Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Search him for weapons, tie him up, and sit him down on the couch,” Blaine said to Piran. “And we’ll start our conversation over.”

  Guards removed Jacoben’s body as servants brought rags to mop up the blood. “Sorry about the carpet,” Piran muttered. One guard carried Iston’s limp form while two more dragged Vishal to his feet. The undersecretary fought them, his eyes murderous.

  “There will be consequences for this,” Vishal threatened. “We would have made a deal with you. Now, we’ll destroy you.”

  “Get in line, mate,” Piran snapped. “You’re not the only one who wants to fight us for the kingdom. You’re not even the scariest one.”

  When their three attackers, the guards, and Rikard were gone, two soldiers shut the door but remained inside, along with the mages. Blaine and the others returned to their remaining prisoner. Piran poured himself a drink of brandy and offered one to the others. Kestel accepted; Blaine declined.

  “Now,” Blaine said, sitting down on the couch opposite Heldin. “Let’s have the real story about who you are and why you’re here.”

  Heldin looked terrified, but he took a couple of deep breaths and color came back to his face. “My name is Aton Heldin, and I am—was—a real ambassador,” he said, his voice a bit breathier and higher pitched than before. “I survived the Devastation because I happened to be on a hunting trip out in the forest when the fire fell. When I returned, the palace, the nobles’ manors, and the ambassadors’ offices had been destroyed—as well as most of the city. The king was dead, and after some battles between a few of the king’s heirs, Edelton Turnfoot won the crown,” Heldin continued. “He is a brute,” he added. “There was good reason he was passed over in the succession. The man is a monster, but he’s good at taking what he wants. His supporters seized the castle and there’s no one strong enough to challenge him.”

  “Why are you here?” Blaine asked, meeting his gaze.

  “The Cross-Sea Kingdoms are on the brink of collapse,” Heldin replied. “Famine. Terrible storms. A talishte uprising that slaughtered hundreds. So many are dead from the Devastation and the famine that crops aren’t getting planted. What didn’t burn has been sacked and looted. It’s coming apart at the seams.”

  Heldin paused. “We were also at war with Meroven, before the Devastation,” he continued. “There has been bad blood between our kingdoms for a long time, and while we fought over different issues than what drove Donderath’s conflict with Meroven, in the end, the outcome was the same. The Devastation just finished off a long, debilitating war that drained our coffers and siphoned off our young men. The truth is, due to the war and King Ronfi’s penchant for spending, the kingdom was already nearly bankrupt before the Devastation. We have had to deal with reduced circumstances for some time now,” Heldin admitted.

  More of Thrane’s meddling? Blaine wondered. Especially if there was a talishte uprising involved there as well. Perhaps we’ve underestimated Thrane’s ambitions.

  “Edelton sent us out to see if the Lesser Kingdoms and Donderath were better off,” Heldin finished.

  “So you could steal what we had?” Piran accused.

  Heldin nodded. “Sorry to say, but yes,” he said. “Edelton forced me to come. Threatened to kill me if I didn’t cooperate. I was supposed to be the respectable one to put a good face on everything. Vishal was there to keep me in line.”

  “Vishal wasn’t a novice at this kind of thing, was he?” Kestel said, glowering as she rubbed her throat with one hand.

  Heldin shook his head. “Before the war, Vishal was head of the king’s secret police. He wasn’t a man to cross. Nasty temper, seemed to actually enjoy killing people.” He winced when he looked at the growing bruise on Kestel’s neck. “My apologies, m’lady. It did my heart good to see you give it back to him.” Kestel’s reply was a satisfied smile.

  “What was Iston doing, the magic Rikard blocked?” Blaine asked.

  Heldin looked abashed. “That was Vishal’s way, using mages to manipulate people or force them to do his bidding. Iston was one of his men, from the secret police. He was likely trying to use his magic to plant suggestions in your minds, make you want to agree to our terms, tell us what we wanted to know.” He sighed. “He’s good at that kind of thing, very dangerous.”

  Once again, Blaine was glad for the deflection amulet he wore, and Kestel’s null-magic amulet. “And Jacoben?” he pressed.

  “Jacoben was the younger son of a noble who went to sea with the navy and ended up with pirates,” Heldin admitted, a flush coming to his cheeks as if he were utterly embarrassed by the company in which he found himself. “He was here at the behest of the ship’s captain, to find out Donderath’s weaknesses.”

  “So you’re part of the pirate attack,” Kestel guessed.

  Heldin nodded. “Yes, m’lady. Reluctantly on my part, but true. We were sent to steal first and then show up as ambassadors and offer to protect you from those pirates. We really expected to find anarchy, so it surprised us when you fought off our first ships.”

  “First ships?” Kestel repeated with alarm, exchanging a glance with Blaine.

  Heldin sighed. “Aye, m’lady. We came ashore to find out whether the opposition we met with the first raid was just lucky, or whether there was a larger force behind them. There are more ships, awaiting a signal from Jacoben and Iston. If we made the signal at the appointed time, they would hold off and allow us room to maneuver. But if we missed the signal, they would know something went wrong, and attack.” He looked up at Blaine and met his gaze. “We’ve missed our signal time. The ships will be closing on your port very soon.”

  “Can you countermand them?” Blaine asked.

  Heldin shook his head. “No. Jacoben was the only one with the code, though he needed Iston’s magic to send it. They never really trusted me. I’m really just along for show.” He took a deep breath, and continued.

  “I will cooperate fully with anything you want, tell you answers to whatever you ask,” Heldin said. “Just please, give me asylum. I hate King Edelton. I’m not a brave man, but I’ll do anything I can to bring him down, or at least, thwart his plans to hurt Donderath.”

  “How about those gifts,” Piran said with a jerk of his head toward the warded table.

  Heldin sighed. “They were all tainted, one way or the other. The lacquer box contains a dubav, an evil spirit that will do the bidding of a powerful mage. Iston’s used them before to harry an enemy.”

  “Like a divi?” Kestel asked, remembering what it had taken to destroy Vigus Quintrel and the entity that had possessed him.

  Heldin’s eyes widened. “You know of such things?” He paled. “A dubav is nothing to trifle with, but it’s a troublesome spirit, not a killer.”

  “And the other ‘gifts’?” Piran asked.

  “The lace was woven with magic spells worked into the warp and woof. I don’t know what the particular spells were for that piece, but it would be like Vishal to sow discord, bring ill health, that sort of thing.”

  “The vase?” Blaine questioned.

  “Most likely a piece that would let the giver listen to what was said nearby, through magic,” Heldin said. “Such items are very common in the Cross-Sea Kingdoms. It’s how King Edelton and his spies know everything that goes on.”

  “And I’m guessing the gem is cursed?” Kestel said, peering at the items while making sure to stay well back of the wardings.

  “Yes, m’lady. Another of Iston’s specialties. I don’t know what the curse would do, but he usually prefers something subtle, like causing terrible headaches, or making the wearer discontent with everything.”

  “Lovely,” Kestel said sarcastically. “The more you tell us, the less inclined I am to allow the Cross-Sea Kingdoms anywhere near Donderath.”

  “What about the pirates?” Blaine asked. “There’s already been an attack on Castle Reach. What now?”

  Heldin looked contrite. “I am so sorry. But it’s already too late. We were sent to e
ither bring you—the leaders—under our control or kill you. Without Jacobsen’s signal, the other ships will arrive to do battle. In the end, it would be the same—warships coming to conquer—just a matter of timing. Five warships, armed with mages and catapults, each with an army in its hold.” He shook his head. “You can’t win.”

  Blaine’s eyes narrowed. “Watch us.” He exchanged a glance with Kestel, and then looked back to Heldin. “You know you can’t go back,” he said. “And from what you’ve told us, there’s not much for you to miss. Help us defeat the invaders, prove that you’ve renounced King Edelton, and you can earn your freedom.”

  Heldin lifted his head. “I supplied information. I did not join in the fight against you. That should count for something.”

  “You were willing for your companions to curse us or kill us,” Blaine countered. “I could argue you changed sides to save your life. If you want sanctuary here, perhaps even a role as an ambassador again, then you need to throw in your lot with us wholeheartedly. Burn your bridges to them, and you’re welcome here.”

  Kestel smiled brightly. “Cross us, and you’re just another spy to execute,” she added.

  Heldin swallowed hard. “I understand,” he replied. “And I cannot go back, so I must make my way here. I will give you all the information I have about the ships and their weapons. But I know very little. Vishal is the one who knows the details, and he will never betray the king.” He looked defeated. “I know this about Vishal,” he continued. “There is a geas on him. If magic is used to read his mind, the geas will rip his mind to shreds.”

  Blaine nodded. “I’ll let Rikard know.” His mouth was a hard line. “Let’s see if his geas can protect him against a talishte.”

  Before Heldin could respond, the doors to the parlor opened. “My lord,” Dillon said. “Word from Captain Folville. Enemy ships have been spotted.”

  “Is Voss involved?” Blaine asked.

  “Folville said that Voss’s first squad was in position, and word was sent for reinforcements,” Dillon reported.

  “Good,” Blaine said. He looked to Dillon. “Lock the ambassador in a room with barred windows. Keep a guard in the room so he can’t signal the ships. If he causes any problems, have one of the talishte glamour him. Other than that, make him as comfortable as an honored guest.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dillon replied.

  He turned to Heldin. “If you’ve got any other insights, anything at all that might help us win, this is where you start to prove your change of allegiance.”

  “I understand,” Heldin said.

  Blaine passed along the warning for Rikard about Vishal to Dillon. “He’ll need to be talishte-read,” Blaine said. “He won’t cooperate willingly, and we can’t take what he knows by magic. Iston likely has the same geas. Do the same for him as well.”

  “And when they have been read?”

  Blaine met Dillon’s gaze. “Heldin says he has changed sides. I believe him, but we’ll have one of the talishte read him just to be sure. Hang the others. They can’t be trusted. We don’t have the food to waste on prisoners, and it’s likely more merciful than what they’d get from their own king.”

  “As you wish, m’lord,” Dillon replied. “Pity we didn’t find out before we wasted good provisions on them.”

  “Think of it as a last meal,” Piran said, his anger clear in his voice. “And now, it’s time to teach those lads in the ships how to swim.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I HADN’T PLANNED ON BATTLE,” BLAINE MUTTERED as he fastened his cuirass and buckled on his sword. In the time that had passed since the unfortunate ambassador and his party had been hauled off for questioning, Quillarth Castle had armed itself for war. Guards shucked off the costume of servants and dressed for the fight. Pikes, crossbows, battle-axes, and swords appeared, and the lower levels of the castle were barricaded against attack.

  “It seemed too easy to just have dinner with a couple of ambassadors,” Kestel replied. She had changed from her gown into tunic and trews with a cuirass of her own, along with vambraces and a sword, as well as a wicked knife and a collection of small dirks in a bandolier she wore like a sash across her chest.

  “Actually, after what Vishal pulled, I’m in the mood to knock some heads together,” Piran said, suiting up in similar attire and strapping on an impressive collection of weapons. “Pity Rikard won’t be joining us.”

  “With luck, he should find any other traps they laid and dispose of any cursed items. And thanks to the talishte, we got some useful information out of the prisoners, so we’re as prepared as we can be,” Blaine replied.

  In the distance, Blaine could hear the muted thud of catapults as the ships in the harbor lobbed ballast rocks at the wharf and dockside, and the men in the shoreline fortifications answered with missiles of their own.

  “Part of Front Street is burning,” Kestel reported from where she watched from the window. “But so is one of the ships.” Her voice was sad, filled with the same weariness of war Blaine felt in his marrow.

  “Before we go rushing down to Castle Reach, I’d like to get a bird’s-eye view,” Piran said. “Folville’s at street level, and so is Voss. We might spot a weakness from up here that they can’t.”

  “The tallest towers were destroyed in the Great Fire,” Kestel said. “But if we can get up into what’s left of the third floor, we’re high enough up to see a long way.”

  “Get Dillon,” Blaine said to the soldier by the door. “We need him. Fast.”

  A few moments later, Dillon appeared in the doorway. “M’lord?”

  “You know the safest routes through the damaged parts of the castle,” Blaine said. “We need to get to the highest vantage point so we can see what’s going on in the harbor.”

  “All right,” Dillon said. “Follow me.” He took a lantern and led them down a hallway, then through corridors that smelled of dust and disuse. Since so much of Quillarth Castle had been destroyed in the Cataclysm, Blaine sometimes forgot just how large the building had been in its prime. Since then, Dillon and others had labored to restore what remained of the castle to usability, and Niklas’s troops had worked to rebuild the castle’s defenses. Yet now, heading down a dark, abandoned corridor still bearing the scorch marks of the Great Fire, Blaine was reminded pointedly of how much had been lost.

  Dillon stopped at a locked door. “It gets dangerous beyond this point,” he said, going through a ring of keys on his belt. “That’s why we keep the doors to this section locked. At least here, there’s a solid floor remaining. Other places, the doors just open into thin air.”

  He jangled the keys, found the one he wanted, and turned it in the iron lock. “Watch your step,” he cautioned. “There’s still a lot of rubble, the walls have been damaged, and there are some pretty big holes in the outer walls where you could fall through to the courtyard.”

  Dillon shouldered the door open and lifted his lantern. Up ahead in the darkness, Blaine heard rats squeaking. As he and the others stepped through the doorway, Blaine understood Dillon’s warning. Chunks of stone and plaster littered the corridor. Great sooty streaks marked the stonework, and some of the walls leaned dangerously. Portions of the ceiling were missing. In some places, the holes overhead exposed rooms in the floor above, but in other areas, the gaps opened up to the night sky.

  “This way,” Dillon said, gesturing for them to follow. He picked his way over the fallen stone with the surefootedness of a mountain goat as Blaine and the others did their best to keep up.

  After a few more turns, they came to what had once been a corner room. Most of the walls remained, except for the corner itself, which had been smashed away. Dillon ventured through the rubble until he got to about three feet from where the walls and floor dropped off to nothing.

  “I wouldn’t go closer to the edge than this, m’lord,” he advised. “This old building’s been through a lot, and the damage in this wing was pretty bad, as you see. I don’t trust the edge not to give way or to
drop something on your head from up above.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to go any closer,” Blaine said. “This does the job.”

  Spread out below them was the city of Castle Reach and the harbor. Torches illuminated the towers on either side and dotted the water’s edge to the wharfs, where the torches became a solid line.

  The sound of battle reached them, even at this distance. Shouts and screams, the shrieks of women, the thunder of rocks hurled against stone walls. Five foreign ships sat at the entrance to the harbor, giving the royal city a thorough pounding. Two of the ships faced the wharf, their catapults trained on the quayside, bringing down the front walls of the nearest buildings and making it dangerous for Folville’s troops to mass along the waterfront.

  Three more of the ships faced the embankments on either side of the harbor, answering catapult volleys with deadly fire. One of those ships was partly afire. Both sides would be using archers, Blaine knew, though they were too far away to see them or to hear the zing of arrows. Small boats maneuvered around the warships, attempts by the invaders to land their own soldiers, and by the city’s defenders to attack the ships at the waterline.

  “If those ships get to the seawall, we don’t have the men on the ground to defeat them,” Blaine said. “Not if they have as many troops as Heldin said they did.”

  “He could be lying,” Piran said. “He’s lied about everything else.”

  “I’m sure they brought some level of troops, and he couldn’t lie to the talishte—but he could have been misinformed,” Kestel said. “Even if Heldin has the total wrong, it won’t take a huge force to overrun the city, and Voss can’t get reinforcements into place that quickly. Folville’s fighters are a relatively small group, and Captain Larson’s garrison is less than fifty men. It would be a slaughter.”

  “Donderath’s navy is at the bottom of the sea,” Blaine said, looking at the harbor in frustration. “I wouldn’t put it past Folville or Voss to have small boats going out in the dark to strike at the waterline, but it’s a suicide mission.”