“Quite handy, don’t you think?” he asked rhetorically, turning in a slow circle so that the ball took in all of the tent. It was disconcerting, Pollard thought, to see his own image looking back at him from something that was not a reflection.
Pollard forced himself to look unimpressed and gave a dismissive shrug. “What good does that do us? Thrane isn’t fighting his battle here.”
Nagok’s thin-lipped smile let Pollard know that the beast caller understood the game being played. “No, he isn’t,” Nagok conceded. “But I know where he is fighting—not far from here, actually.” From the end of the same table that held the glass balls, he took a thick leather glove and falconer’s arm sheath and fitted them on with the ease of long practice.
Nagok strode out of the tent and into the night. He raised his face to the dark sky, gave a chilling call that sounded more animal than human, and looked expectantly up at the stars.
For a moment, there was silence. Then a great dark shape winged toward them, and a raptor’s cry filled the air. An eagle descended to alight on his outstretched left arm, folding its broad, mighty wings around it. Nagok spoke in low tones to the bird, which regarded him without fear, a pet of sorts.
As frightening as Nagok’s display of power was, Pollard could not ignore the awe of seeing such a magnificent creature at close range. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Nagok said, his voice betraying both pride of possession and the knowledge that the possession was envied. “Did you think I only call wild beasts to my service?”
Nagok held up the glass ball, and spoke again to the eagle. The creature gave a shrill cry, then lifted up from its perch on Nagok’s arm. The mage tossed the glass ball into the air and the eagle seized it in its powerful talons, then winged into the night sky.
“Have you ever wished to fly?” Nagok asked. He beckoned for them to follow him. “You’ve had a journey, and in a moment, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me of your wars. But first, I offer you this,” Nagok said, gesturing toward the obsidian mirror.
Pollard stared at the mirror, transfixed. The world spread out in miniature, bathed in moonlight. He recognized landmarks—a river, a road, a manor—but they were small compared with the wide horizon that stretched as far as the eye could see. Hennoch caught his breath, and Pollard only barely managed to dampen his wonder into an expression of ennui. Is that how the world looks to birds? How small our monuments seem, from that perspective.
Nagok whispered to the mirror, and the eagle flew lower. Pollard recognized the setting. He and Hennoch had ridden near the place just a candlemark earlier. The buildings and landscape grew magnitudes larger, and Pollard could make out figures moving so rapidly that he at first mistook them for shadows. It was a long-abandoned mining town, and the empty mines were ideal crypts for talishte. Judging from the fight under way, it appeared that their resting place had been discovered.
Pollard leaned forward to see better. The eagle made slow circles, gliding on a thermal, so that the scene took them toward and then away from the fight. At this distance, it was impossible to make out whose side the fighters were on. Still, there was no missing the terrifying brutality of the actions. One group of talishte were raiding the crypts of another.
“The creatures are my eyes and ears,” Nagok said. “I ask what they have seen, and they tell me. I command them to watch for me, and they comply.”
Secretly, Pollard was certain that Nagok’s power had less range and more limits than the beast caller suggested, but he said nothing. Maybe that’s Thrane’s real reason for sending us here. To find a weakness that he can exploit. Interesting. I’m sure Hennoch and I are being used. The question is, by whom? Or if by both, where does the greatest advantage lie to my interests?
The battle continued, both sides evenly matched in speed and ferocity. Pollard had seen talishte fight in the Battle of Valshoa and in skirmishes at Mirdalur, but that had been a handful of undead fighters against a largely mortal army. Individually, the talishte had the advantage, yet their numbers were small enough that they could not hope to prevail against so large a force. In those battles, the talishte had adapted their tactics to yield the greatest number of casualties and inspire the most fear.
Now, Pollard glimpsed what talishte fighters could really do, untrammeled by a mortal army. He watched in horrified fascination. It reminded him of the conflicts he had seen between wild beasts. Once, while riding across a barren area of northern Donderath, he had seen two male wolves fighting over a female. The wolves had been equally matched in brawn and determination, and they had fought with utter abandon. By the end of the conflict, the wolves had battled with such ferocity that one lay dead and the other was too badly wounded to claim his mate.
Perhaps I should heed the lesson of that fight, Pollard thought, suppressing a grim smile. The two dominant males destroyed each other, and the prize was no doubt claimed by a less powerful male who won by surviving.
“Whose talishte are fighting?” Pollard asked.
“Sapphire’s brood,” Nagok replied. “Along with Amber’s get. They found a nest of Penhallow’s loyalists.” That confirms the whereabouts of those two missing rogue Elders, Pollard thought. As Nilo and I suspected. But are they with Nagok as advisers or spies? Or to make sure he remains under Thrane’s control?
What an interesting show he’s putting on for us, Pollard thought cynically, observing with the vigilance that had kept him alive thus far. He demonstrates his power and his ability to place us under surveillance without needing to threaten us personally. But I wonder: Is the lesson intended for us, or for Thrane?
“If you know where the fight is, could you not send your creatures to help?” Hennoch asked. “A few wolves might turn the battle, and we’re not far from the fighting. They might reach there in minutes.”
Nagok did not appear interested in the suggestion. “I don’t think my talishte allies will need the help. Indeed, they might take offense. I suspect that by the time my wolves could reach them, the battle will be over. See? Our side is already taking the upper hand.”
From what Pollard could see, one side was gaining the advantage. But before the battle was resolved, the eagle suddenly gyred away, rising into the night sky and presumably returning to his master.
“What happened?” Hennoch asked, staring at the obsidian mirror in confusion. “The fight wasn’t over yet!”
Nagok gave a shrug. “Not finished, but decided,” he said as if the matter were of no account. “Eagles are intelligent birds. He may have feared he was discovered.”
Something about Nagok’s blithe response struck Pollard as false. Perhaps the eagle feared discovery, Pollard thought. A talishte able to fly might have been able to damage the bird. But none of the talishte were in the air. The fight was on the ground, and the eagle was high enough overhead to be of no interest to them. What if the eagle had reached its limit of compulsion? Pollard wondered. What if our beast caller can’t keep his creatures under permanent control?
He hid the shadow of a smile. Nagok has limits. The eagle was gone for somewhere between half a candlemark and a candlemark. So maybe that’s how long he can maintain his hold over a creature. Hennoch was right—sending in wolves or other hostile creatures might have turned the battle sooner, with fewer casualties for his allies. So that raises another couple of questions. Did he refrain from doing so in order to weaken his allies as well as his enemies? Or can he only control one type of creature at a time? And the fighting was close to his location. I wonder how far his range extends?
For the first time since they had set out from Solsiden, Pollard felt hopeful. Nagok is powerful, but not a god. And if Thrane’s talishte allies spend their forces battling Penhallow’s allies, it reduces the total number of powerful undead. Advantage—ours.
“Your eagle is a formidable ally,” Pollard said as they followed Nagok outside again. The huge bird of prey gave a shrill cry and flapped down, dropping the glass ball into Nagok’s hand before coming to rest on his vambrace. Nagok handed o
ff the orb to Pollard, and reached into a small pouch on his belt, giving a treat of dried meat to the eagle before launching it on its way.
Pollard took the opportunity to examine the glass ball. In his hands, it was unremarkable. No glow hinted at latent magic, and no hidden power tingled at his touch. It was deadweight.
“Can you supply the ability to scry like that to our army?” Hennoch asked, eyeing the glass ball acquisitively. Such an advantage was something commanders could only dream of, unless they had talishte spies who could take to the air, and that was limited to nighttime spying only.
Nagok gave a condescending smile and reclaimed the glass ball from Pollard. “Unfortunately not,” he said, though his tone suggested he thought it was anything but unfortunate. “The birds won’t listen to a common mage, and it requires particular talent to also activate the orb and the scrying mirror.”
Translated message: I’m far more powerful than your mages, who can’t hold a candle to what I can do. Interesting detail—want to bet Nagok can only control one bird at a time, for a short period and a limited distance, and he’s only got one special mirror? Limits, again. Pollard stepped back half a pace, using the distance to better observe Nagok. Nagok moved with swaggering grace, every word and action designed to exert dominance and impress them with his power.
I’ve seen men of real power, from King Merrill to the Wraith Lord, Pollard thought. They couldn’t care less what others think of them, and they aren’t constantly posturing. Nagok is young and quite taken with himself. That’s likely to make him overreach. He’s using Thrane, and Thrane is using him. Both of them are using me. That’s fine for now. Donderath needs a king. And once Blaine McFadden is out of the picture, I’m still the only real option. I can be patient for a crown.
“We’ve come a long way to meet with you,” Pollard said as they returned to the tent. In the short time that they had been out of the tent, a repast of mutton and roasted vegetables had been set out for them, as well as tankards of ale and a bottle of brandy. “And while we appreciate your generous welcome, we will need to leave early on the morrow. Tell us of your plans, and we will share ours,” Pollard continued. “So that we can rid Donderath of both Penhallow and McFadden.”
“Of course,” Nagok replied. “But first, we dine.”
Under the best of circumstances, Pollard found formal dinners tedious. Now, he found his patience strained, and he wished they could get down to the business at hand. Nagok had no intention of rushing through the meal, and as they ate, he regaled them with stories of his victories in Meroven. Pollard had no doubt the litany of successes was well rehearsed for effect, and he strained to listen for insights Nagok might not have intended to reveal.
Nilo and I were right about Thrane’s meddling with the Meroven talishte and their equivalent of the Elder Council, Pollard thought. And while he claims to have defeated the other Meroven warlords, it sounds like the kingdom was in such bad shape, there wasn’t much opposition. At least, nothing that compares to what we’ve had to fight to get this far. Easy victories lead to pride. Pride’s led to many a downfall. Maybe Nagok isn’t quite as invincible as he believes.
When they finished eating and servants had cleared away the dishes, Nagok unrolled a map of Donderath on the table and anchored it open. “We have drawn Theilsson’s army to the north,” he replied. “And while Theilsson has fought well, we’ve not yet brought our full might against him. He has already taken many casualties, and his men are tired. I would suspect that he has sent word to McFadden for reinforcements—perhaps even led by McFadden himself,” Nagok said, barely hiding a smile of satisfaction with his own cleverness.
“I need you to make sure McFadden’s allies don’t come to his aid,” Nagok said, sparing a glance to Pollard and Hennoch. “As I’ve been told, it was Traher Voss’s troops that turned the balance of the Battle of Valshoa. He must be kept busy elsewhere.”
“We have been fortunate to have the Cross-Sea pirate attacks focus Voss’s men on the Castle Reach harbor,” Pollard said. “Those attacks have kept both Voss and Folville busy at home, unable to be relocated.”
“We can’t count on the Cross-Sea forces to continue their assault,” Nagok said. “I have asked Thrane to dispatch your men to attack Castle Reach, Westbain, and Rodestead House to keep those forces bottled up.”
Pollard carefully avoided a smile. Exactly as we hoped, he thought. “A wise strategy,” he said, with a warning glance at Hennoch to give no indication that they had already planned to do just that. Let Nagok bear the brunt of the fighting. His army can take the casualties for a change, and preserve my men for when I need them. Fine with me if he stays up here in the northernmost corner. I’ll thank him not to further damage the kingdom I plan to rule.
“Pressure must be kept on Penhallow’s fortifications, especially during the day when he’s at his weakest,” Nagok said. “Thrane’s allies will continue to strike at his brood and the get of his Elder supporters. Your men must whittle away at his human troops, reducing their numbers, destroying their morale. They’re no doubt bound by kruvgaldur, so I don’t expect wholesale defection. But your attacks can kill as many as possible, and pen them up so they can’t turn the tide of our battle with McFadden.”
“What of McFadden’s other allies?” Pollard asked. “Tormod Solveig the necromancer and his bloodthirsty sister. Birgen Verner and his troops. Have you factored them into your plans?”
Nagok made a dismissive gesture. “Verner is of no concern to us. The man has no ambition, and is unlikely to bestir his troops so long as he sees no immediate threat to himself. As for the Solveigs, they’re far from here, busy with their own concerns from the west. I don’t see them storming across the kingdom to come to McFadden’s defense.”
Personally, Pollard was unwilling to write off the other warlords so easily. Nagok considers nothing but their self-interest because self-interest is all that motivates him. I suspect the Solveigs and Verner are more like McFadden, damnably obliged to keep the letter of their agreements. Nagok might have a care to consider just how well Thrane will keep his promises, especially if he’s counting on being gifted with the crown of Meroven. I know to watch my back, and I’m not counting on Thrane’s largesse to get the prize I want. Neither Nagok nor Thrane care whether Donderath burns, so long as they control it. I would prefer not to rule a kingdom of corpses. In that, perhaps, McFadden and I have some sentiment in common.
“Hennoch’s troops are already near Castle Reach,” Pollard replied. “Once we return, I’ll send them on to harry the city. I will personally make sure that Westbain and Rodestead House remain under siege.” He paused, intending for his silence to be taken for thought, when he had already known his question long before.
“Can you spare any of your beasts?” Pollard asked, as if the answer was of no importance. “Could any of your lesser mages travel with our troops and command packs of wolves or panthers? We would gain a formidable advantage.”
“My mages, regrettably, have so many responsibilities with my troops that they cannot be spared,” Nagok replied. “It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.”
“Ah. It was worth asking,” Pollard said with a shrug. So his beasts have the same constraints as his birds. He’s the only one who can control them. An advantage—and a liability.
“When will you make your assault on McFadden’s troops?” Hennoch said. While Pollard had been watching the interaction as intelligence gathering, sizing up Nagok as a future opponent, Hennoch had grown increasingly impatient with talk and panoply. For all his faults, Hennoch was a straightforward man who preferred action to politics. If he had his way, Hennoch no doubt would have preferred to ride back to Solsiden with his orders that very night.
“Within a fortnight,” Nagok replied. “I’ll have the rest of my forces in place by then. Right now, the positions of our adversaries work in our favor. We must strike before the circumstances change.”
With luck, Nagok, Thrane, and McFadden will destroy eac
h other, and the kingdom will go not to the most powerful or the cleverest but to the one most invested in remaining alive the longest. I intend to be the last man standing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WAS IT WORTH IT?” CONNOR WATCHED PENHALLOW unwrap the Elgin Spike from its shrouding. He noted that Penhallow was careful not to touch the artifact. The Wraith Lord’s translucent form stood nearby, observing with interest. Arin Grimur, who had returned with them from Edgeland, hung back, watching. Tormod Solveig had joined them as well, journeying to Westbain with a portion of his troops while Rinka took the rest of the army north to join Niklas and Blaine against Nagok.
“It gives us a chance we wouldn’t otherwise have,” Penhallow said. “And that’s something important.” He turned toward Grimur. “Thank you, Arin, for what it’s cost you to keep this safe all these years.”
Grimur shrugged. “The solitude did me good. And I didn’t mind the snow. I’ll be happy to not have the White Nights, but I might go back for the Long Dark. My cabin’s locked up tight, waiting for me.”
Connor shivered just thinking about it. Two visits to Edgeland in one lifetime are too many, he thought. “I hate to say it, but getting the artifact might have been the easy part in all this,” Connor observed. “How is someone going to get close enough to Thrane to use it?”
“I’ll admit that’s a difficulty,” Penhallow said. “We expected Thrane to attack the allied Elders. So far, he’s used proxies to do it, without putting himself at risk.”
“That’s not surprising, given that it’s Thrane, but it does make our job harder,” the Wraith Lord replied.
“Do you have a plan?” Grimur asked.
“We’re working on it,” Penhallow replied. “There are… variables.”
“Best we figure out something soon,” the Wraith Lord warned. “Too many mortals are disappearing—presumably to provide food for Reese to recover—and we’ll be facing a mob with torches if we don’t bring an end to it quickly.”
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