Chapter 45 - The Ash Riders

By the time Lazar reached Carran, the sky had fully darkened, leaving the realm gate stark against it. At the edge of the village, a warm, soft light glowed from the window of Madeline and Matilda’s home.

He didn’t need to knock; Matilda was already standing at the door by the time he stepped up to the little building. Backlit by the torchlight inside, her sharp blue eyes seemed to gleam. Lazar met her gaze carefully as he approached.

“Where’s Ciel?” the woman asked, voice blunt.

“She had some business to take care of. She should be back soon.” The flesh eater had told Lazar to head back first after he’d cleaned and covered his halberd and dressed the cut on his leg. He suspected she was going to devour more of the demon wolf corpses.

For a moment, no one spoke, Matilda simply standing there studying him. Lazar tensed a little, but in the end, she stepped aside and swung the door the rest of the way open. The seraph exhaled. A bit of suspicion was perhaps unavoidable, but he should start being more careful when he could.

Inside, Matilda strode into the living room, relighting a candle that had gone out. The fires made the space feel even smaller, the shifting shadows adding an ephemeral quality to the plain furniture. Lazar glanced around, noting the empty chairs and couch.

“Is Madeline outside?”

“She went to bed already.”

The seraph furrowed his brow. It was still rather early to sleep, even by human standards. He remembered the way Madeline had seemed to tire easily, how her hands had shaken around the pot, and his frown deepened. The stiffness in Matilda’s posture only served to heighten his suspicions.

The woman turned and strode towards the stovetop. Across the table, two bowls were set out for him and Ciel, long since gone cold, and Lazar felt a bit guilty to have kept them waiting. Matilda moved to relight the stove, and the seraph hurried forward.

“Here, I can do it.”

Matilda didn’t argue, letting the seraph grab the dishes and carefully pour their contents back into the pot to be reheated. As Lazar moved, he felt the woman’s stare on his back and did his best to ignore it, focusing on the task at hand. He was so used to having fire magic at his disposal that it took a moment for him to readjust to the stove’s heat, but he found it relaxing, in a way. There was a certain joy to be found in manually doing things.

Once the pot was brought to a boil, the seraph ladeled the contents back into the bowls with an exacting precision and turned to set them down again.

The moment the bowls touched the table, Matilda suddenly spoke.

“Have your wounds healed?”

Her expression was flat. Lazar paused.

“They’re fine now. Thank you for looking at them,” he said carefully.

Matilda just hummed and turned away, moving to one of the couches and picking up a book resting on the table beside it. It looked rather worn, consisting of uneven sheets of paper roughly bound together with a thick cord. From where Lazar stood, he could see messily scrawled words crammed into the pages, but he couldn’t make out any specific details within the text itself.

He turned away and sat down at the table, deciding to wait for Ciel before eating. He wasn’t particularly hungry anyway. Even if his body now needed more food to function, it seemed it hadn’t yet learned to crave it.

Silently, he turned on his essence perception and focused on a thin strand draping over the table. If he strained, he thought he could just barely make it vibrate. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. It seemed that using his essence perception while fighting was indeed the most effective way for him to improve it.

He continued focusing on the string while Matilda read, the little home draped in a quiet stillness.

—

The next morning, Lazar woke to the sound of horse hooves. He jolted up, his hand immediately reaching for his covered halberd.

Through the window, a thin ray of sunlight streamed through the glass. This room faced the back, only the barren forest visible in its narrow view. As the distant pounding of hooves grew into a low rumble, it became clear that it was coming down the main street of the village.

The seraph glanced across the room and met eyes with Ciel. The demon had woken as well, an eyebrow raised as she, too, leaned towards the noise. Lazar heard a door creak, then the sound of the front door being swung and shut. He peered out into the hallway and saw that Matilda’s room door was open. The woman must have gone outside.

Lazar turned, about to exit as well, but Ciel’s voice stopped him.

“Heading out?”

The seraph stilled, glancing back. The demon hadn’t moved from her spot. She cocked her head. “You know it’s none of your business, right. No need to get caught up in trouble.” Her eyes gleamed. “We’re here until we ascend. Nothing more.”

“That’s true,” Lazar agreed. “However, if those are the Ash Riders, I believe it’s in our best interest to understand their intentions. As long as we’re living in Carran, we should stay informed.”

Ciel didn’t answer for a moment. Then, she snorted and rose to her full height, the top of her head brushing against the ceiling. She didn’t grab her axe, but seeing as it didn’t have a cover, that might be for the best.

The flesh eater strode forward, her steps lax. “Well, better hurry up then.” She waved nonchalantly.

The seraph studied the demon for a moment, then he nodded and the two made their way outside.

On the street, a crowd had gathered around the edges of the road, various village residents standing outside their doors or peering out their windows, muttering amongst themselves. The rumbling sound had stopped, replaced with the worried chatter of the villagers. Lazar’s eyes traced the crowd, following it to its densest point several buildings down and carefully making his way there, slipping behind other observers.

There, confidently occupying the center of the road, were a group of ash riders.

Up close, the demonic horses were even more massive, their hairless bodies appearing almost metallic in the morning light. Bulging muscles rippled as a few kicked at the ground, huffing and baring unnaturally sharp teeth in restlessness.

In contrast, the riders high atop their backs looked unbothered. The rider in the front on the largest horse was, Lazar guessed, the leader. The man was probably in his late thirties to early forties, with messy, chin length brown hair and rough, scarred skin. He held the reins with a one-handed, lazy grip, exuding a relaxed confidence. He stared down at the one villager who didn’t shy away from the group of riders, firmly maintaining his position.

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Lazar slipped a little closer, pressed against the building walls as he peered over the crowd. Back straight and unflinching, Alaric frowned up at the man, eyes hard.

“—already came here,” the man was saying.

The Ash Rider in the front raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but those were a different division. They didn’t take any tribute, now did they?” His voice was raspy and harsh, rough around the edges.

Alaric’s words remained steady.

“You’re half a month early, Kane.”

The man in qustion’s smile sharpened. “You should know I’m here for negotiations. No need to play dumb.”

“And you should know very well what my answer is.”

Lazar could see Alaric’s hand silently sliding closer to the sword sheathed at his side the longer the conversation went on, shoulders tense. The Ash Rider continued speaking, his horse taking a single step closer. A few gasps sounded in the crowd, and people stepped away from the creature, someone bumping into Lazar in the process.

“This would be much easier if you’d just agree to my terms.” Kane sighed and shook his head. “We don’t like using force, you know. It really is such a hassle, and everyone knows it’s bad business to damage the goods you’re trying to get.” He clicked his tongue. “Handing over a bit of coins, some food and crops—it’s not such a big deal, is it? You know we’ll get our hands on it in the end. You’re only choosing how hard it is.”

His horse huffed a breath, and the stench of iron and rotting flesh wafted over the crowd. Kane smiled, sharp and mocking. “Carran should count itself lucky. I heard the Vipers’ve been looking to expand, and their leader’s a demon. Who knows what they’ll want as payment.”

Alaric’s eyes flared. “And what of you? I’m no fool. What do you feed those beasts?” He eyed the demonic horses with open disgust.

A few snickers rose amongst the sneering riders, and Kane laughed, the sound raspy and unnaturally loud.

“Oh come now, you’ve got such little faith in me. When have we ever taken anything but money and crops?”

His eyes shifted to the side, and with a single tug, his horse suddenly jerked around, beady black eyes pressing into the onlookers. Someone screamed. People jumped back, and Kane grinned down at them.

“Right, old Margarie? Haven’t I been reasonable?” A trembling woman shrunk in on herself, desperately trying to make herself smaller. Kane jerked the horse around again, another wave of people scattering. “What about you, Van? You’re looking fatter. Eat well?” A man shook his head hurriedly, and Kane snorted, those glinting brown eyes steadily scanning the onlookers. He stopped.

“Oh? I don’t recognize you.”

Kane’s gaze landed directly on Lazar.

The seraph’s grip tightened slightly around his covered halberd, but he didn’t move away, tilting his head up to meet the man’s gaze evenly. Around him, he heard nearby villagers scrambling away, giving him and the Ash Rider a wide berth. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Alaric trying to push through the crowd, but Kane’s attention remained fixed on the seraph.

“We don’t get too many newcomers out here.” Kane grinned and stretched his arms out in a grand gesture. “Welcome to Carran,” he said, voice dripping with mockery.

Lazar eyed the man carefully, responding in a steady, bland voice.

“Thank you.”

The horse crept closer on the command of its rider, stopping right in front of Lazar. Its beady black eyes peered down at him. From here, he could perfectly smell its heavy, rotting breaths and see its rows of razor sharp teeth. A line of drool pooled out the corner of its mouth, landing on the ground by his feet. The seraph remained still, feeling the Ash Rider’s eyes on him.

“You look like a fighter,” Kane observed. He was staring at the covered halberd. He cocked his head. “How’d you feel about joining the Ash Riders?”

Lazar heard Alaric say something, but he ignored it, focused entirely on the man in front of him.

“...I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I have a bad leg. This helps my balance.”

Kane raised an eyebrow.

In the blink of an eye, the man snapped the reins and the horse surged forward, a powerful leg kicking out.

Lazar saw it coming a second before impact, but he didn’t move to dodge, allowing the hoove to slam into his leg directly where the cut was.

The seraph collapsed in a heap on the ground. Dust rose around him. He heard his halberd land beside him with a clang, but he remained still, not moving to pick it up or stand.

Kane’s roaring laughter sounded over the gasps of the watching villagers and Alaric’s angered yell. Lazar kept his head down, playing the role of fallen victim. He could feel a dull ache in his leg, and he suspected that the cut had started bleeding again.

The seraph heard Alaric finally manage to push through the crowd, his footsteps stopping as the man kneeled and moved to inspect his injury. Lazar carefully raised his eyes just enough to watch Kane, who’d directed his attention back to Alaric now that his bit of fun was over. He sneered.

“I’m expecting a different answer by the time payment rolls around.” The man’s eyes gleamed in the light. He raised a hand, and the seraph’s eyes honed in on a dark sigil painted on his skin. Its lines began to light up with a bronze glow, and with a few casual flicks of his wrist, fire burst from the man’s palm. A few villagers screamed, and Lazar heard a child start crying. He turned on his essence sight instinctively, studying the warping of strings around the bright flame. He could feel its heat even from his current position.

Kane smiled, letting the flame grow just a bit brighter. “Don’t let your pride destroy this village, Alaric.” He snapped his fingers together, and the flame vanished into his fist, leaving only a wisping trail of smoke.

The man turned. With a single snap of his reins, the horses reeled back and he and the other Ash Riders galloped away, hooves pounding against the dusty road with such intensity that the earth itself shook beneath them.

Lazar listened closely as the sounds dimmed. Once they’d completely faded, he moved to get up.

“Careful there.” Alaric’s dark, worried eyes stared down at him. “That was a nasty blow. Are you alright, young man?”

Footsteps approached, and a familiar voice sounded directly above the seraph.

“I did say you’d end up in trouble,” Ciel drawled. Lazar carefully sat up, glancing around for his halberd. Thankfully it hadn’t landed too far away, and he picked it back up.

“That was my fault,” Lazar said simply. “I didn’t expect him to know the villagers individually.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” She snorted. “To be fair, you’re awfully recognizable.” She gestured vaguely at his silver hair, and the seraph frowned.

“I see.” He hummed thoughtfully. Maybe he should dye it.

He moved to stand, and Alaric hurried to help, brows creased with worry. “I’m alright,” Lazar tried to assure the man. He didn’t look convinced.

“Your leg is bleeding.”

The seraph glanced down, and as he’d predicted, dark red bloomed on his pant leg where the cut was. He bent down and pressed a finger against the wound, then pulled away.

“It’s already stopped bleeding,” Lazar informed the human. He patted some of the dust off his clothes. Alaric just stared at him, expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head.

“…seems Matilda was right.” Lazar barely caught the low mutter, and his brows furrowed. Alaric cleared his throat.

“I can take a closer look at that wound. They can be deceptively serious, especially when those beasts are involved.” A bit of disgust laced his words at the mention of the demonic horses. He leveled Lazar with a stern look just as the seraph opened his mouth to argue, and he clicked his jaw shut. He supposed this would be a good opportunity to get more information.

Alaric turned and nodded down the street. “This way,” he said, clearly not willing to hear any words of protest. Lazar exchanged looks with Ciel, who just looked amused at the whole exchange, unperturbed by it all. She must have watched from further away.

As they readied to leave, Lazar thought he caught a flash of wavy brown hair disappearing into the crowd, but it was gone by the time he turned around. He frowned, staring at the long, dusty road extending out into the barren plains. The Ash Riders had long disappeared from view, leaving the vast space wide open and empty. Only the falling clouds of dust lingered in their wake.