Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Remember!” Verran shouted as the group finally began to break up. “We can take four hundred home with us, but you’ve got to be willing to help us fight. If you’re interested, Ifrem will take names,” he said, volunteering the barkeeper, who glowered but did not disagree. Grudgingly, the crowd filed out as Ifrem shooed them to the door.

  “I figured that was probably enough for your first night back,” Ifrem said, locking the door behind the last patron. “If you need a place to stay, I’ve got the big room upstairs free.”

  Verran grinned. “Thanks, mate. I was hoping you’d have room for us. And we did bring lots of supplies with us, with orders from Mick to come home with a cask or two of bitterbeer. Figured that would work for money, since coin doesn’t count for much these days.” He patted his vest pocket. “Oh, and Kestel sent this,” he said, retrieving a thick letter sealed with wax. “I guess she was afraid I’d leave out something important. She said to tell you that she wants me to bring a letter from you just like this back with me, catching her up on all the news about everyone.”

  Ifrem shrugged. “I’ll see what I can come up with for Kestel,” he said with a smile. “And I still take coin for beer, but like as not I also get paid in chickens and herring, plus some potatoes and cabbage.”

  “At least you can make stew,” Borya quipped. Zaryae elbowed him.

  Verran leaned over the bar as Ifrem poured him another bitterbeer. “I’ll tell you two something I didn’t tell the others,” he said with a cagey grin. “Odds are good that—if we all survive the next big battle, our very own Mick McFadden is going to be the next king of Donderath.”

  “Mick, king?” Ifrem repeated, and let out a long, low whistle.

  Engraham, on the other hand, did not seem completely surprised. “From what you’ve told us, he’d be the best choice,” he said. “Everyone up here speaks well of him, and he’s got a level head.”

  Ifrem nodded. “Aye, that’s true enough. That’s why he was on the Citizen’s Council, once Prokief and the guards lost power. He had a clear head and a hard fist. That’s what it takes.”

  Engraham cleared his throat. “By the way,” he said, “save me a place on the ship. My mother passed to the Sea of Souls a few months ago. There’s nothing holding me here now.”

  Verran nodded. “Done. And sorry to hear that.”

  Engraham shrugged. “Thanks to the Great Fire, and our ship ending up here, we had some time together, after all those lost years. It was more than I ever expected we’d have.”

  “Getting supply ships again and trading with the homeland would be a nice change,” Ifrem said, changing the subject. “We could be a proper colony for once, instead of a dumping ground. We can always ship herring and rubies home, like we did before.”

  Verran shrugged. “Not sure there’s much call for the rubies, since hardly anyone has two silvers to rub together, but the herring will be worth something. Folks have just started to get things fixed up. Everything’s scarce still, but by spring, if all goes well, we’ll have a lot more to trade.”

  “So now that the rest of them are gone,” Ifrem said without looking up from where he stood wiping up the bar, “how about telling us why you’re back?”

  Connor and the others looked to Verran, who nodded. “Do you remember the map you gave Mick before we went to Donderath?”

  “Uh-huh,” Ifrem said. “Kinda figured that had something to do with it.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you recall, I was a mage’s assistant before I was exiled.”

  “That map turned out to be one of the most important pieces to help Mick bring back the magic,” Verran said. “And now it turns out that something got hidden up here a long time ago that could stop a talishte civil war.”

  Ifrem gave Verran a calculating look. “So you’re here to look for that talishte hermit, the one who helped you the last time.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a lot smarter than you look?” Verran said with a grin that tempered the sting of the comment. It’s like he never left, picking back up with everyone, Connor thought. His dreams of Lord Garnoc made him wistful. That’s not something I can do. Except for Penhallow, everyone I had before the Great Fire is gone.

  “You know,” Verran said, “Lord Arrington died the night of the Great Fire. Isn’t he the one who hunted down the mage you worked for?”

  Ifrem nodded. “Nice to hear that he finally got what was coming to him. And no, it doesn’t change anything. I’ve rolled my dice. I’m staying here. Got nothing to go back to in Donderath, and from the sound of it, I’m safer in Edgeland.”

  “What about my father?” Engraham said, coming around the end of the bar. “Did all of the nobility die that night?”

  “The king and all of the Lords of the Blood died except for Mick,” Connor replied. “That was how the Meroven mages targeted their strike. They meant to take out the leaders, and they destroyed the magic at the same time. Lots of the minor nobility died, too, including your father, Lord Fordham. I’m sorry.”

  Engraham drew a long breath. “Well. Not like it makes that much of a difference, I guess. But I wanted to know.”

  “Alsibeth is alive,” Connor said. “Working with Lord Penhallow now. Her foresight is even more powerful than before, since the magic returned. She saved my life a while back. We had a run-in with some monsters of our own.” He tried not to shudder at the memory.

  “Alsibeth always brought good business into the Rooster and Pig when she read fortunes,” Engraham said with a smile. “And her customers actually paid for their drinks!” He paused. “When I go back, do you think I might be able to take over the Rooster and Pig again?”

  Verran and the others laughed sharply, and Engraham looked taken aback until Verran explained. “A guy named One-Eye runs it now, and the beer’s one step above horse piss,” Verran said. “You show up with your recipe for bitterbeer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the residents of Castle Reach run that bum out of town.”

  They bade Ifrem and Engraham good night and made their way upstairs. The Crooked House had several rooms for overnight boarders upstairs. In bad weather, colonists who made the journey into Bay-town for supplies might choose not to brave a storm to return home, and decide to stay the night. Since the night was as warm and clear as it ever was in Edgeland, tonight the upstairs rooms were unoccupied. Still, for caution’s sake, Connor and the others agreed they would prefer to sleep in the same room.

  “Your friends are a hardy lot,” Zaryae observed, lighting one of the lanterns. Borya knelt to build a fire in the room’s fireplace to take the chill off as the night grew colder as Desya handed him wood and kindling from a nearby pile.

  “Wouldn’t have made it on the boat trip if they weren’t,” Verran replied. “Bad as our voyage up was, I can tell you that getting here on a convict ship was even worse.”

  “Packed like herring in a barrel on the last ship out of Castle Reach wasn’t much fun, either,” Connor added. He had felt edgy and restless all evening, and he knew that between the nightmares on the ship and the reality of being back in Skalgerston Bay, the memories of the Great Fire loomed closer than they had in many months.

  Zaryae laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve had a rough go of it,” she said. “And it probably won’t get better before we’re back in Castle Reach. You should get some rest.”

  Just then, a knock came at the door. Connor and Verran reached for their swords. Borya and Desya took up positions on either side of the door, knives drawn, and Zaryae gripped a short sword, positioning herself just behind Borya. Verran went to open the door.

  Nidhud stood in the doorway. “Glad to see you got settled in,” he said, and entered as Verran welcomed him. “While you’ve been chatting, I was busy.” As he moved through the doorway, Connor could see another man in the hallway.

  “Hello, Verran, Connor. Can’t say I expected to see you again.” Arin Grimur, the exiled talishte-mage, entered the room, with a grin that showed the tips of his fangs. “We’ve got plans to make, if yo
u’re going out on the far ice tomorrow.” He stood back to reveal a third man, someone Connor did not recognize, standing in the shadows of the hallway.

  The stranger had a soldier’s muscular build. His full brown beard and wild, curly hair gave him a wolfish look, and his dark eyes appraised the group warily. His shirt and pants were of the rough-spun cloth the colonists wove from their wool, dyed dark. When the man saw Verran, his eyes narrowed.

  To Connor’s surprise, Verran had grown red in the face. “What in Raka is he doing here?” Verran demanded.

  “This is Kane,” Grimur said.

  “I know bloody well who he is,” Verran snapped. “I saw his ugly face for three years in Velant, when he was one of the damn guards.”

  Borya and Desya hesitated, their knives still in hand, waiting for a signal. Connor looked from Verran’s angry face to Kane’s unreadable expression, and felt the tension grow. Zaryae stepped between Kane and Verran just when Connor thought the minstrel might take a swing at Kane.

  “This venture will fail if Kane is not with us,” she said, raising her head defiantly, daring Verran or Kane to challenge her. “Failure is certain without him.”

  “And can you tell me, if he comes along, are we sure to succeed?” Verran asked acidly.

  Zaryae’s gaze grew distant for a moment, and then she came back to herself again and shook her head. “Too many choices to say for certain, but the odds improve.”

  “Wonderful,” Verran said with a glower directed at Kane, but he did not move to strike.

  Nidhud gave a nod of thanks to Zaryae, and stepped forward. “Kane is a hunter—one of the best on Edgeland when it comes to the wild things that roam the far ice. Wolves and bears are the least of your worries.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Borya said.

  “As I recall, your buddy McFadden and the Colonist Council agreed to look the other way about who had been guards or prisoners as long as everyone got along and did his share,” Kane said tersely. “Ask your friends the barkeepers. I don’t bother anyone. I help out when farmers lose some sheep or goats to a bear or monster. I’ve even gone out on the herring boats when they were shorthanded. I belong here. Get over it.”

  Kane walked over to the fire and sat down cross-legged near the hearth. Verran positioned himself on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall where he could keep Kane in his sight.

  “I thought you were going to get us where we needed to go,” Connor said, looking to Grimur. The talishte-mage was as Connor remembered him, dark hair in a queue, with fine features that despite his plain-spun clothing had an aristocratic silhouette to them.

  “I will,” Grimur said, moving away from the fireplace and toward the window, where he could see down to the empty street below. “But this is the Long Dark. You won’t want to travel the ice by night without as much protection as you can get. It was never safe for mortals, but it’s worse now since the wild magic left behind monsters we haven’t killed yet.”

  “So Kane is extra muscle, is that it?” Connor asked. Verran had told them about the Long Dark, what the mages called ‘polar twilight,’ when the sky was not completely dark but no sun rose or set.

  “That’s the idea,” Kane said, pointedly ignoring Verran. He was making an effort to appear relaxed, but Connor could see the tension in Kane’s shoulders and the way he held himself. If he felt the need to strike, Kane would be on his feet and probably wrist-deep in someone’s blood before anyone saw him move.

  “How do you know you can trust him?” Verran asked. “He’s already switched sides once.”

  Kane rose slowly and began to turn up the cuffs of his shirt. Borya, Desya, and Connor moved to put themselves between Kane and Verran. But to Connor’s surprise, Kane stayed where he was. Instead, as his sleeves rose above his elbows, he held out both forearms. Small, white pairs of puncture scars dotted the skin between his wrist and his elbows.

  “Kane has been my mortal servant since you departed,” Grimur said. “I had grown tired of a completely solitary existence. He has eased my exile substantially, for which I am grateful. In exchange, he receives the benefits of the kruvgaldur.” He turned to Connor, knowing that Connor could meet his gaze without worrying about being glamoured. “Benefits you are quite familiar with, being bound to one talishte and serving a second as well.”

  Connor nodded, imagining that he felt the scars of Penhallow’s bites prickle beneath his shirt. “True,” he replied evenly.

  “He is bound to me even more tightly than you are bound to your master,” Grimur said. “He shares not just a kruvgaldur bond, but he is my mortal servant. I am certain of his loyalty.”

  “So?” Verran regarded Kane’s bare arms with disinterest. “That means he can’t turn on you. Doesn’t mean the rest of us can trust him.”

  “Actually, it does,” Connor said. While he did not know Kane, he did know about being a talishte’s mortal servant, and about the kruvgaldur. “At the lightest level of the kruvgaldur, it permits thoughts—and sometimes energy—to be shared. Like Blaine and Penhallow. My bond to Penhallow is even stronger, because he’s brought me back from the edge of death a few times. That gives me a bond to him like what Grimur is describing,” he added, feeling a little chagrined at speaking of the connection out loud.

  “If Grimur orders Kane to protect us, Kane cannot disobey without Grimur knowing and without Grimur exerting some control over him, even from a distance,” Connor continued. “And remember, Grimur was made by Penhallow. So in that sense, Kane is ultimately Penhallow’s man.” Kane rolled down his sleeves with an expression that dared the others to challenge him further. When they did not, he sat back down and returned his gaze to the fire.

  “So here’s what I don’t understand,” Borya said. “If you hid this Elgin Spike, why don’t you just go get it and bring it back here? Why do we need to go out to the wilderness?”

  Grimur looked at Borya with patient amusement. “Because we took precautions so that the stake would not be stolen or misused, even by me. Its hiding place is bound by powerful magic. Releasing the Spike requires the presence of an Elder, and two bound by direct kruvgaldur to Lanyon Penhallow.”

  “Direct?” Zaryae questioned.

  “He means, by a bond created by Penhallow himself,” Connor replied, sure of his answer although he did not know how he knew it.

  Grimur chuckled. “A safeguard, so that I could not just make enough fledglings or servants to fulfill the requirement.”

  “Which is the other reason I had to come,” Connor said, finally understanding Penhallow’s insistence. “Because I can channel the Wraith Lord, which gives us an Elder, I satisfy both requirements, and if the Wraith Lord needed a physical body, he has one to use.”

  “Where are we going?” Borya had sheathed his knife, but he still looked skeptical about their new guide. “And how long will it take to get there?”

  “There isn’t a name for the place we’re headed,” Grimur replied. “And how long it will take depends on weather and what local wildlife we run into. Both have been unpredictable of late.”

  “What about supplies?” Desya’s arms were folded across his chest.

  “Anything you needed from the ship has been brought ashore,” Nidhud said. “Grimur sensed through the kruvgaldur that Penhallow was sending someone, so he had most of the provisions ready to go. I helped him finish things up. We’ll be able to get shelter at Grimur’s cabin on the way up and back, and you’ll have the means to make an overnight camp. He’s already stored supplies along his trapline, so you’ll have access to those as well as to the packs and equipment he’s prepared for you.”

  “We’ve heard tales about the monsters on the far ice,” Connor said, directing his comments to Kane. “I’m sure the talishte can hold their own. Can you?”

  Kane met his gaze. His dark eyes were utterly cold. “Oh yeah,” he replied. “The real question is, can you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EVEN WHEN IT’S WARM HERE, IT’S BLOODY C
OLD.” Verran trudged through the snow, wrapping his scarf tighter against the wind. They had arranged for wagons to take them out past the homestead Verran used to share with Blaine and his friends, out to the beginning of the traplines. From here, Edgeland sprawled toward the horizon in stark, merciless arctic beauty.

  Most people on Donderath would barely consider Skalgerston Bay, with its dozen or so shops and the few hundred homesteads that surrounded it, to be ‘civilization,’ Connor thought. But one look at the unforgiving wilderness that lay beyond the edge of the colony made the harbor town and its surroundings seem luxurious.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to walking with these things on my feet,” Connor grumbled, stumbling yet again and barely keeping himself from tumbling into the snow. Grimur had obtained skis for each of them, together with long wooden poles to help them navigate the open spaces where the snow never melted.

  “Really? I’m planning to take mine back to Donderath with me.” Borya grinned and pushed off with his poles, demonstrating once again the acrobatic ability that stood him in good stead whether performing or fighting. After the first couple of candlemarks, the twins were weaving in and out, gliding effortlessly down slopes and daring each other to try new feats.

  Kane moved with the confidence of long practice, and Verran looked as if he had ventured on skis enough times that after a candlemark or so, the rhythm came back to him and he was skiing smoothly. Even Zaryae seemed to be able to transfer her gracefulness as a dancer to the new challenge, though she did not attempt any of the twins’ more reckless exploits.

  “Break a leg out here and I’m not carrying you back to camp!” Kane shouted as Borya and Desya whizzed past. The party lugged two sledges with their gear, in addition to the packs each person carried. Grimur had outfitted them well with food, firewood, equipment, warm clothing, and other essentials to help them survive several days and nights on their own in territory that was practically the definition of ‘inhospitable.’