Blaine shook his head. “Just needed a little time to think about everything Connor and Engraham told us. By Charrot! I’d come to accept that we would never return to Donderath, but the idea that there’s no Donderath to go home to, now that’s going to take some time.”
Kestel nodded. “I think everyone’s struggling with that. I knew most of the people Connor mentioned, at least to see them at court. It’s hard to believe that so many are dead.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “You’re worried about your family, aren’t you?”
Blaine shrugged. “Sure. I mean, Glenreith was never a wealthy holding. My father didn’t have the kind of influence many of the peerage have—had. And the manor was far enough from Quillarth Castle that we were hardly in the thick of the social swirl. I can’t help hoping—”
“That maybe the Merovenians overlooked it?” Kestel supplied.
Blaine sighed. “Yeah. It was hardly a strategic target.”
“Unless you’re only looking to inspire terror. Knocking out a country’s leadership would have assured a lack of organized and well-armed defenders.”
“Except for the part where the magic goes horribly wrong and wipes out both sides.”
Kestel grimaced. “I don’t imagine either side seriously thought that was ever a possibility.”
Blaine leaned against one of the rough barn timbers. “Who would have dreamed that it might actually be lucky to be in Edgeland? If the war mages were strong enough to knock out magic all the way up here, I hate to think about the destruction back home.” He sighed. “I never dreamed I’d be a free man again, or that there’d be any price too high to pay for it.”
Kestel took his arm. “Come on. The fire’s warmed up the kitchen enough for me to put some wassail on the hearth, and once the water boils, I’ll get a soup going. There’s bread and cheese enough for dinner. And I don’t want to miss what Connor has to say.”
Blaine allowed Kestel to lead him back to the house. Inside, Connor, Piran, and Dawe were laughing heartily.
“What did we miss?” Kestel asked. Kestel’s whole manner was more animated than usual and her eyes were alight. She had pulled back her hair with a comb, a simple thing that drew attention to her high cheekbones and her green eyes. Blaine had the feeling Kestel knew just how to ply Connor for all the information they wanted.
Piran wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and Dawe slapped his thigh, still chuckling. “You have to understand, Kestel, we’ve not heard any new jokes in how many years?”
Verran gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve already asked if our guest knows any new songs he could share with us. Unfortunately, he says he’s got a tin ear for such things.”
Connor looked apologetic. “You might have more luck if you ask Engraham. He was surrounded by musicians at the Rooster and Pig. My existence at court was more administrative than social, I’m afraid. Lord Garnoc, my master, was up in years and a widower. He rose early and retired just after supper on most nights.”
Kestel nudged the cook pot closer to the fire and then drew up a stool. She gave Connor her warmest smile and laid a hand gently on his arm. “You have no idea how exciting even the tiniest scrap of news is when you’ve been gone as long as we have,” she said, meeting Connor’s gaze. “Please, tell us anything, everything.” She poured him a cup of wassail. “Your arrival is the most interesting thing that’s happened in ages.”
The poor fellow doesn’t stand a chance, Blaine thought, smothering a smile. He had little opportunity to see Kestel go to work on a “source” and it was clear that exile had not blunted her skills. Connor smiled self-consciously and took a sip of the wine.
“If you say so, m’lady,” he replied. He was silent for a moment, as if searching for a suitable story. “There was an incident with Lady Henereth’s chambermaid a few months ago that was quite the talk of the court.”
“Arabella Henereth?” Kestel asked, leaning forward. “We attended quite a few balls together. Please, spare no detail!”
Connor warmed to Kestel’s request, and as one story led to another, he proved that his memory had not been impaired by the arduous journey north. Blaine, who had paid little attention to gossip at court before his exile, found the stories more interesting than he had expected, especially when Connor mentioned people Blaine had all but forgotten from his old life. As Connor talked, Kestel bustled around the kitchen, readying vegetables for the pot. She sent Dawe out back to slaughter and pluck a chicken for the stew. Between tasks, she kept Connor’s cup liberally full of wassail. Before long, a delectable aroma filled the small house.
Connor fell silent for a moment, having answered all of Kestel’s many questions. Blaine leaned forward.
“Do you recall any news from Glenreith?” he asked, meeting Connor’s eyes. “Anything about Lady Judith Ainsworth, or perhaps Lady Carensa of Rhystorp?”
Connor thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, m’lord… I mean, Mick. Nothing comes to mind.”
Blaine sighed, and leaned back, looking away. “That’s all right,” he said quietly. “I had to ask.”
Kestel laid a hand on Blaine’s shoulder in passing as she came back to the group, and he knew she would have understood the urgency in his question, and his disappointment with the answer. She took her seat next to Connor, slightly flushed from the exertion of readying dinner. “You’re the best company we’ve had in ages,” she said to Connor with a smile.
“He’s the only company we’ve had in ages,” Verran grumbled good-naturedly.
“Don’t mind him,” Kestel said. “Verran doesn’t like to share the stage with anyone.” She leaned closer. “But what I’m dying to hear more about is your map.”
Connor paused to take another sip of wine. “That’s an interesting story,” he said, letting out a long breath. “It begins with a vampire.”
That announcement got even Piran’s attention. “Vampire?” Piran nearly choked on his wine.
Kestel looked thoughtful. “There were two vampire factions in Donderath: those belonging to Lanyon Penhallow, and those belonging to Pentreath Reese. Which ‘family’ was your source a part of?”
The relaxed mood of a moment before had shifted, and Blaine felt a new tension in the air. Connor looked as if he were considering his reply. Despite the offhanded way Kestel had asked the question, there was obviously some unspoken issue of great importance, one that only Kestel and Connor seemed to understand.
“I heard it from Lanyon Penhallow himself,” Connor replied.
Kestel looked skeptical. “How is it that you are so well acquainted with such a long-standing member of the peerage?”
“It can’t hurt anyone now to admit that my late master was a longtime conduit of information for Lord Penhallow, who found it personally difficult to attend court.”
Kestel nodded knowingly. “So Garnoc was Penhallow’s spy?”
Connor shrugged. “One of many, I’m sure. You know how it was.”
“Yes, I do,” Kestel replied with a hint of a smile. “I made Lord Penhallow’s acquaintance on a few occasions. He was… always a gentleman.”
“The night before the firestorm, Garnoc sent me to Penhallow to give a report on how the war was going. Penhallow gave me the obsidian disk you saw and told me it was important for me to find the map.”
“Why?” Blaine asked, leaning forward.
Connor met his gaze. “Lord Penhallow believed Edgar of Meroven intended to conquer the entire Continent, and planned to use his mages to do it. King Merrill didn’t like using mages and he avoided using magic as much as he could. Penhallow didn’t think Merrill was hearing the full truth from his generals, didn’t realize that Meroven was poised to make their final assault.
“Penhallow couldn’t go to the king directly, but he was trying to warn him. He was afraid that in a magic war, the places on the map where magic was strongest would be the hardest hit, and the null places would be safest for… refugees.” Connor’s voice dropped as he finished.
“So Penhallow expected the attack?” Dawe asked, his voice tinged with outrage.
“Feared it, is more accurate,” Connor replied. “Penhallow said he had witnessed such an attack long ago, in another place, and had survived only because he was already dead.” He stared at the fire as if replaying the conversation in his mind. “It’s rare to see emotion from one of the Elders,” he said quietly. “But Penhallow seemed troubled by the memories. He intended to take his entire household away from Rodestead House that night, to someplace safe.”
“A null spot on the map?” Kestel asked.
Connor shrugged. “Perhaps. I believe he hoped King Merrill would have time to evacuate the city.”
Kestel pursed her lips as she thought. “Why send such a message with you? Or rather, with Garnoc? Why didn’t Penhallow take the message to the king himself?”
Connor sighed. “I asked the same question. Penhallow said that Merrill wasn’t fond of the undead. He didn’t think Merrill would believe him. But he did tell me that if Donderath fell, I was to find a mage named Vigus Quintrel and give him the map and pendant.”
“So why didn’t you?” Piran asked.
Connor shook his head. “Because Quintrel had already gone missing when Penhallow gave me the message. Even Penhallow didn’t know where he had gone. After that, with the firestorm and the fall of the castle, Garnoc ordered me to take the map and pendant out of the kingdom for safekeeping. I’m guessing that Garnoc figured I could come back later, when it was safer, and look for Quintrel.” He paused. “I didn’t get a chance to ask a lot of questions. Garnoc was dying. His last order was for me to take the map to safety. I obeyed.”
Piran eyed Connor skeptically. “How do you know Penhallow wasn’t lying to you? After all, he’s a vampire. They’re not like us.”
Connor chuckled. “No, they’re not. For one thing, they’re dead. For another,” he said, beginning to wrap up his sleeve on his left hand, “they have their own magic. And their own way to communicate when it’s important.” He bared his arm, and the white scars were visible in the firelight.
“Blimey! You let him bite you?” Piran asked, drawing back with a look of revulsion.
“Taking blood from me let him access my memories, see what I saw and hear what I heard,” Connor said. “In exchange, it gave me his protection. We had a bond.”
“But he couldn’t protect you from what happened,” Kestel said quietly.
“Even Penhallow couldn’t prevent what was about to happen,” Connor replied quietly.
Kestel shot a meaningful glance at Blaine. “I’m more curious than ever to put Connor’s map next to the one Ifrem has and see if we learn anything. There are places of power here in Edgeland, and null spots too, if Ifrem’s map is to be believed. Perhaps Connor’s pendant will shed some light on the subject.”
“The pendant used magic, at least for what it showed me in the royal library,” Connor said. “With the magic gone, it may be useless.”
“Ifrem said the person who brought the map to Edgeland had stolen it,” Blaine mused. “Could the two maps be related?”
Connor looked up sharply. “Lord Penhallow also spoke of stolen maps. He said that a mage named Valtyr had made the maps, and three of them were stolen by Nadoren.”
“One of which managed to find its way to Velant,” Kestel mused. “How interesting.”
Blaine frowned. “Are you thinking someone brought the map all the way up here for a reason?”
Kestel shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s just a coincidence. On the other hand, where better to keep something valuable out of prying hands than at the end of the world?” She smiled in a way Blaine knew meant trouble.
“I think that we need to pay Ifrem a visit and have another look at his map,” Kestel said, grinning. “And I definitely think it’s worth a visit to one of these ‘places of power’ Ifrem’s map shows in Edgeland—and a null place, too, if there is one.”
“You’re forgetting about those hunters that disappeared,” Piran said, looking uneasy. “What’s to say they didn’t get too close to one of those spots on the map and it made them vanish?”
“Maybe,” Kestel allowed. “We know Estendall’s a place of power. Now we’ve got a pretty good idea that the volcano’s eruption might have had something to do with all that magic being lobbed around by the two armies. And we know that what happened in Donderath knocked out magic all the way up here. The question is—did the magic go away forever? And is there anything we can do to bring it back?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THIS IS MADNESS.” PIRAN HAD BEEN GRUMBLING under his breath since they left the road and headed onto the sledge trail. Connor had said nothing, but was inclined to agree.
Ahead of him, Dawe’s loping stride left wide-spaced marks in the frozen crust of the snow. Blaine and Kestel were in the lead, with Ifrem’s map safe inside Blaine’s pack. Blaine had retrieved it from the innkeeper the night before. Verran had stayed behind to tend the farm, and Connor found himself feeling rather jealous.
Penhallow’s obsidian disk hung from its leather strap around Connor’s neck, secure within his tunic. It had warmed from his body heat, but unlike the night it had led him to the library’s hiding place, the disk showed no hint of magic, neither glowing nor changing its temperature.
“I never thought they’d decide to set out like this,” Connor said apologetically.
Piran snorted. “That just means you don’t know Mick and Kestel very well.”
True enough—but I’m learning. Connor tried to get his mind off the numbing cold. On one hand, his rescuers had gone far beyond what Connor could have hoped in terms of hospitality, offering him shelter and a ready-made group, no small gift in a strange and forbidding land. They had taken pity on his lack of skills, since little of what he knew from court was any good in Edgeland. He’d found his new friends to be quite companionable, yet his court-honed instincts also suspected that their easy acceptance was hardly casual.
In short, he wondered how things might have been different if he had not arrived with the map and pendant.
The air was mercifully still, which made the cold tolerable, despite Piran’s complaints. Connor wore every stitch of clothing he had been able to scrounge together, as well as a heavy coat, scarf, mittens, and a fur-lined hat, plus boots with heavy woolen socks. Even in the harshest of Donderath winters, he would have been roasting in such an outfit. Here in Edgeland, it barely kept him from freezing.
“Does that blasted pendant of yours tell you anything?” Piran asked, his breath fogging on the cold air.
“Not a thing,” Connor replied. It was cold enough that it hurt to breathe through his mouth. “How do you tell night from day around here? For all I know, we’re out here in the middle of the night.”
Piran snorted. “We’ve got the town bells and the notched candles. Other than that, it’s anybody’s guess, or you read the stars.”
Connor shielded his eyes against the falling snow. Lord McFadden—or Mick, as he preferred up here—had arranged for a trapper to take them as far as the road’s end on a horse-drawn sledge. That had been preferable to slogging through snow that was knee-deep where it wasn’t drifted and hip-deep or worse in other places. Connor was not yet used to the wide, sinew-woven snowshoes laced onto his feet, contrivances his companions wore as easily as if they had been doing it all their lives. Connor struggled with the odd, wide-legged stance and the rolling gait, afraid he would pitch headfirst into the snow with every step.
“Look on the bright side,” Piran said. “We hardly ever get blizzards this early in the season.”
“Blizzards?” Connor repeated, trying to stay in the tracks of those who had gone on ahead so that it wasn’t quite so difficult to walk. Dawe’s stride was enough longer than his that he would have had to leap to go from step to step, but Blaine was closer to his own height, and Kestel was a good bit shorter. The footprints gradually blurred into a trail of sorts.
Chagrined, he realize
d there was a reason his new friends had taken this particular trekking order, placing him at the rear. Piran, who didn’t seem to be having difficulty walking, was probably there to make sure Connor didn’t vanish into a drift or collapse of fatigue. Under other circumstances, Connor might have felt embarrassed, but right now, he was too tired and cold to care.
“Yeah, real whiteouts,” Piran answered. “It’s when the snow and the wind make it impossible to see your hand in front of your face. I’ve heard of men who froze to death between their house and their barn because they couldn’t find their way to shelter. Nasty stuff.”
Connor stifled a groan. Piran chuckled. “Don’t mind the trek today; Kestel and Mick have a nose for trouble. The rest of us get dragged along into one damned fool thing after another.”
While Connor didn’t doubt that Kestel and Blaine had a gift for finding trouble, he also imagined that Piran, by the look of his oft-broken nose, had no problem getting into scrapes on his own, without help. And despite the grumbling, neither Piran nor Dawe had made any serious objection to the expedition. Verran had voiced the most qualms and, as a result, was the one who stayed behind. Yet even Verran’s vocal concerns had more to do with the weather than with the wisdom of the journey.
Connor returned his attention to what he could see of Blaine McFadden, disgraced lord of Glenreith. He could barely glimpse Blaine’s shoulders and the top of his hat in the light snow that swirled around them. Although Engraham had talked a little about his “friend” in Edgeland, Connor had imagined a much different man than the one who had taken him into his home. It was obvious that Blaine’s housemates and many of the villagers looked to him as a leader. Yet there was nothing of an aristocratic mien about him. The Blaine McFadden Connor had met would have been right at home among the dockworkers at the Rooster and Pig back in Donderath, perhaps more so than in the salons of Quillarth Castle.
Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) Page 27
