War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Who called us?” The speaker was a tall figure with a deep-red satin mask and a large ruby pendant.

  “I did,” the Wraith Lord said. “Pentreath Reese has waged war against me and against Lanyon Penhallow. For that, I demand he be punished. I have brought Penhallow as witness.”

  “Lord Vandholt—you have brought a mortal among us.” The speaker was a smaller figure with a saffron-colored mask and pendant. Connor wondered if the speaker were female.

  “Penhallow’s servant serves as my host when needed,” the Wraith Lord answered. “It is my right.”

  The Wraith Lord had not bothered to ask either Connor or Penhallow to leave behind their weapons, but Connor found that he took little comfort in the sword at his hip. Given the speed with which these oldest talishte moved, Connor knew that he could not hope to even draw his blade before they would be on him unless the Wraith Lord possessed him.

  “You are not unknown to us, Lanyon Penhallow.” Sapphire-mask said. “Some might say you have a troubling history of inserting yourself into the affairs of mortals.”

  If the comment ruffled Penhallow, he did not show it. “I have found it advantageous, not only for my own part but also for the defense of the talishte as a whole, to maintain ties to influential mortals,” Penhallow replied. “A word or two in the right ear at court, a small payment here or there, and many problems are solved before they ever begin.”

  “Yet you don’t make the same investment into the dealings of your own kind. How interesting.” The onyx-masked figure’s voice was neutral, but there was an edge of implied threat that made the hair on the back of Connor’s neck prickle.

  Penhallow shrugged. “I’m not interested in politics. I’ve found, over the centuries, that the things that pose a threat to me also threaten the survival of our kind.”

  “What is this threat that is so great, you risk yourself to summon us?” Emerald turned to face Penhallow.

  “It is against the law of the Elders for a talishte to make an unprovoked attack on another talishte,” Penhallow said. “Yet Reese attacked me and my brood in my crypt, burned the safe haven, and destroyed many of my get.”

  “He sent armed men into my territory to attack me and my guests,” the Wraith Lord added, “and allied with Vedran Pollard to wage war against Penhallow and myself at Valshoa.”

  “Reese would have preferred magic to remain out of reach,” Onyx replied. “He hoped that by attacking you, he could stop Blaine McFadden from restoring the magic. He failed.”

  “What has this to do with us? We are talishte, not mages.” Saffron’s impatience was clear.

  “It has everything to do with us, my lords,” Penhallow said. “When magic functions, we benefit as much as any of the mortals for conveniences small and large. We use magical protections to guard our day places, and ward intruders away. When harvests are good and famine is rare, feeding is better.”

  Connor tried not to flinch at that last comment.

  “Magic is restored. Why trouble us?” Sapphire challenged. “We want nothing to do with your squabble.”

  “I came to ask your judgment on Reese,” the Wraith Lord replied. “Reese’s attacks against me and against Penhallow are a violation of our law. He has defied the Elders.”

  “We have only your word for these attacks,” Emerald answered. “It sounds like a personal squabble, hardly a matter for the Elders.”

  “Reese sent a team of assassins into my sanctuary,” Penhallow said. “Reese and Pollard sent an army to besiege the fortress of my associate, Traher Voss, with the express intent to capture me and my servant. Surely an army escalates this far beyond a ‘personal squabble.’ ”

  “What would you have us do? Give him the final death?” Ruby challenged. “Place you in protective custody?”

  The latter suggestion sounded far more like imprisonment than protection to Connor, who struggled to say nothing. I’m in way over my head, he thought. We’ll be lucky to make it out of here alive.

  “I petition the Elders for Reese’s final death,” the Wraith Lord said, looking from one Elder to the next as if to challenge a reply. “Punish him as he deserves.”

  “Is that all?” Saffron mocked. “You presume that your cause to bring back the magic puts you in the right, and that Reese is clearly wrong. I disagree. We are immortals. We do not require the convenience of magic. Magic enables the survival of the weak. Let hardship cull the herds, so that only the strongest blood survives.”

  “You romanticize misery,” Emerald replied. “Immortality doesn’t make privation less unpleasant. Hardship means that there’s less blood to go around. Soon our people are fighting among themselves for territory to have sufficient prey for them and their broods to survive.” He shook his head. “I do not want to see a return of those days.”

  “The last time the magic died, it took more than a generation to bring it back,” Sapphire said. “It was a struggle to feed ourselves and our broods,” he added. “I have no desire for that to happen again.”

  “This is not about magic. It is forbidden for a talishte to strike against an Elder, yet Reese has sent his men against me. I claim my right as Elder to bring charges against him,” the Wraith Lord said. “I call for your judgment.”

  “Shall we hear the defendant’s side?” Emerald interrupted. “Since we took Lord Reese prisoner at the Wraith Lord’s behest?”

  Three talishte guards brought Pentreath Reese from the shadows outside the stone circle. Reese’s wrists were bound. Despite the rapid rate at which talishte healed, Reese still showed evidence of the damage done in the Battle of Valshoa. Even after several months of healing, Reese’s skin was puckered and discolored from the fire that had nearly destroyed him. One side of his face was nearly burned away, along with most of his right ear. His hair had grown back in patches here and there in the scar tissue. Reese walked with a new limp, and held one arm as if it were painful to move.

  He’s had several months to heal, and he’s talishte, Connor thought. If he looks this bad now, I’m glad I didn’t see what he looked like right after the battle.

  “Elders. I appeal to you,” Reese said. He shot a glare in the direction of Penhallow and the Wraith Lord. “I’ve done nothing that warrants this imposition on your time.” His body might have tested the limits of endurance, but it was obvious that hardship had not dimmed his will.

  “Speak your case,” Emerald said.

  Reese squared his shoulders. “Without magic, talishte would not be subservient to mortals. Magic enables mortals to amplify their strength. It upsets the natural order. I had no hand in the destruction of magic. But when that destruction came, I saw the opportunity for our kind to regain their rightful place in the order of things.”

  Reese looked from one masked face to another. “We are the top predator. And to the victor goes the spoils.” He looked toward Penhallow. “Yet Penhallow and the Wraith Lord would deny us our victory. They act against our kind, allying with mortals to give those mortals magic once more, magic they will use to hunt us and destroy us.”

  “Had we convened before the Battle of Valshoa, your plea would have had merit,” Sapphire-mask replied. “But magic has been restored. Your aggression toward mortals could bring retribution on all of us. You brought assassins against Lord Penhallow, and armed men against the Wraith Lord. How do you plead?”

  “My lords,” Reese said, spreading his hands in supplication. “What I did was out of desperation, in an attempt to protect all talishte. I identified a threat to the talishte, and I acted on it, with the intent to protect our kind,” Reese said, raising his head. “I will not apologize for that.”

  “And in the matter of allowing troops under your control to attack the Wraith Lord, one of the Elders?”

  Reese struck a conciliatory note. “My lords,” he said, “I had no way to verify that the Wraith Lord was in possession of his mortal servant. We suspected such claims were a ruse by Penhallow to force our troops to retreat.”

  “Then let us v
ote,” Saffron said. “End the conjecture.”

  The Wraith Lord turned to the assembly of Elders. “We have been convened here to determine whether or not the Elders shall levy punishment upon Pentreath Reese for attacks against Lanyon Penhallow and the Wraith Lord. How say you?”

  “I must remind the Elders that a vote of condemnation demands the final death,” Saffron said. “There is precedent, in times of extreme unrest, to show forbearance.” He paused. “I vote for punishment, but not death.”

  “I believe Pentreath Reese deserves the final death for his actions,” the Wraith Lord said, facing Reese. “Guilty. Death.”

  “This is nonsense.” Saffron replied. “Release Reese and end this farce.”

  “Punishment.” Ruby and Brown spoke at the same time.

  “I see a larger issue,” said Amber. “Our numbers are few. If we talishte are going to survive, we cannot pass final judgment on one another for matters that, in a century or two, will seem trivial. I vote for censure, with imprisonment, even torture, but not death.”

  “I see nothing wrong with Lord Reese’s actions.” Aubergine’s voice was sharp. “I vote to absolve Lord Reese of all charges.”

  “Death,” said Silver.

  “Death,” added Gold.

  “Death,” Gray voted.

  “Censure without death.” Jade sounded bored with the proceedings.

  “Death,” Onyx replied.

  “It appears we have a tie.” The Wraith Lord looked to Emerald. “How do you vote?”

  Emerald looked at Penhallow in silence for a moment. “I agree that Reese’s actions were… unwise. But these are unstable and dangerous times, and the old ways may need to be reexamined.” He paused. “In normal circumstances, the attacks would warrant death,” Emerald said, leveling a stern gaze at Reese, who had the good grace to look abashed.

  “Yet we do not live in normal circumstances,” the Elder continued. “Our numbers are few, and many of our kind were destroyed in the Great Fire. We cannot replenish those numbers quickly. For that reason alone I am loath to destroy one of our older talishte. It is with hesitation that I vote… censure with punishment but not death.” Emerald paused. “But should Reese repeat any of these crimes against the Elders, he shall receive final death without trial.”

  In less than the blink of an eye, Onyx withdrew a stake from the folds of his cloak and drove it into Reese’s heart. Reese’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but he made no sound as he crumpled to the ground.

  “Lord Reese—you are under censure by the Elders for attacks on Penhallow and Kierken Vandholt,” Onyx said. “Such actions, if repeated, will result in the final death. The Elders have spoken.”

  “Let him have the punishment given to Hemming Lorens,” Onyx ordered. “Let him be bound with rope made from rowan-wood fibers. Let masterwort be burned and the ashes sprinkled on his skin and all around him. Make a tincture of moonflower and allow it to seep into his clothing and bonds. And when he is immobilized, place him in the oubliette beneath my manor. For his crimes, he shall starve there for fifty years. This is the word of the Elders.”

  As quickly as they had assembled, the Elders vanished and took Reese with them, leaving the Wraith Lord, Penhallow, and Connor standing inside the stone circle.

  “Will the black-masked Elder carry out the sentence?” Connor asked, still shaking.

  Vandholt nodded. “Onyx is trustworthy,” he replied. “Imprisoning Reese at his own manor makes me more certain the punishment will be carried out.”

  “You’re immortal, ancient, and powerful. Why bother with the masks?” Connor’s fear made him impudent.

  “Because we are not indestructible,” Vandholt replied. “Even I can be destroyed.” He paused. “We Elders rule on the affairs of the talishte, beings who, after many centuries of existence, often believe themselves beholden to no one. Those whom we rule against have supporters who may take vengeance in the name of their master.”

  “So the Elders are afraid?” Connor asked incredulously. He realized what he said aloud and blanched, aware of the company he kept. “I’m sorry—it’s just that it’s difficult to think of beings like the Elders feeling fear, with all their power.”

  Penhallow met his gaze. “The night of the Great Fire, do you believe King Merrill was afraid? And the other lords of the realm, did they feel fear?”

  Connor felt his face redden. “Of course. They were men. Powerful, but still men.”

  “And so are we,” the Wraith Lord said. “Men… and a few women… who have great power, yet we have no real desire to go to the Sea of Souls while existence is still within our grasp.”

  “I’m sorry,” Connor said. “I spoke rashly.”

  “You spoke honestly,” the Wraith Lord replied. “Yet it is good for you to remember the discretion you learned at court. Not many among our kind will answer you as candidly—or without offense taken—as Lanyon and I.”

  “Setting Connor’s question aside,” Penhallow said, “what repercussions do you foresee?”

  Kierken Vandholt turned to face Penhallow. “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps war. We’ll see what kind of loyalty Pentreath Reese commands from his followers—and his master.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  THANKS FOR MEETING US.” VERRAN DANNING stood in the shadow of a large oak. Borya and Desya were just a pace behind him, bodyguards as well as companions in espionage.

  “I don’t know why I’ve got to freeze my nuts off in the woods,” Niklas muttered.

  “Because it won’t do for people to see you with us if you want us to be your spies, now will it?” Verran asked.

  “What have you got for me?” Niklas asked.

  “Lysander is definitely moving his forces for an attack,” Borya said, his Flatlands accent clear in his voice. “From everything we’ve seen, I’d place my money on a strike against Glenreith or maybe one of the northern warlords, such as Verner or the Solveigs.”

  “He’s recruiting—maybe a better word is ‘conscripting’—soldiers from the pubs and taverns,” Verran added. “More than once we’ve seen Lysander’s men come into a pub, strike up a conversation with a young, able-bodied fellow, and then they leave together—and the young man isn’t seen again.”

  Desya leaned closer. “And that’s not all. Not long after Lysander’s army comes through, several robed ‘priests’ of Torven show up, and get the townsfolk and farmers all stirred up. Next thing you know, most of the layabouts who didn’t have aught to do follow them off to petition the gods, or some such nonsense.” He pushed an errant lock of black hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Don’t think it leaves much doubt that Lysander is also recruiting the Tingur.”

  Nearly two months had passed since Verran, Desya, and Borya had proposed their daring scheme and won grudging approval from Blaine and Niklas. Verran Danning, master thief and sometime musician, was one of Blaine’s comrades from Velant. He was the first to admit that combat wasn’t his strong point, but stealing—either provisions or information—was. Borya and Desya were brothers, cousins to Zaryae and onetime acrobats in a traveling group of performers that had helped Blaine on his quest to restore the magic. They had proposed creating a new caravan of erstwhile minstrels and performers to travel among the farms and towns, eyes and ears for Blaine and Niklas.

  “Admit it, Niklas,” Verran said with a grin. “Our little ruse is paying off.” Verran was slightly built, with dirty-blond hair that stuck out at angles like a scarecrow, and pale-blue eyes that were alight with relish for the game.

  “You’re enjoying this far too much,” Niklas grumbled. “If you get caught, you’ll see that it’s not a lark.”

  “Oh, we’re quite well aware of that,” Borya replied, his expression growing serious. The twins’ eyes had the unnerving yellow irises of a cat, an unfortunate effect of being caught in the wild-magic storms. “We’ve dealt with our share of brigands on the road.”

  He smirked, and let his hand fall to the grip of the long knife in a s
heath on his belt. “We consider ridding Donderath of those blackguards to be a bonus. We take care of ourselves.”

  Even if Verran was not much of a fighter, Borya and Desya were experienced with swords. Geir had assigned several talishte fighters who were also musicians to accompany the spies, and Niklas had likewise found soldiers who could pass for performers for additional backup. The arrangement had paid off handsomely with valuable information.

  “What else?” Niklas asked, rubbing his gloved hands up and down his arms over his cloak to warm himself.

  Verran and the others exchanged a wary glance. Niklas caught the look, and frowned. “What?”

  “It’s Carr,” Verran said. “That bloke’s going to get himself killed. He steers clear of us, but we’ve caught sight of him one place and another, always where he’s got no business being.”

  “Like where?”

  “In one town, he showed up to one of the gatherings where Lysander’s ‘priests’ were calling for the faithful to take up arms,” Borya said. “Kept to the back, faded away before they left, but I thought I saw him shadowing them afterward.”

  Niklas swore under his breath. “Anything else?”

  Desya nodded. “Aye. Turned up in a wayside tavern a few weeks ago, playing the sot.” At Niklas’s raised eyebrow, he shook his head. “Oh, he wasn’t really drunk. Guess he wanted people to think so to get them to talk in front of him.” He grimaced. “Worked a little too well. A couple of men tried to relieve him of his coins.”

  “Almost relieved him of his life with the thrashing he took,” Verran added, “but he fought his way out without needing our help.” He shook his head worriedly. “Damn fool. Is he trying to impress Mick, or spite him?”

  Niklas sighed. “I don’t know. He wasn’t this reckless as a soldier. Maybe it’s from his bout with the Madness, or maybe it’s in his blood—Ian was known for his temper.” Or maybe he still has a touch of the Madness, Niklas thought to himself, recalling how it had affected Carr. Few who had been struck had survived, and most who lived through it did not escape undamaged. Fortunately, now that the magic had been anchored again, the outbreaks had all but ceased.