Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga)

by Gail Z. Martin

  The ship lurched as the sails dropped and filled. Connor saw the lines fall away, freeing the Prowess for her journey. His stomach felt a sick tightness that had nothing to do with the sea. As the ship sailed into the bay, Connor had a better view of the coastline. As far as the eye could see, smoke hung heavy over the land. Everywhere he looked he saw buildings that had been destroyed in the firestorm, and in many sections of the city, the fires still burned, fed by the tinder of thatched roofs and dry wood.

  Those who stood at the portholes watched in silence. Connor saw the same stricken expression on their faces. Donderath was in ruins, defeated, its people forced into exile. And if Lynge’s guess was correct, the other major kingdoms of the Continent might fare no better.

  Perhaps now, whatever was causing the holes in my memory will stop, Connor thought. I can no longer betray Garnoc—or Penhallow. And if I can figure out what to do with the map and the disk, maybe I can redeem myself. His fear of being found out had tempered to lingering sadness that he might, in the end, have let Garnoc down. Garnoc never suspected, but I knew, and I didn’t have the courage to tell him. What if, somehow, I was compromised by the enemy? Sweet Esthrane, what if they learned something through me that led to all this?

  His thoughts had gone around and around since the firestorm, ending only when he was too exhausted to think at all. If I unwittingly had a hand in this, then I’ve borne a price. I’m an exile, I’ve got no money, no patron, nothing but the clothes on my back. I just wish I knew who was behind the gaps, and what damage I’ve done.

  Once under sail, the Prowess cut through the sea at a brisk pace. Soon the coastline was just a fuzzy image on the horizon. Engraham’s eyes narrowed.

  “It doesn’t appear that the good captain is setting out to sea,” he said quietly. “We’ve put some distance between us and the shore—enough to avoid the shoals—but we’re maintaining our course instead of veering away.”

  It was just after dawn and Connor realized how exhausted he was after the events of the night before. He sank down against the hull, fighting for enough space in the crowded hold to stretch out his legs, though he remained seated. His fellow passengers had grown quiet. All in all, he thought, there had been few hysterics aside from the angry mob on the dock. He looked around at the faces and guessed that he had not been the only one to go without sleep. His fellow passengers, no, refugees, looked exhausted.

  How in Torven’s name did this happen? Donderath wasn’t supposed to lose the war. We certainly weren’t supposed to end up like this. Connor sighed. If it never crossed my mind we could lose, I wonder if King Merrill and the War Council seriously thought about it either?

  Engraham slid down beside him. “Do you think it’s like this everywhere in Donderath?”

  “Lynge—the seneschal—thought so. He was getting reports when I left that the flames hit the manor houses before they hit the city. The heir to the throne is dead.”

  Engraham’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? Then there’s no hope for Donderath. Meroven won.”

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least, Lynge believed differently.” He glanced around to make sure that no one was listening and quietly recounted what Lynge had told him. Engraham’s expression grew grave.

  “So if Lynge is right and our mages did to Meroven what their mages did to Donderath, then the four Ascendant Kingdoms may be in ruins?”

  Connor nodded. “It’ll take months to confirm. Time for riders to reach the other kingdoms, see what remains, and report. But without the king or the heir, what’s to become of the people who are left? And if our mages succeeded in killing Edgar and the Vellanaj king, then there’s naught but chaos.”

  Engraham sighed. “Let’s hope that the Lesser Kingdoms managed to stay out of the line of fire. They didn’t take sides in the war, so there’s no reason for them to be targeted.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Three days later, Connor felt the ship’s motion slow. He poked Engraham to rouse him from his sleep. “Wake up. I think we’re getting close.”

  The hold was dark except for the moonlight that streamed through the small portholes. Engraham and Connor got to their feet and picked their way across the tangle of sleeping bodies to reach the hull. Connor looked out across the moonlit water. He could make out the silhouettes of the buildings, but the town was dark.

  “No lights,” he muttered.

  Engraham shrugged. “Would you expect many? It’s not quite dawn. Even most of the taverns are closed by now.”

  Connor stared at the quiet harbor town. “Maybe. I don’t like it.”

  Resigned to wait until daylight, they went back to sleep. It seemed to Connor that he had barely dozed off before excited voices roused him.

  “Can’t see anyone on the streets.”

  “The boats are all gone.”

  “Look—everything’s burned.”

  Fearing the worst, Connor woke Engraham and made their way to the portholes. His heart sank as he looked out. The harbor town looked deserted. Empty docks jutted out into the bay, littered with bits of wood and debris. Much of the town had burned. Roofless, windowless buildings stared back at them like skulls.

  Engraham turned, leaned his back against the hull, and covered his face with his hands. “It’s true, then, what your friend Lynge feared.”

  Connor felt cold dread rising inside him. “We can’t know for certain. All we can see is the coast. Surely neither side’s mages were strong enough to destroy everything.”

  “But we don’t know that,” Engraham argued. “There might be nowhere left to run.”

  Connor said nothing, unsure of any reply. It was the first time since they had set sail from Castle Reach that he had broken through the shock and exhaustion to wonder about the magic itself, instead of its immediate effects. “I’m sure we can exist without magic,” he faltered.

  Engraham raised his head to look at him. “Can we? Who’ll heal the sick?”

  “Even healers use powders and potions. My grandmother could treat a fever with her poultices and she didn’t have a wink of magic.”

  “Ships use mages to navigate,” Engraham countered.

  “Obviously they have other ways as well, or we wouldn’t have left the harbor.”

  “Mages set wards to keep back floods, to make the crops grow, to bring the rains.”

  “Crops grow and rains come without magic,” Conner replied. “Walls can be built to hold back floods. What we did with magic we can do without, if we have to.”

  “For how long? How long do you think it will take for people to get restless? Even the poor could scrape together the coins for a hedge witch or a granny conjurer to do magic on their behalf. The merchants and nobles relied on their mages even more.”

  Connor felt a headache start behind his eyes. “They can get as restless as they like, but if magic is gone, they’ll have to learn to deal with it.”

  “You’re a practical man, Connor. I’ve always liked that about you. But I’m afraid a change like that won’t come easily for most people. Seawalls will break. Crops will fail. People will die.”

  Connor sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, Engraham had a point. For those who had survived the war, the future would be harsh until magic returned. If it ever did.

  Connor felt the ship lurch. “We’re picking up speed. Captain Olaf must have decided against putting in to port.”

  “What’s the point? If the people who lived there are gone, odds are they’ve looted everything they could carry. After all, that’s what the good captain’s men were out doing right before we left.”

  “Where now?”

  Engraham stared out the porthole. “Down the coast a bit farther, I’d guess, just in case things are better in the south. But Olaf won’t dare waste much time or go too far out of his way. We’ve got too many people on board and no spare provisions, I’d wager. I’d lay my bets that within a day he’ll head northeast, toward the Far Shores.”

  “Then let’s hope we find a
warm welcome when we get there,” Connor muttered. “The Cross-Sea Kingdoms weren’t interested enough in the war to take sides.”

  “You think not?” Engraham chuckled. “I’d bet they were very interested. After all, they trade with every kingdom on the Continent. Wars are bad for business. They don’t give a rat’s ass about the politics; that much is true. I’m guessing they were hoping that it would boil down to a few skirmishes and insults followed by a return to business as usual. This—” he said with a vague wave to indicate the destruction of the Continent’s kingdoms, “will upset the balance. It’ll change everything—everything that determines who has power and who doesn’t.” He met Connor’s gaze. “We could get to the Far Shores just in time for another war to break out.”

  “In that case,” Connor said with a yawn, “I’d best get as much sleep as I can.”

  True to Engraham’s prediction, Captain Olaf changed the Prowess’s course during the night, and by the stars, Connor could tell that they were heading north once more. The winds were favorable, and it seemed the captain was in a hurry, because the Prowess cut through the sea, moving at full speed.

  In the hold, the refugees had sorted themselves out into small groups. Some had arrived together, while others had found common cause aboard ship. Men played cards and rolled dice, wagering whatever coins or trinkets they had carried aboard. Most of the women clustered together in one corner. Whether they had arrived alone or with one of the men, during the day the women left the men to their gaming and talked in quiet voices, sang, or prayed. A few had brought needlework or knitting with them, and they worked in the dim light of the hold, listening to the chatter around them.

  One woman sat apart in the center of the hold. Crowded as it was, she had a circle of empty space around her, as if her fellow passengers did not wish to get too close. Her clothing looked to have once been of fine materials, velvet and brocade, but now her finery was stained and torn. Connor recognized her as Benna, one of the many fortune-tellers who roved the wharf taverns. Unlike Alsibeth, whose clients numbered among Donderath’s wealthy and powerful, Benna and her ilk made their living interpreting the dreams and tea leaves of the fishermen, dockworkers, and day laborers who hung about the wharves or sailed in and out of the harbor.

  If the magic is gone, what happens to people like Benna? Connor wondered. Assuming she isn’t a fraud, how does it feel for the magic to disappear? Is it like a song you can’t get out of your mind that’s suddenly gone? He watched Benna closely. Everyone around her appeared to be trying to ignore the woman’s existence. Benna seemed equally oblivious to those around her. She laid down cards in the manner of fortune-tellers, three rows for Charrot, Torven, and Esthrane, and their lesser gods. One row foretold illusion, darkness, and danger, the province of Torven. Another row spoke to the effects of Charrot’s dual nature, of reversals of fortune, change, and unanticipated rewards. The third row gave voice to Esthrane’s dominion over love and family, birth and rebirth, and material bounty.

  Benna mumbled to herself and reshuffled the cards. Though she patiently set the cards out over and over again, the meaning she sought appeared to elude her.

  While Connor had made no effort to meet his fellow passengers, Engraham worked his way around the hold. Connor suppressed a smile watching his friend in action. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, Engraham had made his way on a combination of charm, ambition, and intelligence. He usually kept the latter two well hidden behind the first, but he and Connor had stayed up past closing on far too many nights for Connor to be fooled. Engraham was a survivor, and now, under pressure and in a strange place, all the skills that had served him well in his past came to the fore once again.

  And what about me? Connor wondered. I can navigate the below-stairs politics at court. Hardly a useful talent without a court. Thank the gods I came from the poorer nobility; at least I’ve split wood and mucked out the stables. Maybe that’ll be good for a coin or two wherever we’re going.

  After a while, Engraham made his way back to his spot by Connor.

  “Greet everyone in the hold, did you?” Connor joked.

  Engraham grinned. “Everyone who was awake.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “Besides the fact that I overpaid for our fare?”

  Connor grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

  Engraham’s smile faded. “For one thing, I learned that Captain Olaf and his fellow ship captains held off taking passengers by a full day beyond when the small ships loaded.”

  “Oh?”

  Engraham nodded sagely. “Smart move—and ballsy. They were taking a big risk staying in port. I’m betting that they figured the small ships would take the refugees who couldn’t have afforded to pay much for passage. Might have also figured they’d let the small ships head out of the harbor first and see if they ran into any trouble.”

  “What else?”

  “According to Dorin over there,” Engraham said with a nod toward a man with short-cropped gray hair who was dozing against the bulkhead, “we’re barely out of sight of the coast. Dorin says he’s done a bit of navigating himself and he can tell where we are by the stars. The captain’s being very cautious about heading out into open waters.”

  Connor frowned. “Why?”

  “Dorin did a lot of trade with the Far Shores. Owned a number of warehouses down along the wharves. He says that the last ships that came in from the Cross-Sea Kingdoms were in a big hurry to unload and leave. They were afraid Donderath was going to be blockaded.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?”

  Engraham shrugged. “If we’d been fighting Meroven alone, I wouldn’t give it much thought. Meroven never invested a lot in its navy—it’s always put its stock in soldiers. But Meroven allied with Vellanaj, and Vellanaj’s navy is formidable.”

  “Do you think a blockade would still be in effect after all that happened?”

  Engraham let out a long breath. “Who knows? It could take weeks for a ship to reach them with new orders.”

  It occurred to Connor that while much had been made of getting aboard the ship, little had been said in the chaos of the moment about necessities such as food and water.

  “Think they took on enough provisions to feed all of us for a long voyage?”

  “Actually, that’s one reason I wanted to be aboard Olaf’s ship,” Engraham replied. “He’s an honest man. Some of the captains would be the type to take passengers aboard without provisions and let ’em starve. After all, once the ship leaves port, who are they going to complain to?”

  Connor shivered.

  Engraham grinned wolfishly. “We know they’ve got ale a-plenty on board. I asked around to see what kinds of provisions the Prowess had taken on. Got the right answers, too. Barrels of water and grog, salted fish, hard biscuits, dried beef—enough for a long journey.” He paused. “Olaf’s used to transporting convicts all the way to Velant. He knows how many people fit in this hold and how much food it takes to make sure they’re alive on the other end.”

  “Well, at least we won’t starve, or die of thirst.”

  Engraham shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on a full belly, but staying a little hungry’s probably best at sea. Less to retch up when the waves are high. You might lose a few pounds, but I think we can trust Olaf to do right by us.”

  Just then the ship pitched, sending anyone standing in the hold tumbling and flailing. Connor grabbed at one of the hammocks to slow his slide, and Engraham managed to wrap his arms around a support beam to avoid plowing into the mass of cursing passengers who found themselves tossed hard against the hull.

  Connor dragged himself to his feet and braced to be able to see out of the porthole. Two large military ships were close enough to the port side of the Prowess that Connor could make out the number of sailors on their decks. Water splashed high into the air as heavy iron balls soared toward the Prowess, propelled from catapults on the attacking ships. “We’re being fired on!”

  The ship leveled
out, spilling the passengers across the decking. Above them, Connor could hear shouts and pounding footsteps. Engraham fought his way through the tangle to look out the porthole.

  “Those are Vellanaj ships,” he said grimly. “We’re blockaded.”

  Connor pushed in next to him. Flaming arrows were arcing from the attacking warships, falling short of the Prowess and disappearing into the water. “If those arrows catch the sails afire—”

  Engraham frowned. “If they’d meant to burn us or board us, they’d have done so by now. They know we’re a cargo ship. They’re not interested in sinking us; they just want to make sure we don’t cross the blockade.”

  The hold buzzed as passengers talked nervously, clustered in groups of two and three. So many people pushed to see out the small portholes that Connor feared he might be crushed against the hull of the ship.

  The Prowess turned hard once more, but this time, the refugees were faster to brace themselves. People clung to the rope hammocks or wrapped their arms around the support beams to avoid landing in a heap. Connor fought to maintain his view from the porthole.

  “They’re not pursuing us,” he reported.

  Engraham nodded. “I’m guessing the Vellanaj ships were ordered to hold their line. They’re not looking for a fight; they just want to make sure that no ships get in or out toward the Far Shores.”

  “We’re changing course,” Dorin, the trader, shouted.

  “Can you tell where we’re headed?”

  Dorin frowned. “It’s daytime—I can’t see the stars. But from the sun, I’d reckon we’re headed north.”

  “But there’s nothing north of the Continent,” one of the passengers protested.

  Dorin returned a mirthless grin. “Sure there is. Captain Olaf makes this run all the time. We’re headed for Edgeland.”