War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga
Page 7
Blaine looked to Niklas. “Right now, I feel like I ‘need’ to be in at least three places at once,” he said. “Can you spare the soldiers for Kestel and me to ride into Castle Reach?”
Niklas nodded. “If you’re going to be lord of your land, not to mention a warlord, your people need to see you in the forefront. Makes them less likely to follow an upstart who wants to make trouble.”
“I’ll work with Niklas, Mick, if it takes a load off your mind,” Piran said.
“It might lessen Mick’s worry, but what about Niklas?” Kestel jibed.
Piran ignored her. “Don’t forget—we’ve got Geir and the other talishte soldiers, who can make a big difference in getting the castle secured—hopefully before the next big storm.”
Kestel turned away from the window. “Dagur said there’s another storm coming. The question is—can the mages predict when?” She shook her head. “I’m sure the mages King Merrill used to control the weather never realized that they’d cause an even bigger problem. Lucky us; we get to live with it.”
“All the more reason for Blaine to meet with Folville and deliver the warning. Our soldiers can help batten down the city and get people to safety,” Niklas said.
Blaine grimaced. “I’m still getting used to this whole ‘lord’ thing. I really and truly thought I had given that up.”
“You’re still getting used to it,” Piran replied. “Some of us didn’t even know you were a lord for how many years, Mick?”
Kestel rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let him live that down, are you?”
Piran grinned. “Nope.”
Blaine took a sip of his whiskey. “I’m worried about the storms. They could destroy what’s left of the wharves and wipe out a lot of what’s been rebuilt.”
“What about talishte? Can they lend a hand?” Kestel asked.
Niklas nodded. “I don’t have a lot of talishte soldiers, but I’ve reassigned some of Geir’s men to split their time between rebuilding here at the castle and in the city.” Geir was a talishte on loan to Blaine’s service from Lanyon Penhallow, who had decided he had an interest in seeing Blaine secure his position.
“We can’t possibly evacuate Castle Reach,” Blaine said. “There are too many people.”
Kestel met his gaze. “No, but we can warn them.”
“I’m going to send Captain Hemmington with you,” Niklas said. “He’s the one who brokered the arrangement with Folville, so he’s known to them. He’s from Castle Reach, spent some time in the city gangs himself, then joined the army before the war. They respect him.”
“That helps,” Blaine said.
Niklas grinned. “It won’t hurt that you’re bringing one of Donderath’s most notorious assassins with you,” he said with a nod toward Kestel.
Kestel grinned. “Reputation is everything in the assassin business,” she said, feigning boredom.
Somewhere nearby, mages were drawing on the meridians. Blaine could feel it, and it added to his fatigue. If he shut his eyes, he could sense bright spots in the darkness, places he knew magic was being worked.
It must have shown in his face, because Kestel gave him a worried look. “It’s the magic again, isn’t it?” she asked.
Blaine tossed back the rest of his whiskey and nodded.
“I don’t get it, Mick,” Piran said. “You only ever had a bit of battle magic. If you’re this connected to the magic, why didn’t it make you a mage?” Piran and the others from Velant still called Blaine ‘Mick,’ the name he had taken in prison, when Glenreith and his former life seemed lost forever.
Kestel moved away from the window to stand closer to Blaine. “We don’t know for certain what toll harnessing the magic took from the last group who did the working,” she said. “But the scrolls said the original Lords of the Blood came away from Mirdalur with new abilities. And yet they weren’t all mages, either. King Merrill certainly wasn’t a mage, or Blaine’s father, or any of the former Lords of the Blood, come to think of it, except for the Wraith Lord,” Kestel said. “Maybe whatever the new abilities are, it’s something that will show up over time,” Kestel mused.
“Perhaps,” Blaine said, unwilling to discuss the subject more, at least for now. “But right now, Folville is our focus. We’ll leave for the city tomorrow, as soon as you get the horses ready to travel,” Blaine said.
“If the mages are right and we still have a day or more before the storm hits, it’s long enough to make a difference.” He fell quiet for a moment.
Kestel looked at him and frowned. “You’ve got something else on your mind.”
Blaine sighed and nodded. “I know I need to be here, but I feel like I should be at Glenreith. They’re likely to be hit by the storm, too.”
“Dawe’s taking care of it,” Kestel assured him. “Trust your friends, Mick. We have your back.”
The guards at the gate waved their party through as Blaine and the others headed for Castle Reach. Captain Hemmington was a sober-looking man in his late twenties with short-cropped dark hair and a wary expression. Blaine thought that Hemmington looked like someone who had seen real action and would never sleep well again.
The main road into Castle Reach had once been bordered by the villas of the minor nobility in the section just outside Quillarth Castle. A little closer toward the city were the homes of prosperous merchants and sea captains, with more modest homes at the base of the hill. On most days before the Great Fire, the road had been busy with peddlers and travelers, carts full of provisions headed to market to sell or coming from market loaded with purchases, and people on foot or horseback going about their business.
Now the road was empty. Many of the once-grand homes had been burned in the Great Fire, and those that remained standing bore soot-scars and broken windows. Looters sacked any of the villas and homes that had not burned.
“A copper for your thoughts,” Kestel said.
He sighed. “It’s hard to take this route and not remember being herded down here in chains for the ship to Velant,” he said. He looked to the side to meet her gaze. “Do you think about Edgeland much, since we’re back?”
Kestel gave a wan smile and nodded. “All the time. I wonder how Engraham and his mother are doing, and whether Ifrem is still running the pub. And I hope that with magic restored, they have what they need to get by.” She sighed. “I miss the people—but not the weather!”
Blaine chuckled. “No, not the weather. I hope that leaving was the right thing to do.”
Kestel looked at him askance. “You really question that? You brought back the magic.”
Blaine had returned his gaze to the road ahead of them. “And what has that done? Donderath is as much at war as it ever was, only now it’s between warlords carving up what’s left for themselves.”
“It’s only been a few months since the magic was restored,” Kestel reminded him. “Even the weather is still adjusting. And don’t forget,” she pointed out, “when the magic came back, so did healing and all the other little magics that made life a lot more bearable. Especially in Edgeland.”
Blaine sighed. “I know. And I try to convince myself of that. But it’s more difficult some days than others.”
Near the edge of what had been the merchant district in Castle Reach they were met by a small contingent of soldiers. Captain Hemmington moved ahead to greet them, and spoke quietly with the head of the city guard.
“Lord McFadden, welcome to Castle Reach,” a man said, stepping up to welcome them. “I’m Captain Larson.” Larson was a plain-looking man in his early thirties, with a head of thinning, yellow-blond hair and light-blue eyes.
“I’m afraid we bear bad news,” Blaine replied. “Big storms are headed this way. We’ve come to warn you, and prepare the city.”
Larson met his gaze. “Do we know when they’ll hit or how damaging they’ll be?”
Blaine shook his head. “The seers said it would be soon, likely a day or so. The storms will be strong. Flooding and damage could be
bad.”
Larson sighed. “Then let’s get started warning people and see how many will go to high ground.” He spoke to two soldiers and sent them ahead to gather the rest of the garrison. The two men ran off, leaving the others to follow at a more dignified pace.
They made their way through the twisting cobblestone streets. At a high point in the road, it was possible to look across most of the city of Castle Reach. Blaine stopped for a moment, taking in the sweeping vista. Two soldiers rode toward them and stopped, making a crisp salute.
“Is it arranged?” Larson asked.
The lead soldier nodded. “The garrison will meet you in the city square. And Captain Hemmington’s man has gotten word to William Folville that his lord desires a meeting.”
A few moments later, they were in the plaza that was at the heart of Castle Reach. Hougen Square had once been the center of daily life for residents of Castle Reach. On three sides of the square sat the temples to Charrot, Esthrane, and Torven. The square itself was made of paving stones set in a mosaic pattern with a large fountain in the center from which city dwellers drew their water.
Before the Cataclysm, the temples had been imposing structures. Seekers traveled across Donderath to make their gifts and plead for favors from the High God and his consorts. On the fourth side of the square was the Tariff House, the king’s authority over all the ships in port. It had been a majestic building with soaring pillars and larger-than-life statues.
Now the once-white temples showed black streaks of soot where the green ribbon of fire from the sky had touched them. The roof of Charrot’s temple was missing, and several of the columns had crumbled. Esthrane’s temple had lost a wall, leaving the inner court exposed. Only the front façade remained of the temple to Torven. In the center of the square, the fountain still functioned, but the stone tile around it was cracked and scorched. Across the way, the Tariff House had received a direct hit from the Great Fire, destroying half of the building and badly damaging the remaining part of the large structure.
“There’s a lot of activity around Torven’s temple,” Kestel noted, nudging Blaine, who turned to look. A crowd of several dozen robed men and women were bringing a steady stream of offerings to place in front of Torven’s statue, and across the open square, Blaine could hear their chants and songs. “Are they Tingur?”
“How do we tell the Tingur from regular worshippers?” Kestel asked quietly.
Blaine watched the crowd, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. We’ll have to be careful.”
The garrison of soldiers Niklas had assigned to help keep peace waited in the plaza. Blaine swung down from his horse to regroup with Captain Larson. Kestel joined him a moment later.
“Where would you like us to begin?” Larson asked.
Blaine grimaced. “I’m going to need help from you and your men to warn the residents and get as many people as possible to higher ground, someplace they can shelter themselves from wind and water.” He paused. “We’ve brought soldiers with us who can lend a hand.”
Larson let out a long breath. “And you said the storms are coming soon? Even with help that’s not an easy order, m’lord. A lot of the buildings that survived the Cataclysm are in poor shape. Most buildings in the lower third of the city nearest where the wharves were have been damaged so badly that the upper floors aren’t habitable. The tunnels still exist below the city, but they’re likely to fill up with water.”
“That’s why we’re relying on you and your men, Captain,” Blaine said. “General Theilsson will send what men he can spare, but he’s going to be stretched thin. Is there anyplace people can take refuge?”
Larson thought for a moment, turning to look over the city’s roofs. Finally, he nodded.
“The northeast side of the city didn’t get hit as hard as the section near the wharves or just below the castle,” he replied. “There are buildings out that way that might be safe on the upper levels, and some large barns and warehouses where we might get people to shelter.”
He shook his head. “There’s no way, m’lord, that we can get all the people in this city to shelter there.”
“Then save the ones you can,” Kestel urged. The wind gusted through the square, swirling leaves around the fountain and raising dust clouds in the corners.
Larson nodded. “Aye, m’lady.” He chewed his lip as he thought, then turned to his men.
“Gorett, Taben—start moving food and blankets to the barns on the northeast side. There’s a storm coming.”
Larson turned to the other soldiers, who stood in ranks, awaiting orders. “Strong storms heading our way. Gonna be floods, heavy rain, maybe worse.” He paused. “I want teams of two spread out through the city. Shout a warning at every marketplace, every intersection, every square. Send the people up the hill to the granary barns on the far side of the city. No wagons, no carts—just what they can carry.”
Larson’s men hurried to carry out his orders. Larson cast a glance toward the sky. “How long did your mages say we had to prepare?”
Blaine followed his gaze. Clouds were rolling in, and the air had grown colder. The wind had picked up, and there was an undeniable bite in the air. “A day, if we’re lucky.”
Larson gave him a skeptical glance. “You sure about that, m’lord? The sky’s grown much darker just since this morning.”
Blaine felt a prickle of foreboding as he stared at the gray clouds. He had spent three years in Edgeland aboard the herring boats, and in the dangerous northern seas, being able to read the weather was the difference between making it back to shore alive and being lost at sea. And right now, if he had been aboard one of the herring boats, Blaine would have been ready to head for home.
He drew Larson over to the side, where they could speak without their voices carrying. “Tell me; how long have the Torven worshippers been gathering like that?”
Larson glanced over toward where the group began another chant and knelt in supplication. “They’ve been filing in now for a little over a week. We’re not sure what it means, or whether it’s just how some folks are dealing with everything that’s been going on.”
Blaine briefed Larson on what they knew about the Tingur. “Don’t assume they’re friendly.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Larson said, then rallied his men and headed out to begin evacuating the city.
“Lord McFadden.” One of the soldiers who had accompanied Blaine and Kestel approached. “We’ve made contact with William Folville of the… guild. You asked us to let you know,” the soldier said. Kestel barely hid a snicker at the polite term.
“And?”
“A meeting has been arranged a candlemark from now at the old Rooster and Pig. Folville said he was certain you would know where that was.”
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Kestel asked.
Blaine shrugged. “Right now, he’s got more to gain by working with us than against us. It’s an arrangement of necessity. He and his gang are the best of a bad lot. But we don’t have enough soldiers to enforce the law. Folville’s got enough of a following to be able to keep worse elements at bay.”
Kestel nodded. “Where will he stand, I wonder, if Lysander or one of the other warlords attacks?”
Blaine chuckled. “With his own interests. And I intend to make sure he sees that his interests are closely aligned with ours.”
It should have taken only half a candlemark to cross Castle Reach and get to the Rooster and Pig. But with the dock road under water and the other roadways still littered with fallen rocks and debris, nearly a full candlemark had passed before Blaine and his party reached the old shipyard where the remains of the tavern stood.
Kestel gave a sad smile. “The Rooster and Pig had the best bitterbeer in all of Donderath,” she sighed. “And the best illicit gambling parlor in Castle Reach.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Kestel chuckled. “You knew Engraham, the tavern’s owner, before he and Connor washed ashore in Edgeland?’
The group rounded a corner, and what remained of the Rooster and Pig came into view. “It looks a little better than the last time we were here,” Kestel observed.
Before the Great Fire, the Rooster and Pig had been a prosperous tavern. The front of the house drew city dwellers of all types, from the sailors who were in port with the merchant ships, to the dockhands on the wharves, to farmers in town to sell wares at market. In the back, the wastrel sons of the nobility gambled away their fortunes, cheered on by their courtesans and hangers-on.
The Rooster and Pig’s red roof had always been visible from halfway across the city, and its bright-blue shutters always made Blaine think of it as a garishly made-up strumpet. It was too loud, too crowded, too smoke-filled—and just right. Before the Cataclysm, Engraham held court at the bar, serving up drinks and platters of fresh fish with a never-ending supply of good conversation and wit.
“Sorry, but I never had the opportunity to be one of those debauched young noblemen,” Blaine replied. “I didn’t get into Castle Reach that often, and I truly came for the bitterbeer.”
Kestel chuckled. “Believe me when I tell you, the company in the back room was overrated.” She paused. “I wonder how Engraham is doing up in Edgeland?”
“If he’s selling bitterbeer, he’s probably a wealthy man by now,” Blaine replied, only partly in jest.
When Blaine and his friends arrived on the ship from Edgeland, they had come directly to the ruins of the Rooster and Pig. Engraham had given Connor directions to a small stash of weapons and valuables stored in one of the tunnels beneath the pub, and they had needed the supplies after their journey.
Then, the Rooster and Pig was a tumbledown heap of burned beams and scorched brick, its windows shattered, its roof a pile of wreckage. As Blaine and the others rode closer, it was obvious that someone had attempted to rebuild.