“Lunch is ready. I trust Commander Jansen will be punctual, as usual.” Kerr poured Pollard’s tea, and pushed a plate with a few slices of hard cheese toward him. Cheese and meat helped keep up Pollard’s strength, and he wondered privately whether it was Reese’s thwarted bloodlust finding expression.
“Send him in as soon as he arrives,” Pollard ordered. “We have urgent matters to discuss.”
Pollard had scarcely finished his tea when Kerr leaned into the parlor. “Commander Jansen to see you, m’lord.”
Nilo Jansen strode into the room with a hardiness Pollard envied. Nilo was a small, wiry man with close-shaven dark hair and shrewd eyes that missed nothing. He was the closest thing Pollard had to a confidant and his most loyal ally, at least while their goals were aligned. Pollard had no illusions of friendship, but Nilo came as close to that fiction as anyone could approximate.
“Bad night?” Nilo asked, sizing up Pollard’s condition with a glance. Out of necessity, Pollard had been forced to share the truth about his wounds with Nilo, and the pity in his second-in-command’s gaze galled Pollard nearly as much as the wounds themselves.
“As most are, these days,” Pollard replied. Kerr brought a second, steaming pot of tea and a cup for Nilo, as well as a plate of biscuits and cured meat, and then left them to their discussion.
Nilo sat down in the chair facing Pollard. “You’ve seen Hennoch?’
Pollard nodded. “And I gave him his orders, as we discussed. Just because I know it’s damned near impossible doesn’t mean he had to understand that I’m aware of that,” he said with a dark half smile. “Who knows? He’s desperate enough to keep that son of his alive that he might find a way to build us an army, after all.”
“By Charrot, we need one, and soon,” Nilo said, taking a sip of his tea and savoring it as if it were the kind of whiskey he and Pollard used to share long ago, before the world burned.
“What do your spies hear, about McFadden and Penhallow?” Pollard asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping his tea. At least with Nilo, he was spared the burden of pretending not to be in pain.
“Probably not too much different from what Hennoch’s spies hear. Despite his lumbering appearance, Hennoch is shrewd and good at what he does,” Nilo said, finishing one cup of tea and pouring himself another. “Right now, McFadden and his allies have superior numbers. None of their men are conscripts or mercenaries, which means they’ll fight with everything they have. Their mages are volunteers, not forcibly brought across as talishte and compelled to serve.” Nilo shrugged. “If he were focused on attacking us right now, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“And yet, you don’t think that’s his intent? To follow up on his victory and crush us?” Pollard asked, knowing that Kerr had added some healing potions to his tea to keep him upright and functioning.
“From what our sentries tell us, no,” Nilo said. “And before you ask, we’ve had damn poor luck getting spies into his ranks. People on the edges willing to trade information—yes. But nothing useful from anyone inside his troops or manor.”
“Keep trying. No one is that well liked, and that large a group of people can’t all be honest,” Pollard replied. “But I’m intrigued. He knows he set us back on our heels in the last battle. Hennoch and I are the last warlords standing. How is it that he’s not at our gate with an army?”
Nilo shrugged. “It may be that they believe they’ve already vanquished us,” he said. “There’s no love lost between you and McFadden, but by all reports, he’s not as driven by vengeance as some.” Meaning that he isn’t impatient to see my head on a pike, Pollard inferred.
“Noble, perhaps, but from a military standpoint, a weakness,” Pollard replied.
“Maybe. Then again, perhaps not,” Nilo answered, his tone academic rather than contradictory. “Many an army has come to grief because its commander couldn’t see past his personal vendetta to recognize a larger threat.”
“And you think McFadden sees a larger threat?”
Nilo nodded. “Sad to say, but I believe McFadden sees our army as the least of his concerns. He’s got more men, and it will take us a while to catch up.” He shook his head. “If he’s as smart as I think he is, he knows that Thrane—and maybe the unrest on the Meroven border—is the real threat.”
To all of us, Pollard thought.
“And how are you expecting him to act on that threat?”
Nilo ran a finger around the chipped rim of his teacup as he thought. “Not sure. Certainly Lanyon Penhallow and the Wraith Lord will figure into his thinking. Penhallow and Traher Voss are close, and I have no doubt that they’re keeping a very tight watch on us.”
Pollard snorted. “Surely we’re better at ferreting out spies than that.”
Nilo fixed him with a pointed glare. “The truth? Or what you want to hear?” Pollard grunted in reply, and Nilo continued. “The only ones who are absolutely loyal are the talishte, and their loyalty is to Thrane or Reese, not to us. Hennoch serves us only so long as his son lives, and that’s as much up to Thrane as to us,” Nilo said bluntly.
“And as you’ve said, conscripts and sellswords are only loyal until the winds turn,” Pollard finished, contempt thick in his voice. “By Charrot and Esthrane! How in Raka did you and I end up here?”
“We had the ill fortune to survive,” Nilo remarked, and raised his cup of tea in a mock toast.
“There’s something you should know,” Pollard said. “Thrane bound Hennoch. He’s got Eljas at his feet whenever Hennoch’s in his presence. You need to do your best to stay clear of him, because any hopes we have are lost if he chooses to bind you as well.”
Pollard glowered, thinking. “And Hennoch’s right, much as I hate to admit it. We need to know more about the Meroven raiders. Thrane’s let slip that he spent at least part of his time in exile in Meroven. He’s only just shown up here. So what has he been doing? It would be just like him to be meddling with the warlords and talishte over there, like he is here.” He sighed. “We need to know what Thrane’s real game is,” he said finally. “Particularly if he’s able to free Reese.”
Nilo set down his cup. “You believe he means to do it?”
Pollard nodded.
“Damn. How does Thrane expect to get around the talishte Elder who’s guarding Reese?” Nilo asked, his voice equal parts incredulity and grudging respect.
“If my presence is required, I’ll no doubt be told,” Pollard replied, making no effort to hide his bitterness. Given his kruvgaldur bond with both Reese and Thrane, Pollard was ever mindful that his words—even his thoughts—could be betrayed by reading his blood. Yet over the years, he had discovered how to hide through misdirection and ambiguity, and Nilo was quick enough to read between the lines. Perhaps such subterfuge would not survive a thorough reading, but then again, neither would Pollard.
“Bloody bastard,” Pollard muttered. “Not enough for Reese to just read my blood—he had to force his blood on me to get more control and ensure my loyalty,” he said bitterly. “Now I’m bound so tightly I feel his pain, but there’s no leaving him at this point. If his injuries wound me, I’d certainly share his destruction.” Pollard sighed. “At least Thrane hasn’t thought—yet—to bind me in the same way. Although who knows what hold he has on me through Reese.”
“What makes you think Thrane’s ‘game’ is limited to Donderath’s throne?” Nilo asked. “Maybe he wants the whole continent. For all we know, he’s got a counterpart for each of us so he can have puppet kings on both sides of the border.” Pollard tried not to wince at the term, though he did not dispute its accuracy.
“Maybe Thrane’s plan to free Reese might work in our favor for adding fighters,” Nilo mused aloud. “After all, he never shied away from adding to his brood. Unlike Penhallow.”
“Over centuries, I’m sure both have killed their share,” Pollard replied. He shifted in his chair to ease his discomfort. Nilo noted the movement, but said nothing.
“Thrane certainly has l
oyal fledglings at his beck and call,” Nilo continued.
“And Reese’s fledges as well,” Pollard added. “Through the bond.”
Nilo nodded. “Then, theoretically, the broods of Reese’s fledges, too, and on down the line?”
Pollard shrugged. “Talishte are notorious for not explaining themselves to mortals,” he replied. “And presumably, they don’t have to explain themselves to other talishte, because to become one is to understand.” Despite himself, he shivered. That was one area of forbidden knowledge he did not want to discover.
“If the call is blood to blood, from the most powerful master to the most junior fledges, then it’s entirely possible Thrane has called in his own ‘family,’” Nilo mused. “Surely Reese’s brood have felt his suffering, perhaps even more keenly than you.”
“I have no doubt that they feel it,” Pollard said. “Those of his brood who have come ‘home’ have told me as much.”
“Reese is centuries old, and so is Penhallow,” Nilo replied. “Thrane is older, and the Wraith Lord is perhaps the eldest of the talishte?”
Pollard shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t know the identities of the rest of the Elders.”
Nilo nodded. “And the Elders split, some to Thrane and the rest to Penhallow and the Wraith Lord.” He leaned forward. “McFadden hasn’t marched his army over here because the deciding battle of this war won’t be fought among mortals,” he said, meeting Pollard’s gaze.
“It will be the talishte, fighting for whose vision of the future wins out,” Pollard finished the thought, horrified and intrigued. “Creating that future through their mortal vassals.” The possibility had occurred to him before, but hearing Nilo make the case so baldly, it seemed irrefutably clear.
“Penhallow, with his ever-so-noble view that the talishte should rule—or at least influence—from behind the scenes,” Nilo continued.
“And Thrane, with Reese as his right hand, ruling through mortal thralls, presiding over a kingdom of mortals like a landowner with a million head of cattle,” Pollard said. “And here we are, greatest among cattle.”
Nilo gave an eloquent shrug. “Death is inevitable,” he said. “But I have found that usefulness is one’s best bet to forestall the inevitable as much as possible.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WELCOME BACK.” EDWARD, GLENREITH’S SENESCHAL, greeted Blaine, Kestel, and Piran. Glenreith was Blaine’s family manor, damaged in the Cataclysm but still livable, though the misfortune of the years since Blaine’s exile had taken its toll on the once-grand manor.
“Glad to be back,” Blaine sighed wearily.
“You have no idea,” Piran added.
“Did we miss anything?” Kestel asked, managing an engaging smile despite the long ride back from Bleak Hollow.
“Dawe and Lady Judith have things well in hand,” Edward replied with a smile. Edward had been Glenreith’s seneschal and secret-keeper since before Blaine was born. In the years since the Cataclysm, he and Judith, Blaine’s aunt, had moved beyond friendship into a relationship built on long affection and deep trust.
“I never doubted it,” Blaine answered with a tired smile. “Please tell me you’ve got some food for us in the pantry, although we’re unforgivably late for supper.”
“It doesn’t have to be warm,” Kestel added as her stomach rumbled audibly. “Just edible!”
Edward chuckled. “I think we can more than meet those requirements. Come with me.”
They followed Edward into the kitchen. Long ago, when the McFadden family and the kingdom had known better times, a full staff of servants kept the kitchen bustling throughout the day and evening. Those days were long gone. The family’s fortunes had begun their decline under Blaine’s late, unlamented father, Ian, and the scandal caused when Blaine killed Ian to protect Mari had led to hard times even before the Great Fire.
Now, only a few servants remained, men and women who had served the family for generations and believed Glenreith to be their home. Most had nowhere else to go, and Judith had made them welcome, though she could offer little other than a roof over their heads, the protection of the manor walls, and a share of whatever food there was to be had. In the chaos after the Cataclysm, that was a generous stipend.
“The cook kept a pot of soup on the coals, in case you turned up,” Edward said with a chuckle, leading them to seats around the worn worktable. One of the serving girls ladled soup into bowls for them and then fetched a pitcher of ale and tankards. Edward returned with a loaf of freshly baked bread, along with cheese and honey.
“A pauper’s supper, I’m afraid,” he said.
Piran had already torn a piece of bread from the loaf and stuffed it hungrily into his mouth. “No complaints from me,” he said, his voice muffled by bread.
“It smells delicious,” Kestel replied. “I’m hungry enough, my saddle was starting to look good!”
“Your journey was successful?” Edward said to Blaine.
Blaine took a sip of ale and nodded. “More so than I hoped. Tormod Solveig will be joining us very soon.”
Edward frowned. “The necromancer? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” They had long ago dispensed with the formalities of title.
“My thoughts exactly!” Piran agreed, washing down his bread with ale. “Not that Mick ever listens to me.”
“We’ve got a new alliance, and that frees Tormod to help with some of the other problems,” Kestel added, giving Piran a poke in the ribs.
“Anyone notice I was gone?” Blaine asked, and began to work in earnest on his soup.
“Your absence is always keenly felt,” Edward replied. “Mari is helping Dawe get the villages prospering again.” Dawe Killick was one of Blaine’s convict friends from Velant, and his blacksmithing skills had been invaluable. He was also betrothed, with Blaine’s blessing, to Blaine’s younger sister, Mari.
“Judith is working with the servants and the farmwives to plan which crops to plant and how to preserve what’s harvested,” Edward continued. “She’s hopeful that their efforts—now that the storms are gone and we’ve got a good growing season—will mean less hunger come winter.” The last year had been harsh and hungry for those who survived the Great Fire, as unnatural storms, a backlash from the breakdown of magic, raked the countryside, and men were called away from farming to fight.
“That all sounds wonderful,” Blaine replied. He, Kestel, and Piran had been gone for more than a month, taking the army where the need was greatest. Blaine was discovering that a warlord had no time to rest. They would leave again very soon, but for a few days at least, Blaine was intent on enjoying being back on safe, familiar ground. When he had been exiled to Velant, he had never expected to see Glenreith again. Now, he took nothing for granted.
“Several people are quite anxious to speak with you,” Edward continued as they ate. “Mage Cosmin has asked numerous times when you were expected to return. I might be able to hold him off tomorrow until after you’ve had your breakfast,” he added with an arched eyebrow, “but probably not much longer.”
“That’s fine,” Blaine said. “Who else?”
“Lord Penhallow sent an urgent message that he and Sir Geir request to speak with you,” Edward added. “I would imagine that Geir saw you coming, and has already gone to bring Penhallow.”
Blaine exchanged a glance with the others. “Did they say what was so urgent? I sensed that there was something important through my bond with Penhallow. But that’s all I got.” Penhallow had saved Blaine’s life by offering his blood, which also forged a kruvgaldur bond between them. From what Blaine could observe, that connection was not nearly as strong as the bond Connor shared with Penhallow and the Wraith Lord. Blaine could only pick up strong emotions or simple telepathic messages. He suspected Connor’s bond both provided—and required—much more.
Edward shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But he said that you must not leave Glenreith without speaking with Penhallow.”
Kestel glanced at Blaine. “So no idea what
that’s about?”
Blaine sighed. “Nothing good, from the feelings I picked up. And if it’s important for Penhallow to come himself, rather than just sending a message, and for him to pull Geir all the way from the Northern Plains, then something big is brewing.”
“Pollard and Hennoch on the move again?” Piran asked, working his way through a second helping.
Blaine shrugged. “Probably, although I figured it would have taken them longer to lick their wounds before they could pose much of a threat. I guess we’ll find out.”
“There you are!” Dawe Killick said, sticking his head in the doorway. “I heard a rumor you were back!”
“Barely,” Kestel replied. “Were you watching at the window with a spyglass?” she joked.
“Actually, I heard the dogs in the courtyard barking up a storm,” Dawe said as he walked in to join them. He pulled out a chair and turned it around, straddling it. “So I thought I’d come down to check.”
“Are they here?” Verran Danning glanced into the kitchen and grinned. Like Dawe, Verran was one of Blaine’s prison friends from Velant, and for their three years as colonists, Blaine, Kestel, Piran, Dawe, and Verran had shared a homestead in the wilds of Edgeland. “Good. Don’t start telling stories without me!” He was a thin man with sharp features and dark blond hair that stuck out at angles like a scarecrow. Before the war, he had been a sometime musician and ofttimes thief. Now, those skills paid off as McFadden’s spymaster.
“Are the twins with you?” Zaryae was a step behind Verran. “Fill me in on the news!” Zaryae was Borya and Desya’s kin, a talented seer. Dark black hair and dusky skin marked her as being from the western lands near the Lesser Kingdoms.
“Yes, we’re back. No, the twins aren’t with us. They chose to stay behind and help with translation, but they’ll be here before too long,” Kestel answered with a laugh. “And yes, we can give you all the news. Grab a seat and a beer.”
To no one’s surprise, Judith and Mari wandered in before they had gotten far with the story, greeting Blaine and the others with hugs and then settling in to hear their tales. The three travelers took turns telling about the battle, the dinner with Verner and the Solveigs, and then the dramatic alliance with the Plainsmen.
Shadow and Flame Page 7
