“We won’t harm her. We saw her save you three,” Jillian answered.
Halfway down the bridge, Charra and Kachien were running toward the Eldanhill archers. More arrows tore into the Sendethi soldiers who had crowded around the bridges entrance. As more fell, they retreated out of bow range.
“How’d you know we would be here, Mistress Jillian? We saw smoke and heard trumpets this morning. In Randane, the King’s regiments attacked us and-” He cut off at Jillian’s tight eyes and pained expression.
“We didn’t know,” Jillian said. “We were sent to protect the river and this old bridge because the Sendethi attacked Eldanhill this morning.”
“What?” Ancel blurted.
Gasps rose from Mirza and Danvir. They all clamored to ask if anyone had been wounded. Anyone they knew.
Jillian held up a hand and they quieted. “This isn’t the place or the time. You three head home now.” Her gaze strayed to Ancel. “You need to visit Shin Galiana’s. Your father will be there.”
Shin Galiana, not Teacher Galiana, Ancel noted just as Kachien and Charra reached them. Jillian studied the smaller woman, and Kachien did the same, the two like female mountain cats when they crossed paths. The moment hung in the air tensely, then it was gone. A look of mutual respect passed between them. Jillian nodded, and Kachien returned the gesture. Ancel was still frowning at the brief exchange when Cade returned with four dartans.
“Peace be with you, Alzari,” Jillian said as they mounted. “Many thanks for bringing them home safe.”
“You and yours are most welcome, Setian.” Kachien replied. May the Streams and the Forms defend you always.”
“Now, go,” Jillian commanded. “Galiana and the others will be waiting.”
Speechless at the reactions and words between the two women, Ancel whipped his reins and sent his dartan running through the slight drizzle, the muddy ground squelching beneath its feet. Behind him, the others followed. One thought swelled in his mind. Why had Kachien addressed Jillian as Setian?
They travelled in tense silences, punctuated by failed attempts to start conversations until they reached Eldanhill. All other thoughts fled Ancel’s mind, and he could only stare.
Charred woodpiles, chimneys covered in soot, and gutted foundations marked where houses once stood. Smoke rose from the ruins, and in some places people still put out flames. Hairless bodies lay in a line, once pale skin now black, brown, or red and cracked to reveal tissue underneath. The nauseating stench of cooked flesh still hung in the air, comingling with the smell of burnt wood.
Ancel’s legs felt like blocks of stone. If not for the dartan under him, he would’ve stood frozen. He mouthed a prayer as they trotted to the second square and its myriad wagons prepared for Soltide. He hardly recognized this part of Eldanhill. Or, what remained of it. Even the cobblestones here seemed different, as if seen through a foggy dream he couldn’t quite remember. What, in damnation, had happened?
Dagodin soldiers piled the blackened corpses onto a dray. Menders picked their way among the wounded still lined on the street. Lives and homes lay shattered around them, reduced to charred ash piles and sooty sandstone. Lives of people he knew. The Bergs, the Durrs, the Finkels, the Jungs, the Maurers- on and on the names flashed through his head. His mind spun with the scope of the burnt out, empty shells and blackened foundations.
Some family members dug among the ruins, salvaging what they could. No children played along the main road. No dogs ran back and forth making a friendly nuisance-or even barking and sniffing at Charra as they often did. No music drifted through the air to announce Soltide. No blacksmith or stonemason hammers clanged. Only the mourns of the mournful, the mutterings of the hopeless, and the prayers of the faithful sighed through the air, punctuated by the cries and blubbering sobs of grief.
A dark pall lay across the town along with the acrid, smoky smell clinging to the air. A soot-covered child stumbled from among burnt rubble and collapsed. Several menders rushed to help.
Horse-drawn drays, stained black and red with blood and filled with corpses, groaned down the Eldan Road, following woodcarts lugging burnt timber and debris from the ruined structures. Townsfolk trudged behind the two-wheeled carts, tear-streaked faces sooty, somber, and sullen. Novices and trainees dumped the woodpiles from the carts at the town’s outskirts to the south, adding to a bonfire already raging there. At the sight of the pyre, a woman wailed and fell to her knees.
Ancel clutched at his charm. Dear Ilumni, let my parents be well. He glanced toward the Streamean temple. White banners flew the same insignia he’d seen on Jillian and many of the Dagodin in Eldanhill. Next to them flapped the Dosteri Guardian Wall. Dosteri in Sendethi territory helping Eldanhill?
Weak sunlight glinted from the armor and helmets of the Dagodin cohort standing at attention to Eldanhill’s westernmost outskirts where most of the damage and corpses lay. What was more surprising were the large, rawboned men in furs and cloaks made from pelts who were standing behind the Dagodin or rode upon large daggerpaws. Mountain wolves were sitting on their haunches next to some, tongues lolling. The animals pawed the ground or frolicked with each other, their dog-like reek unmistakable. A few gave coughing barks or whined in Charra’s direction. Charra growled his reply. Apparently, someone had managed to bring the Seifer and the Nema together.
Ancel’s regret at not being there when the Sendethi attacked rose again. He could have helped somehow if he’d been here. Maybe he could’ve saved some lives. The thought twisted in his gut. He shook his head and glanced around, just now realizing they had crossed the town. Behind them, three plumes of smoke marked where the majority of the attacks occurred. The rest of the town was untouched.
Scratching at his beard, he followed Danvir and Mirza down the road toward Shin Galiana’s. He spared Kachien a few glances, thoughts about what she said also churning through his mind. They continued down the twisting path between older houses, many just one or two stories tall. This part of town lay so close to one of the Kelvore River’s tributaries he could hear the rushing waters. Townsfolk shambled by, some weeping, others with grim expressions on their faces. Some gasped or skirted around Ancel and their friends when they saw Charra. A few reached for or hefted weapons. The daggerpaw ignored them.
They rounded the last corner, and ahead stood the squat sandstone and granite structure of Galiana’s hospice. For the first time, Ancel thought about why he needed to come here to meet his father. Why not at the Whitewater Inn? Or their own home? Was his father hurt in the fighting?
Trying in earnest to dismiss the thought, Ancel dismounted, and tethered his dartan. People trudged by them, some struggling to carry several buckets to where dartans waited. Others wore bloodied bandages, their clothes torn and disheveled as they shambled up the cobbled streets from the direction of Shin Galiana’s. Drays carrying wounded men, women and children rumbled down the road toward the hospice. Where some faces showed despair, others bore a fierce determination. On one side of the street, a man comforted a woman with a tear-streaked face and clothes covered in blood. Everywhere Ancel looked made worry for his father come crawling back to the surface.
“Things are worse than I could have imagined,” Kachien said, her voice grave.
Ancel gave her a questioning frown.
“The wounds on many of those bodies and on some of the people.” She squinted at a cart carrying injured folk. “Those are not just from normal steel. I know wounds caused by wraithwolves and darkwraiths when I see them.”
Ancel sucked in a breath. “Are you sure?” A quick look at Mirza’s wide-eyed expression and Danvir’s pale face told him they’d heard.
“Yes. I have no doubts.”