people wanted to meet Baltair.

“Your punches are getting better,” he commented, sending a hopeful smile her way.

She glared back. “You said today I punched with the accuracy of a toddler.”

He hadn’t been sure if she’d even understood what ‘accuracy’ meant. It was as if she heard his thought; her glare intensified.

/She’s not stupid
./

I know that. But she’s not exactly… educated. She probably can’t read.

/So? Not everyone has the luxuries you’ve grown up with
./

Corran scowled. It felt like he was a child again, being scolded by his mother for not appreciating the King’s generosity enough.

Giselle huffed and returned to her bowl. He jumped back in.

“No, but – you won’t break your hand now if you punch too hard, you’re holding it right.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“What?”

“To test out my punches on you?”

“
What?”

She smirked.

She’s like you. I don’t like her,
Corran grumbled.

/Be glad for the wonderful company
./

“You’re stupider than you look. And that’s saying something,” she commented.

“
What?
” he repeated,
then
cursed internally. He’d said the same word three times in a row. It was only going to back up her statement. “I’m not stupid. I studied for years, beat my older brothers at literature and arithmetic!” Well not Glyn, because Glyn was way smarter than all of them. But she didn’t have to know that.

She snorted. “That doesn’t mean you’re not stupid.”

He felt like this conversation was going in circles – and in completely the opposite direction to what he wanted.