Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga)

by Gail Z. Martin

  With a wild growl, the beast twisted in midair, so that Connor’s sword caught it in the front shoulder and not full in the belly. Blaine hacked at the thing with enough force to kill a man, but the beast’s thick, rough fur fought against his blade. The torch cast a wavering light, but it showed enough to make Blaine’s blood run cold.

  The thing that had attacked Piran was wolflike, but larger than any wolf Blaine had ever seen. It was closer to the size of a small horse, thickly muscled, with powerful haunches and a filthy, matted coat of coarse hair. Most of it was black as the shadows, with streaks of gray. The fur would make it difficult to reach vulnerable flesh below, though two of Dawe’s quarrels now stuck out from the creature’s hide.

  The creature had a wide, blocky head with strong jaws. Powerful front feet ended in curled claws. Foam flecked its jaws, and the front of its chest was stained red with new blood. Piran’s. Enraged, Blaine gave a cry and lunged at it, with his sword held two-handed, shoulder height, aiming for the heart.

  Two silver streaks twinkled in the firelight, then dug hilt-deep into the beast’s neck. Kestel’s daggers. As Blaine surged forward, Connor shifted his position and thrust his two-handed sword up and forward, anticipating the beast’s attempt to move out of Blaine’s way. Two more quarrels flew through the air, one catching the beast in the throat and the other lodging in its muzzle.

  The beast gave a cry that was more chilling than a wolf’s howl, and its blood-red eyes glowed with rage. With surprising dexterity, it evaded Connor’s sword, twisting as Blaine sank his blade so that the tip slid along the rib cage instead of penetrating. With a cuff of its massive paw, it swept Connor out of the way and into a wall, his sword skittering in the opposite direction. Blaine tried to yank his blade free, but it was snarled in the beast’s matted fur. He was a breath too slow, stumbling wildly as the beast turned sharply, snapping its fangs just shy of Blaine’s shoulder.

  “Over here!” Dawe shouted to distract the thing. A large rock cracked against the beast’s forehead, and it howled again, turning away from Blaine. Kestel had drawn another blade, but she had also fallen back a few paces. A rock the size of a large apple smacked between the beast’s eyes, and the creature turned on her with fury.

  “Get Piran!” Dawe shouted as he sent another quarrel toward the beast’s heart. Connor had regained his sword and scrambled to his feet.

  Blaine sized up what he could see of the room in the flickering torchlight. Two more corridors branched from the chamber, leading into darkness. The beast could easily follow them. To Blaine’s dismay, Piran had not yet moved, and he was unarmed, no doubt having lost his blade somewhere down the corridor in the grip of the creature. Blaine would not be able to drag Piran to the exit without sacrificing his friends in the effort.

  Dawe had drawn the creature’s attention, but it was advancing more quickly than he could reload. Kestel’s barrage of stones angered the beast but did not look likely to strike a killing blow. Blaine caught Connor’s eye and nodded. Together, they roared a battle cry and ran at the thing’s haunches, striking to disable it. Blaine went high, sinking his sword deep into the creature’s hip, while Connor dove low, slicing his blade across where the beast’s hamstrings should be.

  The beast gave a maddened howl and reared back, cuffing Blaine and sending him sprawling. As he fell, he glimpsed movement in the shadows, and the dark shape of a man briefly silhouetted by the torchlight. Blaine hit the ground hard, and it knocked the breath out of him. Connor cried out in alarm as the beast went after him. Dawe and Kestel were quickly running out of ammunition, and Blaine doubted that Kestel had the speed to get close enough with her blade. Blaine shot a glance toward Piran. Piran had not moved, and Blaine spotted a dark stain that looked like blood on his shoulder. We crossed an ocean to die here, Blaine thought, rallying the energy to reach his feet again.

  Connor was doing his best to hold off the beast with his sword. Though dark blood ran from cuts on the thing’s forelegs, the blade did not strike deep enough to slow the creature. Kestel’s rocks pounded the beast’s head and shoulders. A direct hit slowed the beast, a glancing blow enraged it, but the creature showed no sign of tiring. Dawe sent another quarrel into the beast’s shoulder, and it screamed in rage.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw a dark blur. For a heartbeat, he thought it was a trick of the light; then the shadow moved nearly faster than sight could track. The beast reared up, howling in pain, and a dark-clad figure drove a wide blade deep between the thing’s ribs. The creature snapped at the attacker, who hung on to the sword’s grip with unnatural strength, even when the beast raked it with its long claws. Blaine expected the attacker to fall, but to his amazement, their new defender clung to the sword even as dark blood streamed from bone-deep gashes on its back.

  With a wild bellow, the beast reared again. Its new assailant jerked the sword free, dodging the creature’s claws, and swung. The sword whistled through the air, coming down hard on the beast’s neck. Bone crunched under the two-handed swing, and then the blade was free, and the head rolled to one side while the beast tottered and collapsed.

  In the faltering torchlight, Blaine caught a glimpse of their defender. A man clad in black, with equally dark hair that fell shoulder-length. Blaine expected him to collapse at any moment, given the damage he had taken from the creature, but instead, the man looked up, straight at Blaine. “Your friend is dying. I can help, but we need to get out of here now.”

  Blaine scrambled to his feet, feeling the ache of new bruises and strained muscles. “Who are you?” he asked, making his way as quickly as possible to where Piran lay. “And what was that thing?”

  “That ‘thing’ was a barghest,” the man replied. “And I’m Geir, your guide.”

  “Guide?” Dawe was standing again, and his crossbow was leveled at Geir’s chest. “Who says we need a guide?” Kestel had recovered both of her knives and stood next to Dawe.

  One side of Geir’s mouth twitched in a sardonic half smile. “Why don’t you ask Connor?”

  “Do you know him, Connor?” Kestel asked, a dangerous edge of suspicion in her voice.

  A muscle twitched in Connor’s jaw, as if he were angrily clenching his teeth. “Yes. He’s one of Penhallow’s.”

  Geir smiled. “Your blood called me. Our master knew you had returned to Donderath as soon as you set foot on shore. He’s anxious to see you—and your companions.”

  Blaine knelt next to Piran. Piran was breathing, but his breath was coming fast and shallow, and blood soaked his shoulder. Gently, Blaine pushed back the torn remnant of Piran’s shirt to see the damage. He grimaced. The barghest’s fangs had left deep puncture wounds and an open gash. Piran groaned but did not open his eyes.

  “Can you save him?” Blaine looked back to meet Geir’s gaze.

  “If we hurry.”

  Blaine glanced to Dawe. “Get Verran.”

  “I’m here.” Verran’s voice sounded behind them. He was carrying a sack that bulged and rattled.

  “And go where?” Kestel challenged.

  “Somewhere much safer than here, unless you like the wildlife,” Geir replied.

  Blaine used bits of Piran’s torn shirt and jacket to bandage his wound. It slowed the flow of blood, but would to nothing to stave off infection. Blaine glanced at Dawe. “Come on. Piran’s a heavy bastard. It’ll take both of us to move him.”

  Geir sheathed his sword and crossed the room before Dawe could move. In one fluid motion he bent to pick up Piran, lifting him into his arms as if Piran were a child. “We’d best get moving, if you want to save your friend.”

  Dawe retrieved the torch and came up beside Blaine as they followed Geir. “This could be a trap,” he murmured.

  Blaine glared at Connor. “Maybe it already was.”

  “And you’re just going along with it?”

  Blaine shrugged. “What choice do we have? Piran needs a healer. What are the chances we can find one in time to help?”

  “How do
we know this guy isn’t just hungry? Maybe Geir set the barghest on us.”

  “No one controls a barghest,” Geir said from the front of the small party. “Not even the talishte.” He paused. “And as for your other question, I’ve fed well already.”

  “How were you able to kill the barghest?” Dawe asked. “We weren’t having any luck.”

  “Iron blade,” Geir replied in a tone that suggested it was common knowledge. “The iron itself is poison to some beings.”

  “Where exactly are we going?” Blaine asked.

  “Somewhere safe,” Geir replied. “Unless you’d rather blunder around in the tunnels. There are all kinds of scavengers—human and otherwise—since the Great Fire. Can’t guarantee your welcome.”

  “And what kind of guarantee can you make us where we’re going?” Blaine asked.

  “The protection of my master, Lanyon Penhallow. Our quarters are not as comfortable as they once were, but your party will not be harmed. You have Lord Penhallow’s word.”

  Blaine did not voice his thoughts about the value of a lord’s word. Instead, he tried to keep up with the brisk pace Geir set. The total darkness did not seem to bother Geir, but even with the torch, the others struggled to make their way through the rubble and debris that littered the tunnel floors.

  “We’re going deeper into the tunnels than I’ve ever been before,” Verran murmured.

  “You’ve been down here before?” Blaine asked.

  “A time or two, to stay out of reach of the guards,” Verran replied offhandedly. “In the old days, the upper cellars were a second city, full of illegal whiskey, games of chance, shady ladies, and peddlers selling just about everything.”

  “A thieves’ paradise,” Blaine murmured.

  “That it was.” Verran sighed. “We kept the guards paid off in coin, women, and whiskey, and they left us alone.”

  “How about the rest of these tunnels? Where do they go?” Dawe asked.

  “Don’t rightly know. There’s an old aqueduct system under the city, been here since the Illoran Conquest. A lot of the buildings have cellars that connect, too. Deeper down, they say there are caves. Wouldn’t surprise me. Lots of caves under Donderath,” Verran said. “No one I knew ever needed to go beyond the upper cellars, but I heard tell about the low places.”

  “What did you hear?” Dawe asked, his sword still gripped in his hand.

  “People said desperate men made the low places their own, to keep their necks out of the noose,” Verran replied. “I heard there were monsters down here, like that barghest and worse.” His gaze flickered nervously toward Geir. “And vampires.”

  Geir spat out a harsh laugh. “And do you always believe children’s fables?”

  “That barghest was no fable,” Dawe countered.

  Geir did not slow his stride as he answered. “Yes, beasts like the barghest dwell down here. As for the talishte, we had no need for refuge in these tunnels until the Great Fire.”

  They wound through a maze of cellars, tunnels, and cave passageways. Blaine had given up on trying to mark their way. They had walked for miles, and Blaine hoped Piran would be able to fight off both blood loss and any poison from the barghest’s fangs long enough to reach the healer Geir promised.

  Blaine glanced toward Connor, who had said nothing, taking up the rear of the group. Did Connor betray us? Or was he as surprised by Geir’s appearance as the rest of us?

  “We’re here,” Geir announced. Geir led the way up an old set of stone steps to a door. It opened before they reached it, giving Blaine to guess that their approach had been observed. They followed Geir into a large cellar room appointed like the salon of a down-at-the-heels noble. Tapestries and curtains covered the room’s stone walls. Torches in wall sconces and oil lamps lit the room as if it were merely night outside. The room was comfortably furnished in the manner of a drawing room, with a desk, a couch, and several upholstered chairs. Each wall had a closed door. Antique Lethurian carpets covered the floors. Blaine wondered when Lord Penhallow would make his appearance.

  A blond man stood beside the door. Geir bent to speak in low tones to the guard, who nodded and gave a quick glance toward Connor. In a moment, the man slipped through another door and left them alone in the chamber.

  Geir laid Piran on the sofa. Kestel sank to her knees beside him. She looked up in alarm. “He’s barely breathing.”

  Geir touched Piran’s forehead, and Piran awoke with a start. “Merely a courtesy, m’lady,” Geir said. “My kind have certain abilities that are native to our blood. Among other things, we can slow down a heartbeat and depress respiration. It made the journey easier on your friend.”

  And it would certainly come in handy subduing prey, Blaine thought.

  “Where’s the healer you promised?” Blaine asked.

  “On her way. But there is something I can do for him in the meantime.” Geir motioned for Kestel to move out of the way. He knelt beside Piran and tore his shirt open as if it were gauze, revealing a nasty wound that was already beginning to fester. Geir spat onto the palm of his hand and then pressed his palm against Piran’s wound.

  “What in Raka did you do that for?” Dawe protested. “Can’t you see it’s already going sour?”

  Geir said nothing, but moved his hand slowly over the raw gash. Verran grabbed Geir’s shoulder as if to throw him aside, but Geir was immovable, and the twitch of his arm sent Verran sprawling.

  “Look,” Kestel said quietly to Blaine, pointing. Where Geir had touched the wound with his spittle, the blood had stopped flowing, and the skin, torn and ragged just moments before, was visibly knitting closed.

  Geir stood and went to wash his hands in a nearby basin. He turned back to where the others stood. “Our saliva staunches blood flow and encourages the skin to heal rapidly. It’s necessary, given that we don’t need to kill the creatures from which we feed.”

  “And the infection?”

  “I will see to that.” They turned as a woman with long dark hair entered the room. She was dressed in tunic and trews, like a man. The heavy brocade cloth was of superior quality, though it was stained and worn in places.

  “This is Anya,” Geir said. “She’s a healer.”

  “How is it that the talishte have need of a healer?” Kestel asked Geir as Anya knelt beside Piran. “What can ail the dead?”

  Geir regarded her with a half smile as if he enjoyed Kestel’s sparring. “While we are indeed undead, there are certain… vulnerabilities… that are more tolerable when eased by a healer. And we take our responsibilities to our human envoys quite seriously.”

  “You mean ‘servants,’ ” Dawe challenged.

  Geir raised his head, looking at Dawe with an unreadable expression. “Not servants in the manner in which you mean the term, as chattel. Longtime retainers, envoys who manage our daytime affairs with our complete trust, members of our household.” He turned his gaze back to Blaine. “I believe you would understand the term in that manner from your own experience, would you not, Lord McFadden?”

  “A retainer’s status depends upon the character of his lord,” Blaine replied, hoping he did not look as uncomfortable with Geir’s use of the title as he felt.

  “Indeed,” Geir replied with a hint of cold mirth.

  Blaine returned his attention to Anya. She had withdrawn a shallow cup and vials of powder from the pouches at her belt, and a small flagon of what appeared to be wine. Anya poured a portion of the powders and wine into the cup and stirred them with her finger, then poured out the mixture slowly over Piran’s rapidly healing wound. Piran gave a cry and lurched, but Anya pressed him back into the couch one-handed, despite Piran’s bulk. The mixture fizzed and thickened, gradually disappearing into Piran’s skin.

  Anya straightened and dusted off her trews, returning the vials and cup to the pouch on her belt. “Your friend will live,” she said, her voice thick with an accent Blaine could not place. “He must rest. A barghest’s bite is not poisoned, but they are foul creature
s, and their wounds, you see, sour quickly. I’ll see to his care while you’re a guest here.” With that, Anya swept out of the room.

  Geir turned back to Blaine and the others. “I need to make arrangements for your food and to assure your quarters are acceptable. Make yourselves comfortable. Lord Penhallow will join you shortly.” Geir left by the same doorway that Anya had used. For a moment, Blaine’s group was silent, and then Dawe moved to the door Geir had just opened. It did not budge.

  “Locked,” Dawe reported.

  Kestel sat down in the chair nearest to Piran. “What now?”

  Blaine turned toward Connor. “That’s a good question. How about it, Connor? Did you betray us?”

  Connor reddened. “No, or at least, not intentionally. The kruvgaldur bond isn’t something I initiate or control. Communicating through the bond never happened when I was just Garnoc’s messenger.”

  Connor sighed. “I told you about the dreams while we were at sea. I don’t know what Penhallow can read from my mind when we’re not in actual contact, or how far away his link can reach. His touch was lighter in Edgeland, only at the brink of wakefulness. The closer we came to Donderath, the more I felt his presence on the fringes of my thoughts.”

  “Did Penhallow order you to get us into the cellars?” Dawe demanded.

  Connor shook his head. “No. Engraham told me about the cache and gave me the key. I had no idea where Penhallow was. He disappeared on the eve of the last battle.”

  Kestel stood up and placed herself between Dawe and Connor. “Whether or not Connor could have guessed Penhallow knew where we were, it’s damn lucky he did. We were losing the fight before Geir showed up.”

  Dawe turned away grudgingly to find a seat on the other side of the room. Blaine returned his attention to Connor. It was possible, he guessed, for Connor not to know the full extent of the vampire’s hold over him. And it was also true that Connor had not hidden the link between himself and the vampire, a connection that had now rescued them twice. Connor had endured the same hardship as the rest of them on the journey back to Donderath, a journey he had not been forced to make. And in the battle with the barghest, Connor had fought as hard and as bravely as any of them, though he was clearly not a seasoned warrior. Hardly the actions of a man who knew help was on the way.