War of Shadows (29 page)

Despite the candlelight, Blaine could see that the hall looked shabby. Paintings and tapestries that Blaine remembered were missing, sold to raise the cash Judith had needed to keep the manor functioning.

“You seem far away,” Kestel observed.

Blaine managed a self-conscious smile. “Just remembering. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if Father had died on a hunt, or fallen over with a bad heart. I would have taken over the lands and title, and the manor might have had a few prosperous years before the world went up in flames.”

“Maybe,” Kestel said. “I’ve wondered something similar about the night I was caught by the guards. Then again, odds are we’d have both been killed by the Great Fire.”

“Probably so,” Blaine conceded. “I just don’t like knowing that I left them in a lurch.”

Kestel stopped him with a hand on his arm and met his gaze with determination. “Gods above, Mick, you saved their lives.”

“Carr certainly doesn’t see it like that,” Blaine replied.

“Carr may be more like your father than you want to admit,”
Kestel said. “If you can’t bring yourself to believe that Carr has changed so much, then blame the Madness.”

Blaine led Kestel to the large window. Moonlight was bright on the snow. From the front gate of the protective walls down to the army camp in the valley ranged a no-man’s land, a wooden stockade patrolled by the army that Niklas commanded. Farther down, Blaine could see Arengarte’s roof and what remained of the old grist mill.

“Carr’s eight years younger than I am,” he said. “When we were children, we spent as much time as we could as far from here as possible to get away from Father.” Blaine smiled sadly. “Mari tagged along.”

He pointed down toward the valley. “We would go fishing, or hunt rabbits, or imagine the most amazing adventures out in the woods.” He sighed. “Carr used to beg me to make a lean-to and let us live there, away from Father. But I knew that sooner or later, we had to come back.”

“You were close then?” Kestel asked quietly.

Blaine nodded. “Carr was only six when Mother died. Mari was just ten. I ended up becoming the parent to both of them.” He was quiet for a moment, remembering.

“I learned how to draw off Father’s attention so that he’d come after me in his temper. When I couldn’t keep them safe, I learned to bind up the wounds, and I found a healer who would treat us in exchange for food we stole from the kitchen.” Blaine shook his head. “When we were without a tutor, I read to them, made sure they learned their lessons.” He fell silent again for a bit. “I would have died for them.”

“You nearly did,” Kestel said. “If Merrill hadn’t known what your father was really like, you would have hanged. You did everything that you could. Mari adores you,” she added. “You can see it whenever she looks at you. You’re her hero.”

“It never really occurred to me that things could get any worse,” Blaine replied. “And the day I killed Father, I didn’t really think at all. I just wanted to make sure he never hurt Mari again. If Carr even crossed my mind, I would have thought about him not having to worry about getting beaten again.” He shook his head. “I never meant to ruin his life.”

Kestel took Blaine by the shoulders. “If it hadn’t been for you, Carr wouldn’t have a life to ruin,” she said. “If anything ruined Carr’s life, it was your father.”

A fierce look burned in Kestel’s eyes. “Those nobles who ostracized your family, who do you think hired me as an assassin to do their dirty work for them? My specialty was killing abusive, philandering husbands and making it look like an accident.”

“Now I’m doubly sorry I didn’t know you back then,” Blaine replied, but the humor of his quip never reached his eyes.

“Your noble peers weren’t horrified that you murdered someone,” Kestel said, temper flaring in her eyes. “They were offended that you did the deed yourself, in broad daylight, and refused to deny it.”

Kestel stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Mick. But you worry too much, even for a warlord. Carr will find his way, either here with you, or on his own.”

Everyone in the room clapped when Blaine and Kestel rejoined the wedding party. Dawe pressed a glass of whiskey into Blaine’s hand, while Mari offered the same to Kestel. Blaine wandered over to where Verran, Borya, and Desya sat, taking a break from the music. “I never thought you would actually make it back to Glenreith in time for the wedding,” he said. “How’s the traveling-minstrel business?”

“Never a dull moment,” Verran said, in a tone that made it clear that not all of the excitement had been welcome. “Borya
and Desya can hold their own quite well in a bar fight, and I’ve been glad more than once for the soldiers and
talishte
you sent along with us.” He grinned. “By the way, the
talishte
musicians Geir sent us are rather amazingly good.”

“I’d expect that even you’d improve with a couple of lifetimes’ practice,” Piran said with a grin, joining them. Kestel kicked his shin with a look of feigned innocence, and Piran mock-glowered at her. Blaine sighed, unable to resist smiling at the long-running friendly feud.

“Lysander and Rostivan seem to be the ones we have to worry about,” Borya added. “Penhallow’s forces took over Reese’s old manor at Westbain, and the alliance between Penhallow, some of the Knights of Esthrane, and Voss seems to have that corner of Donderath under control, at least for now.”

“Did you get any feel for the size of the armies, or how well provisioned they were?” Blaine asked, sipping his whiskey.

Borya shook his head. “No. We went around them because we were afraid we’d be conscripted if we were seen.”

“Probably a good idea,” Kestel agreed.

“Of course, no one would want to conscript musicians and actors,” Desya added. “What use could we be in a fight?” His feral grin made the irony of his statement clear. Blaine had seen both the brothers in battle, and knew just how lethal they could be. Even Verran, whose fighting usually was limited to throwing rocks, could hold his own. The guards and
talishte
who accompanied them were even better equipped.

“It’s harder to put spies in place now,” Kestel said, and took a sip of her drink. “Before the Cataclysm, it was easy to have someone sign on as a servant or get an invitation to a ball.” She shook her head. “These warlord groups are going to be tight-knit.”

“And if we can think of having
talishte
or mages screen new
recruits, I imagine it’s occurred to the other warlords, too,” Piran added.

“I think we’ve had as good cover as anyone would get,” Verran said. Blaine glanced at his old friend. Verran looked a bit thinner and scruffier since he had been on the road, but it was clear in every word that he was relishing the action. “No one gives us a second glance.” He shrugged. “It’s like we’re invisible.”

“And we made good money performing, too,” Desya said with a grin. Borya jabbed him with an elbow. “Hey!” Desya protested. “Any money we earn is money Blaine doesn’t have to shell out to keep us in the field. We might even turn a profit.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Borya said. “He means we had money for ale.”

“My minstrel friends and thieving partners are enjoying the adventure,” Verran said. “And they add an air of authenticity.”

“You mean, they’re running from the law,” Piran said drily.

Verran shrugged. “What law? But running, yeah, that, too.”

“We’re not always paid with coin for our effort,” Desya said. “Everyone barters now. But we do usually take in enough in vegetables to have a nice stew for dinner,” he added.

“Is the countryside functioning at all?” Kestel asked, eager for news.

Verran shrugged. “If you mean, does it look like it did before we were shipped off to Velant? No. It looks like it was blown up and burned down and then drowned.”

“But it’s amazing how creative people can be when it comes to necessities,” Borya chimed in. “The pubs loot what they can find to make their vats, and they brew beer, but you might have to be desperate to drink the stuff.”

“Which, it appears, people are,” Desya added. “And with people paying for their ale with turnips or chickens or whatever, the pub master throws it all together in a pot and makes stew.”

“How many chickens does the whorehouse charge?” Piran asked. Kestel kicked him again. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “What did I say? Just wanted to know the going rate.”

“We didn’t inquire,” Verran replied. “But the two oldest professions—pubs and trollops—are getting back to business. Not much else, because there’s naught to sell and nothing to pay for it with—a person can only use so many turnips.”

“We’re going back out tomorrow,” Verran said.

“What about the storms?” Kestel asked.

Verran shrugged. “We’ll get by. We always do.” He managed a daring grin. “It’s not like we’re going to see anything to match what we’ve lived through in Edgeland, after all.”

“For the gods’ sake, come back in one piece,” Blaine replied. “Stay away from the other warlords, and don’t poke your noses where they’re likely to get chopped off.”

Verran grinned and gave a mock salute. “As you wish, M’lord Mick. And—thanks. We really do want to do something useful.” He raised his pennywhistle. “But first, a little more music.”

B
Y THE TIME NIKLAS AND CARR RETURNED TO
the camp at Mirdalur, the wind had become a force to fight against. Freezing rain began to fall, and the temperature had grown colder. The gray sky was dark, though it was still early in the day, far too early for Dolan and the Knights to be awake.

“Let’s get the horses inside,” Niklas said. “It’s time to hunker down.”

Niklas and Carr shook off the worst of the rain and headed into an old stone barn that had been patched up to serve as a barracks. Niklas’s men had shored it up with enough repairs to make it habitable for the time it took to make Mirdalur ready to anchor the magic.

“There are a couple of card games going if you want to join in,” Ordel, the senior healer, said in greeting.

Niklas managed a tired smile. “Depending on how long we’re stuck in here, I might just be tempted.” He looked up as the timbers overhead creaked and groaned as the winds battered the structure. “How long do you think the repairs will hold if the storm gets worse?”

Ordel shrugged. He was a decade older than Niklas, and the
hardships of the last few years had taken their toll. To Niklas’s eye, Ordel looked tired.

“We’ll see,” Ordel replied. “The walls weren’t in good shape, and we didn’t have time to really repair them.” He sighed. “You know what they say, ‘Only a fool fights the wind.’ ” He paused. “How is it, up above?”

Niklas shrugged. “Winds are almost too strong to stand against. Freezing rain.”

“Let’s hope the ice doesn’t put too much weight on the roofs.”

Niklas grimaced. “I can only worry about so many things at once.” He walked over to where the mages clustered together in one corner of the room. “Any news?” he asked.

Dagur looked up. “All the signs point to a long run of storms, some from the north and others coming up from the coast.”

Niklas nodded. It was what he had expected, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “If you can’t shift the storm, can you protect our men and supplies?”

Dagur brightened. “That we’ve done. We’ve placed a preservation spell on the supplies, and protection spells on the barns.” He grimaced. “Problem is, the magic is flickering like a candle—probably because of the storms. So we’ve placed the wardings, but there’s no guarantee they’ll hold.”

Ayers walked up from behind Niklas. “Glad the two of you made it back,” he said with a nod toward Carr. “Everything go well at the wedding?” One look at their expressions, and Ayers gave a low whistle. “Well then, maybe we should discuss something else.”

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you everything I found out on my last scouting trip,” Carr said, lifting his chin defiantly. “There are Tingur, plenty of them, on the move.”

Niklas turned his full attention to Carr. “How close? How many? Headed where?”

“When I spotted them, they were headed northwest, toward the Solveigs’ lands,” Carr reported. “I shadowed them for as long as I dared. They’re a tight bunch, and I didn’t think that I could infiltrate them, even if I knocked some bloke over the head and stole his robes.”

Thank the gods for small favors
, Niklas thought. He had noticed that Carr had fresh bruises on his face and raw scratches on his hands when he showed up at Glenreith, but at the time, Carr’s prisoner had been the focus of attention.
I’m betting that Carr had a closer call than he’s letting on
.

“Here’s another thing,” Carr added, and his expression gave Niklas to suspect that Carr had withheld this bit of information to get himself back into his commander’s good graces. “There were messengers going back and forth between Lysander’s camp and the Tingur. That’s how I found the Tingur in the first place.”

“Do you think they were headed here?” Niklas asked.

Carr grimaced. “It’s possible. But if they stayed on their course toward the Solveigs, I’d bet Glenreith is a more likely target.”

Niklas swore under his breath. “So one way or the other, we’ll be fighting them soon.”

“There’s food and ale near the fire,” Ordel said, with a nod in the direction of where Niklas’s soldiers had added a fireplace and chimney to take the chill from the damp old barn. The small hearth was no match for the large space or the frigid wind outside.

As Carr walked away, Niklas noted that his limp was more pronounced.

“That boy has a real strong death wish,” Niklas muttered.

Ordel sighed. “I suspect that’s true.” He paused. “We have very little knowledge of how the Madness affects survivors. He might not be fully in control of himself.”

“I feel like I’m watching him attempt suicide over and over again until he gets it to work,” Niklas said, running a hand back through his hair. “If it were anyone but Carr, I’d say that he was bucking for a promotion. Or that he was showing off for the rest of the troops.”

“Carr’s young,” Ordel replied. “I suspect you had a few reckless moments yourself.”

Niklas shook his head. “This is different. It’s like each time Carr does something foolhardy and it doesn’t kill him, the next time he ups the stakes. And sooner or later, he’ll get his wish.”

Ordel jerked his head toward the large, open barracks. “Go on. Do a walkabout. You’ll feel better.”

The barn had been nothing but old stone walls when Niklas and his men arrived at Mirdalur. It lacked a roof, and the floor of the loft had long ago rotted completely away, as had many of the supporting timbers. There were actually two parts to the old barn: the main section, which once had a high loft, and a single-story side building that was probably used for tack or storage. The soldiers slept in the large barn, while Niklas and the mages had claimed the smaller building as a command center. Niklas was glad he had put his soldiers to work shoring up both the barn and a nearby stable, since their tents would have been no match for the brutal storm, and their horses needed shelter.

Still, as the winds howled across the roof, Niklas watched the old stone walls with a wary eye.
Those walls have stood for a long time
, he argued to himself.
If they outlasted the Great Fire, surely they’ll make it through a few more storms
. The timbers creaked again, and the wind outside howled, a worrisome sound.

Niklas was just about to head from the small building into the larger barn when there was a loud crack followed by the
roar of falling rock. Men screamed, and rock dust billowed through the large open area.

“What in Raka was that?” one of the guards asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Niklas said. He set off at a run as men crowded toward him, choking and waving at the clouds of dust. Ordel appeared out of the mayhem at his side.

“I figure you’re going to need a healer,” Ordel replied.

Niklas and Ordel fought against the tide of frightened soldiers. Niklas nearly gagged on the thick dust. “Clear the way!”

“Roof’s falling in on us, Captain!” one of the soldiers said as Niklas pushed past him. “Rocks coming down—one of the walls just let go.”

Niklas made it halfway across the barn before the cause became clear. “Sweet Esthrane and Charrot,” he groaned, looking at the heap of rubble. Part of a wall had collapsed with a tumble of building stones and timber. More was in danger of falling with every icy blast of wind, and their shelter against the elements was now open to the rain and cold.

“It’s the ice,” Ordel said. “Those walls weren’t in good shape, and after all they’ve been through, the ice was probably the last straw. All it would have taken was for the magic to flicker when the walls were under stress.”

“We’ve got men under there,” Niklas said. “We’ve got to get to them.” He looked around. “And we need to get the others to shelter.” He sighed. “Whether Dolan likes it or not, I say we send them into the tunnels down below.”

By now, Ayers had caught up to them and was swearing under his breath as the extent of the damage became clear. “If we’re not careful, we risk bringing more of it down on top of us.”

“We’ve got to get in there,” Niklas said. “There could be
survivors.” He looked to Ayers. “Get half the men to shelter in the tunnels—try to keep them away from where the Knights are sleeping for the day. We’ll take shifts, one group digging while the other group gets warm and rests. And send me the mages. Maybe they can help.”

Ayers nodded and headed off, shouting orders as he went. Three soldiers shouldered their way through the crowd, and Niklas recognized them as being his best engineers.

“What can we do to get through to the men on the other side?” Niklas asked. “We’ve got to get in there, but I don’t want to bring more of the roof down on us.”

One of the engineers turned toward Niklas. “It’s the wind and the weight of the ice that brought the wall down,” he said. “The problem is, we could begin digging, and have more rubble fall.”

Niklas nodded. “If we wait until the storm passes, we’re not likely to pull anyone out alive.”

Signar, the senior engineer, was a broad-shouldered man with graying temples who looked more than a decade older than Niklas. He stroked his close-cropped beard as he thought. “It would help if we could get a team outside,” he said. “What we really need to know is whether there’s another wall waiting to fall in.”

A gust of wind blasted through the opening in the wall. “No one’s going to be able to stay out long, between the wind and the cold,” Niklas said.

“You had the right idea,” Signar said. “We’ll work in teams, take shifts.”

“You’ve got a team,” Carr said from behind them. “I’ll go.”

“Me, too,” another voice answered.

“And me.” Voice after voice echoed the phrase.

“I’ll go with them,” Signar said. “If there’s another wall waiting
to collapse, we either need to shore it up or bring it down in the opposite direction. Then we can start removing the rubble.”

“I don’t want to lose men to exposure on top of what we’ve lost to the cave-in.” Niklas replied.

“Neither do I,” Signar said. “I’ll do my best not to let that happen.” He looked to his fellow engineers. “Kornus and Poul—stay here with the captain and see what you can do.”

“I need some of you to circle around and see if anyone got out on the other side,” Niklas ordered. “Those are your friends under there. The sooner we get to them, the more men live through this. Go.”

Niklas paced and then he stopped and looked at Ordel. “Does your healing magic tell you if we’ve got wounded in there?” he asked.

Ordel closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Several.”

“And dead?”

Ordel paused for a few moments. “Harder to sense. But… there aren’t as many alive as there should be.”

“Damn.”

Ordel opened his eyes. “It may not mean the rest are dead,” he cautioned. “Perhaps they managed to escape.”

Signar returned after half a candlemark. “Well?” Niklas demanded.

“One of the walls of the barn partially collapsed, bringing a section of the roof with it,” Signar replied. “The others aren’t in good shape. We think we’ve got them supported enough to hold while we dig for survivors.” He eyed the beams overhead. “I think it’s wise to move the men underground. The less time we spend here, the safer we’ll be.”

Niklas drew a deep breath. “All right. Go. Make sure you give the same news to the men on the other side. And let them know I’ll send up fresh troops in a candlemark or so.”

Signar nodded, then took off, shouldering his way through the crowd.

Niklas turned to the others, who had gathered close, trying to hear. “Listen up! We’re going to form two lines, and we’ll pass the rocks hand to hand to clear the area.” He moved to the front of one of the lines. Ordel moved to the back of the area with the other healers to prepare to care for the wounded.

“Put your backs into it!” Niklas said, handing a heavy chunk of rock to the man behind him, who turned and passed the rock down the long line of men. From the grim looks on their faces, Niklas could see that the men understood the urgency.

“Got my shoes and got my pack,” one of the men behind Niklas sang out above the howl of the wind.

“Headed out, ain’t comin’ back,” the others responded.

“Got my sword and got my shield,” the soldiers on the left side of the corridor sang.

“Left my home and left my fields,” those on the right responded.

The call-and-response was an old one, well-known to soldiers in the Donderath army. Hearing it lifted Niklas’s heart. No one knew how many verses there were. That chant had carried them from the Meroven border, mile upon weary mile. The verses ranged from silly to obscene, but the cadence was a comforting heartbeat. And today, as they passed rubble down the line, it was the defiant chorus that refused to give in to death itself.

Niklas lost track of time. One of his lieutenants came forward to relieve him. Exhausted, Niklas nodded in agreement, but instead of resting he stood to one side, watching the line, determined to remain part of the rescue effort until he was certain of the fate of the men trapped by the cave-in. Dagur
and the other mages walked up and down along the walls that remained, reinforcing their wardings.

After a while, Ordel led fresh troops to relieve the men in the lines. “Go get warm and eat something,” Ordel ordered. “You’ll be coming back before long.” He looked at Niklas. “I sent a relief team outside as well. You should go for a while, too. You can’t stay here all night,” Ordel said when he reached Niklas.