Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Blaine sighed. “I’m not sure there’s any more we can do than go to Mirdalur and see what happens. At worst, we get the lay of the land and find out that one Lord of the Blood can’t do a damned thing alone.”

  “Speaking of which,” Dawe said, “I’m headed for the forge. With luck, I should be able to make the pieces I need to modify the crossbows. We could be ready to go to Mirdalur tomorrow night if all goes well.” He headed out of the room, and Blaine turned back to the others.

  “That gives Kestel and me the rest of the day to study the map and Grimur’s book with the new pendant, in case there’s a clue to what we need to do,” Blaine said. “And it gives me tonight to talk with Geir.”

  He looked at his other companions. “Piran and Verran—I’d like you to work with Edward to gather what we need for the trip to Mirdalur. Horses, food, supplies, weapons—whatever he can spare. I wouldn’t mind having a couple more guards if it doesn’t weaken Glenreith’s defenses.”

  “We can certainly spare a few guards,” Judith replied. Blaine nodded. “Then it’s set. We go to Mirdalur.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ALL WE WANT TO KNOW IS, WHO SENT YOU?” Piran’s voice was reasonable, but there was a dangerous edge. Their prisoner glowered, but said nothing.

  “I’m telling you, he’d have more to say if you’d let me knock him around,” Piran grumbled. Blaine leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the interrogation.

  Blaine looked at the spy Piran had brought back from the edge of Glenreith’s holdings. The man had a growing bruise on his cheek, and one eye was partially swollen shut. From the way he held himself, Blaine guessed the spy had at least one broken rib, made more painful by the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. “You roughed him up plenty just bringing him in,” Blaine replied. “You go at him again and break his jaw, he’s not going to tell us anything.”

  Piran shrugged. “I guess it depends on what our ‘guest’ would prefer. It’s nearly sundown. After dark, I turn him over to Geir.” Piran leaned closer to the spy and gave an unpleasant smile.

  “I may not be your friend, but I’m mortal. Geir’s a vampire. Wakes up hungry. Real hungry,” Piran said, taking his cue from their prisoner’s discomfort. “If you don’t tell me something useful by the time I go off watch, I walk out of this room and leave you with Geir.” He gave an exaggerated shrug and turned away. “Whatever secrets you’re keeping, he can glamour them out of you. Make you sing like we put you to the rack. Or,” he said with a deliberate touch of ennui, “I imagine he’ll get what he needs from your thoughts when he drains you. No secrets in death, you know.”

  The prisoner paled but said nothing, although his eyes moved nervously between Piran and the door as the latch lifted. The door swung open, and Geir stood framed in the doorway. Blaine had no doubt that Geir had heard every word from the corridor. In fact, Geir seemed to be playing to Piran’s threats. He wore a white shirt with no frock coat, heightening the pallor of his skin. His eyeteeth, usually discreetly hidden, were quite prominent. “I thought I smelled dinner,” Geir remarked offhandedly as he walked into the chamber.

  Piran spared a quick glance toward the spy. “Oh, well. Time’s up.” He turned to Geir. “Let me know when you’re done.” He looked to Blaine. “Just tell me where you want the body buried.” With that, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Their prisoner looked as if he might faint. His bravado was gone, and he looked to Blaine imploringly. “You’re just going to let the biter have me?”

  Blaine shrugged. “Piran warned you.” He gave a cold smile. “Don’t worry—it’s reasonably quick, though not… painless.”

  Geir moved toward the prisoner with a slow, gliding grace. The man was shaking, and a whiff told Blaine that the spy had soiled himself. “I was just sent to watch and report back. I don’t know anything,” the spy argued.

  “I suspect you know more than you realize.” Geir’s voice was silky smooth. He was standing in front of the prisoner. The man turned his head, but Geir took his chin firmly in his hand and forced him to make eye contact. The spy closed his eyes tightly, but Geir squeezed his jaw and the man’s eyes flew open as he yelped in pain. “Tell me.”

  All resistance drained from the man, and his features, tight with fear, relaxed. “What do you want to know?”

  Geir chuckled. “That’s a good man. Now, who sent you?”

  “Pollard.”

  “And where is Pollard?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Geir frowned, and the spy twitched uncomfortably as Geir increased the level of compulsion. “Where was he when you received your orders?”

  “A candlemark south of Glenreith, not far off the main road.”

  Geir shot a glance at Blaine, who nodded. Pollard was watching the main road between Glenreith and Castle Reach. “What about the other roads? Are there watchers?”

  The fight had drained out of the captive, and he looked up at Geir with a pathetic eagerness to please. “Pollard has guards on every road around Glenreith. We were to watch for McFadden and report back if he left the manor walls.”

  Geir nodded. “Good. You’re doing very well. How large is Pollard’s force?”

  The spy frowned, thinking. “Don’t rightly know, because men have been coming in for several days. Several men on each road.”

  Blaine cursed silently. The stakes of going to Mirdalur had suddenly gotten much higher.

  “Are there encampments, or just watchers?”

  “Just watchers.”

  “Is Reese with Pollard?”

  “I only saw Pollard.”

  Geir’s expression shifted from unreadable into a warm smile that was mirrored by the look on the spy’s face. “You’ve been very helpful,” Geir said in a comforting voice. “You’ve done a very good job. In a moment, you’re going to fall into a deep sleep. When you awaken, you won’t remember this conversation. You won’t remember being captured, or seeing any of us. You will remember being robbed by highwaymen, who took your wages and knocked you out. You’ll return to Pollard and tell him that you saw no one. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, sleep.” Geir’s voice was honeyed with compulsion. Immediately, the prisoner slumped against his bonds, and his head drooped forward.

  Geir and Blaine left the room and found Piran pacing the hallway. “Well?” Piran asked, looking up.

  “We got what we wanted. Pollard’s set traps for us on the main roads,” Blaine reported.

  Piran chuckled. “I had a feeling he’d fess up for Geir.”

  Geir grimaced. “Next time, you can play the monster in the dark.”

  “You didn’t mind when we cooked this scheme up,” Piran reminded him. “And you saved me some bruised knuckles. By the way, how did he taste?”

  Geir glowered at him. “Like chicken. What do you mean, ‘how did he taste’? Do you really think I’d feed on that pathetic creature if I had a choice in the matter?”

  Piran glanced at Blaine. “You left him alive?”

  Blaine shrugged. “His memory’s been altered. I’ll have the guards put him back where you found him, a little worse for the wear. He’ll report that nothing happened except for a common robbery.”

  Piran sighed. “Better, I guess, not to tip our hand to Pollard. But it does raise the question: What does this mean for your plan to go to Mirdalur?”

  Geir looked from Piran to Blaine. “I was going to propose that I make a quick trip out there to scout the area, even before you found our ‘guest.’ If I leave right away, I can be back before dawn the day after tomorrow.”

  Blaine gave a low whistle. “You’ll be moving pretty fast. It’s a three-day ride one way.”

  Geir smiled. “I can move more quickly, but only for short periods. Double speed will have to do.”

  “Then we sit tight until you come back,” Blaine said with a shrug. “The rest of us could use the recovery time, and we can get our provisions together. With
luck, your reconnaissance will give us an idea of the best way to get to Mirdalur and avoid problems on the way. I’d rather not take on Pollard if we don’t have to, and I certainly don’t want to go up against a large force.”

  “At least, not without a large force of our own,” Piran said with a grin that suggested he relished the brawl.

  Blaine shook his head. “And where are we going to get a private army? I’ve got no desire to take on Pollard, especially since we don’t know that going to Mirdalur will even work. If it does, we’ve already scored a victory by bringing the magic back. If not, I’d like to get back to Glenreith in one piece to decide what happens next.”

  “I’m still troubled by the fact that Penhallow hasn’t joined us,” Geir said. “The connection through the kruvgaldur is damnably imperfect. I believe Penhallow’s been detained against his will. I can sense warning and urgency. I have images of a fortress, but I don’t recognize it. What that means, other than that Penhallow seems to think we’re in danger, I’m not sure.”

  “And no idea whether or not Connor is with him,” Blaine replied. He sighed. “Sounds like we’re on our own until Penhallow can get free. And the longer we wait, the more likely that Pollard will decide to bottle us up here.” He looked from Piran to Geir. “We go on with the plan to go to Mirdalur. It’s better than sitting still waiting to be besieged.”

  The next morning, Blaine awoke with the sunrise from an unsettled sleep. The day had dawned fair and clear, though with a chill in the air that said winter was coming soon. On impulse, he dressed quickly and grabbed his cloak, then stepped out onto the balcony.

  The sunlight carried little warmth. Without needing a marked candle, Blaine knew that the days were growing shorter. He smiled to himself. After Edgeland’s white nights and long dark, Donderath’s seasonal change seemed much gentler than he remembered. He looked out over the rolling hills and the gray blur of the forest’s leafless trees. In the fields, just a few dry stalks remained from the harvest, with haystacks piled at intervals for the coming winter.

  Glenreith’s far pastures were empty. Even from his balcony, Blaine could see guards posted at intervals around the manor’s lands, protecting both the workmen who labored to bring in the last of the root crops for winter and the animals that grazed on the near pastures, closer to the walls and easier to protect. To the west would be the ruins of Rhystorp, Carensa’s family home. He swallowed hard and looked away, unwilling to think about that loss, not now, and perhaps not for a long time.

  To the east, if they were still standing, would be the miller’s home and mill, and toward the north, Aringarte, home to the family of Lars Theilsson, a prosperous farmer and wealthy landowner. Theilsson had risen far without the benefit of a title or any position at court.

  “A copper for your thoughts.”

  Blaine startled at Judith’s quiet approach. He gestured toward the rolling hills that spread out to the horizon. “Just wondering how Miller Storr and Lars Theilsson weathered the war.”

  “You knew Theilsson’s son, didn’t you?”

  Blaine nodded. “Niklas. We were great mates before… well, before.”

  Judith gave a faint smile. “I seem to remember you two hunting together.”

  Blaine looked off into the distance. “Niklas was the rare friend who enjoyed books as much as hunting—and ale. Once he went into the army and got his officer’s commission, I didn’t see much of him, but when he did come home, it was always as if nothing had changed.” He looked at Judith. “What became of him, with the war?”

  Judith sighed. “Niklas was the commander of the unit Carr signed up with. I felt a little better entrusting Carr to Niklas, although I hadn’t wanted Carr to go at all. Niklas promised he’d watch out for Carr,” she said, and her voice caught. She shook her head to dispel the emotion and went on.

  “Niklas led a battalion that was sent to the Vellanaj front. Neither he nor Carr returned, and none of Niklas’s men have been seen or heard from since.” Her expression tightened with pain. “It’s been over half a year since the war ended. If they were going to come back, I imagine they would have by now.”

  Blaine looked down. “I’m sorry to hear that. He’d have been a good man to have on our side. I’d hoped to recruit him to give us a hand, or protect Glenreith while we see what can be done at Mirdalur.”

  Judith gave him a worried look. “You’re still planning to go?”

  Blaine shrugged and turned his hands palms up. “What else can I do? If there’s any chance that I might be able to bring back the magic, it seems worth the risk.”

  “You’ve got a pocketful of old trinkets, some antique maps, and tall tales told by a vampire,” Judith replied. “You have no idea what will happen when you get to Mirdalur, or whether there’s even enough of it left to matter. You could put yourself, and your friends, at risk for nothing.”

  “Maybe. But what if Penhallow and Grimur are right? What if I really am the last Lord of the Blood, and what if I could bring back the magic?” Blaine asked. “Granted, I’ve never had a lot of magic myself, but what if that spark is enough? If I try and fail, at least we know that the magic is really dead, and we can move on.”

  “And if bringing the magic back kills you?” Judith asked, meeting his gaze levelly.

  “Velant and almost seven years in Edgeland didn’t do the job, I doubt Mirdalur will,” Blaine replied, managing a wan smile. “But I have a responsibility to try, if there’s any chance at all.”

  Judith’s gaze did not waver. “Would you have come back if it weren’t for Mirdalur?”

  Blaine looked away. He was silent for a long time. “I’m not sure. I’d carved out a good life up there. I figured the rest of you had moved on without me. Maybe I’d have come back eventually, especially with the magic gone. That’s going to make Edgeland even less hospitable than it was, and it was rough country.”

  Judith turned away. “And after you go to Mirdalur? What then?”

  Blaine turned back toward the balcony rail. “Whether it works or whether it doesn’t, I’m here to stay. One way or another, I want to get Glenreith back on its feet. Without a king, and with the countryside in ruins, I figure we’ll need to make alliances, pool resources, see to the protection of our own.”

  Judith gave a wan smile. “You almost sound like a warlord.”

  Blaine chuckled. “Do I? A very unlikely one. But that’s exactly what men like Pollard are trying to become, and if we don’t have our own alliances, the next time, he’ll do more than camp here; he’ll lay siege.”

  Judith shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “That thought has crossed my mind.”

  “When I get back from Mirdalur, I’ll pay a call to the miller and to Lars. See who else is still alive and might be on our side. If we work together, we might be able to get through the winter.” Blaine was surprised when Judith moved beside him and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, Blaine,” she said. “Before you arrived, I was afraid for the future. It didn’t look very likely that Edward and Mari and I could keep this place running, even with the servants who’ve stayed on. Now,” she said and paused, “I’ve got some hope for the first time since the war began.”

  Blaine chuckled. “I’ll try not to disappoint you—again.”

  “Mirdalur is a ruin,” Geir reported when he returned from his reconnaissance. Despite the hour, a small group was gathered in Glenreith’s parlor to hear the news. Judith sat on a small couch near the fireplace, sitting as straight and prim as if at court. Edward was behind her with a hand resting on the back of the couch, watchful and protective. Blaine wondered whether their relationship had become more than employer and retainer over the harsh years since his exile. Mari had stayed in her rooms to tend her son, but she had made Blaine promise to give her a recap at breakfast.

  Piran leaned against the back wall, arms crossed. Verran was studying the selection of small trinkets that lay about the room, and Blaine could guess that
Verran’s past thieving had given him a good appreciation for their value. Dawe sat in a high-backed chair across from Judith. The lanky silversmith was bent forward with his elbows on his knees, playing with a bit of twisted wire.

  Kestel perched on the arm of the couch, still dressed in the gown she had worn to dinner. It was one of Mari’s old gowns, which Kestel had reworked. The dress was in a light-brown satin that might not have flattered Mari’s coloring, but on Kestel, it played up her red hair and made her green eyes sparkle. Kestel shifted just a bit, and the light from the lamps caught a glint of metal in the folds of her skirt. Blaine smiled. He had no doubt that Kestel had more than one slim knife concealed in the folds of her gown.

  Blaine realized that it was the first time he had ever seen Kestel dressed in anything better than Edgeland’s homespun finery, and it struck him just what a beauty she was. A blush crept across Kestel’s cheeks, and Blaine realized his appreciation had been more evident in his expression than he thought. He chuckled and looked away.

  “We knew the keep was destroyed a long time ago,” Dawe replied. “Is there anything left?”

  “I’d expected to find nothing left,” Geir said. “But I was wrong. Sometime between the old war and the Meroven strike, someone had obviously tried to rebuild at least part of one wing. I’m guessing that was a while ago; even the new ruins seemed to have been deserted for quite a while.”

  “What was left? Enough to chance a trip?” Blaine asked.

  Geir frowned, nodding. “Yes. I believe so. While the keep is a ruin and the walls are broken down in many places, there are several outbuildings that are still standing and in fairly good shape. What’s more interesting is that, from the air, those outbuildings are laid out in the pattern of Esthrane’s constellation,” he added.

  “One of the outbuildings housed a large cistern,” Geir continued. “That building is at the fifth point, the ‘child’ in the constellation. The well house was solidly built; it looked as if it lasted until the Great Fire. Kept the cistern protected from the elements, and when the roof collapsed, it covered the cistern so it didn’t get clogged with debris. It’s quite a large, deep cistern; I’d guess it to be about four paces by three paces. I went down it to have a look. The cistern is functional, but about halfway down there’s a ledge, and off the ledge is a small passageway that branches off from the wall, and at the end is a locked door. I didn’t try to open it, and it didn’t look as if it had been disturbed in a long time. I’m willing to lay bets that’s where we need to go.”