War of Shadows (7 page)

“Why him and not Blaine? Blaine already has an army in place.”

Guran shrugged. “I think Vigus sees McFadden as a rival.”

“You think Vigus has set this all up to go to war against Blaine?”

“I think that’s exactly what he has in mind.”

Carensa was quiet for a moment, thinking through what Guran said. “Why choose me for the group to go to Torsford?” Carensa asked. “I’ve got very little power. My magic helps me translate languages. That’s hardly battle worthy.”

Guran’s gaze fell to the small paintings on Carensa’s desk. “Does Vigus know you were involved with McFadden?”

“Yes.” She sighed, and drew her knees up, hugging them to herself. “Blaine’s exile dishonored his family, and me. My… notoriety… limited the potential suitors.” She shrugged. “I withdrew from everyone. My father got me tutors, trying to find something to interest me. That’s how I met Vigus. Then Father finally found an older man who needed my dowry money. I had no choice about the marriage. I never really loved my husband, but I did love our son.”

“They died in the Cataclysm?”

Carensa nodded. “I nearly did, too. The manor collapsed and I woke up trapped in the rubble. Vigus got me out and brought me here.”

“So you had no idea McFadden had returned.”

Carensa shook her head. “None at all, until he arrived here. I thought Blaine died in Velant.”

“You helped McFadden and his friends defy Vigus to leave,” Guran said.

Carensa lifted her head. “Yes, I did. I made my choice to be a scholar, and I have no desire to change that. Blaine’s made his choices, too. But I’ll always wish him well. He sacrificed everything to save his family from that brute of a father. I would do anything to protect him.”

Guran met her gaze. “Be careful, Carensa. McFadden is only valuable until Vigus can figure out how to keep the magic bound without him.” He paused. “At least Vigus has a reason to keep McFadden alive. Others might find it to their advantage if he—and the magic—went away permanently.”

Late that night, Carensa’s dreams were dark.
Once again, she was pinned beneath the rubble of Rhystorp, surrounded by the smell of fire and death. Grief seized her, but she had no tears left to cry. She was resigned to dying alone in the darkness, numb to fear. And then, after she had accepted her fate, the stones that sealed her into her prison shifted, sending light and air and, most importantly, hope. Vigus Quintrel had spoken to her, calmed her, kept up a quiet, confident one-sided conversation until he could remove her from the wreckage
.

But in this dream, Quintrel was livid, and in his grasp was the orb, with its withered hand and bound
divi.
He held the orb aloft, and it blazed like lightning, filling the sky with green ribbons of fire. Quintrel and the
divi
became the Cataclysm
.

Screams woke her. Carensa sat upright in her bed, clutching the covers to her chest, heart thudding. Before she could question whether the screams were real or imagined, she heard the shrieking once again. Worried, Carensa hurriedly wrapped herself in her robe and gathered her slippers, rushing out into
the corridor. More mages began to appear in their doorways. Many quickly retreated, shutting their doors again. A few ventured into the corridor, but hung back, wary.

She found Vigus Quintrel in his sitting room, tearing at his hair, ripping his clothing, and screaming curses like a madman. He hurled a vase across the room, barely missing Guran and Esban, who had edged into the room.

Carensa maneuvered close. Once, they had been friends as well as tutor and student. It was dangerous to trade on that old bond, but Carensa hoped that it might help her calm Quintrel long enough to discover what had gone so terribly wrong.

“Vigus.” Carensa moved closer to where Quintrel sat. A tankard sailed over her head, slamming against the far wall. “Vigus, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Quintrel threw an inkwell against the stone fireplace, sending a spray of ink across the room. “They’re gone,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Who’s gone?” Carensa asked. “The Knights? But you knew they were going.”

Quintrel shook his head disconsolately. “No, no,” he moaned. “They’re all gone.”

“Vigus, who’s gone?” Carensa pressed, close enough now that she laid her hand on Quintrel’s arm. He looked utterly distraught.

Quintrel turned to her, a look of complete misery and loss clear in his expression. “The presence-crystals. And the manuscripts that go with them. Gone, stolen.”

I
’VE ARRANGED FOR A MEETING WITH FOLVILLE IN
public; hopefully, he’ll swear his fealty to you,” Niklas said. It was after eighth bells, and they were gathered in the parlor once more. Dagur and the mages had gone back to their work, reluctantly taking Treven Lowrey with them.

Blaine stood near the fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Piran was sprawled on a divan, while Kestel watched from the window, looking beyond the castle walls into the darkened streets of the city.

Blaine looked to Niklas. “Right now, I feel like I ‘need’ to be in at least three places at once,” he said. “Can you spare the soldiers for Kestel and me to ride into Castle Reach?”

Niklas nodded. “If you’re going to be lord of your land, not to mention a warlord, your people need to see you in the forefront. Makes them less likely to follow an upstart who wants to make trouble.”

“I’ll work with Niklas, Mick, if it takes a load off your mind,” Piran said.

“It might lessen Mick’s worry, but what about Niklas?” Kestel jibed.

Piran ignored her. “Don’t forget—we’ve got Geir and the other
talishte
soldiers, who can make a big difference in getting the castle secured—hopefully before the next big storm.”

Kestel turned away from the window. “Dagur said there’s another storm coming. The question is—can the mages predict when?” She shook her head. “I’m sure the mages King Merrill used to control the weather never realized that they’d cause an even bigger problem. Lucky us; we get to live with it.”

“All the more reason for Blaine to meet with Folville and deliver the warning. Our soldiers can help batten down the city and get people to safety,” Niklas said.

Blaine grimaced. “I’m still getting used to this whole ‘lord’ thing. I really and truly thought I had given that up.”

“
You’re
still getting used to it,” Piran replied. “Some of us didn’t even know you
were
a lord for how many years, Mick?”

Kestel rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let him live that down, are you?”

Piran grinned. “Nope.”

Blaine took a sip of his whiskey. “I’m worried about the storms. They could destroy what’s left of the wharves and wipe out a lot of what’s been rebuilt.”

“What about
talishte
? Can they lend a hand?” Kestel asked.

Niklas nodded. “I don’t have a lot of
talishte
soldiers, but I’ve reassigned some of Geir’s men to split their time between rebuilding here at the castle and in the city.” Geir was a
talishte
on loan to Blaine’s service from Lanyon Penhallow, who had decided he had an interest in seeing Blaine secure his position.

“We can’t possibly evacuate Castle Reach,” Blaine said. “There are too many people.”

Kestel met his gaze. “No, but we can warn them.”

“I’m going to send Captain Hemmington with you,” Niklas said. “He’s the one who brokered the arrangement with Folville,
so he’s known to them. He’s from Castle Reach, spent some time in the city gangs himself, then joined the army before the war. They respect him.”

“That helps,” Blaine said.

Niklas grinned. “It won’t hurt that you’re bringing one of Donderath’s most notorious assassins with you,” he said with a nod toward Kestel.

Kestel grinned. “Reputation is everything in the assassin business,” she said, feigning boredom.

Somewhere nearby, mages were drawing on the meridians. Blaine could feel it, and it added to his fatigue. If he shut his eyes, he could sense bright spots in the darkness, places he knew magic was being worked.

It must have shown in his face, because Kestel gave him a worried look. “It’s the magic again, isn’t it?” she asked.

Blaine tossed back the rest of his whiskey and nodded.

“I don’t get it, Mick,” Piran said. “You only ever had a bit of battle magic. If you’re this connected to the magic, why didn’t it make you a mage?” Piran and the others from Velant still called Blaine ‘Mick,’ the name he had taken in prison, when Glenreith and his former life seemed lost forever.

Kestel moved away from the window to stand closer to Blaine. “We don’t know for certain what toll harnessing the magic took from the last group who did the working,” she said. “But the scrolls said the original Lords of the Blood came away from Mirdalur with new abilities. And yet they weren’t all mages, either. King Merrill certainly wasn’t a mage, or Blaine’s father, or any of the former Lords of the Blood, come to think of it, except for the Wraith Lord,” Kestel said. “Maybe whatever the new abilities are, it’s something that will show up over time,” Kestel mused.

“Perhaps,” Blaine said, unwilling to discuss the subject more,
at least for now. “But right now, Folville is our focus. We’ll leave for the city tomorrow, as soon as you get the horses ready to travel,” Blaine said.

“If the mages are right and we still have a day or more before the storm hits, it’s long enough to make a difference.” He fell quiet for a moment.

Kestel looked at him and frowned. “You’ve got something else on your mind.”

Blaine sighed and nodded. “I know I need to be here, but I feel like I should be at Glenreith. They’re likely to be hit by the storm, too.”

“Dawe’s taking care of it,” Kestel assured him. “Trust your friends, Mick. We have your back.”

The guards at the gate waved their party through as Blaine and the others headed for Castle Reach. Captain Hemmington was a sober-looking man in his late twenties with short-cropped dark hair and a wary expression. Blaine thought that Hemmington looked like someone who had seen real action and would never sleep well again.

The main road into Castle Reach had once been bordered by the villas of the minor nobility in the section just outside Quillarth Castle. A little closer toward the city were the homes of prosperous merchants and sea captains, with more modest homes at the base of the hill. On most days before the Great Fire, the road had been busy with peddlers and travelers, carts full of provisions headed to market to sell or coming from market loaded with purchases, and people on foot or horseback going about their business.

Now the road was empty. Many of the once-grand homes had been burned in the Great Fire, and those that remained
standing bore soot-scars and broken windows. Looters sacked any of the villas and homes that had not burned.

“A copper for your thoughts,” Kestel said.

He sighed. “It’s hard to take this route and not remember being herded down here in chains for the ship to Velant,” he said. He looked to the side to meet her gaze. “Do you think about Edgeland much, since we’re back?”

Kestel gave a wan smile and nodded. “All the time. I wonder how Engraham and his mother are doing, and whether Ifrem is still running the pub. And I hope that with magic restored, they have what they need to get by.” She sighed. “I miss the people—but not the weather!”

Blaine chuckled. “No, not the weather. I hope that leaving was the right thing to do.”

Kestel looked at him askance. “You really question that? You brought back the magic.”

Blaine had returned his gaze to the road ahead of them. “And what has that done? Donderath is as much at war as it ever was, only now it’s between warlords carving up what’s left for themselves.”

“It’s only been a few months since the magic was restored,” Kestel reminded him. “Even the weather is still adjusting. And don’t forget,” she pointed out, “when the magic came back, so did healing and all the other little magics that made life a lot more bearable. Especially in Edgeland.”

Blaine sighed. “I know. And I try to convince myself of that. But it’s more difficult some days than others.”

Near the edge of what had been the merchant district in Castle Reach they were met by a small contingent of soldiers. Captain Hemmington moved ahead to greet them, and spoke quietly with the head of the city guard.

“Lord McFadden, welcome to Castle Reach,” a man said,
stepping up to welcome them. “I’m Captain Larson.” Larson was a plain-looking man in his early thirties, with a head of thinning, yellow-blond hair and light-blue eyes.

“I’m afraid we bear bad news,” Blaine replied. “Big storms are headed this way. We’ve come to warn you, and prepare the city.”

Larson met his gaze. “Do we know when they’ll hit or how damaging they’ll be?”

Blaine shook his head. “The seers said it would be soon, likely a day or so. The storms will be strong. Flooding and damage could be bad.”

Larson sighed. “Then let’s get started warning people and see how many will go to high ground.” He spoke to two soldiers and sent them ahead to gather the rest of the garrison. The two men ran off, leaving the others to follow at a more dignified pace.

They made their way through the twisting cobblestone streets. At a high point in the road, it was possible to look across most of the city of Castle Reach. Blaine stopped for a moment, taking in the sweeping vista. Two soldiers rode toward them and stopped, making a crisp salute.

“Is it arranged?” Larson asked.

The lead soldier nodded. “The garrison will meet you in the city square. And Captain Hemmington’s man has gotten word to William Folville that his lord desires a meeting.”

A few moments later, they were in the plaza that was at the heart of Castle Reach. Hougen Square had once been the center of daily life for residents of Castle Reach. On three sides of the square sat the temples to Charrot, Esthrane, and Torven. The square itself was made of paving stones set in a mosaic pattern with a large fountain in the center from which city dwellers drew their water.

Before the Cataclysm, the temples had been imposing
structures. Seekers traveled across Donderath to make their gifts and plead for favors from the High God and his consorts. On the fourth side of the square was the Tariff House, the king’s authority over all the ships in port. It had been a majestic building with soaring pillars and larger-than-life statues.

Now the once-white temples showed black streaks of soot where the green ribbon of fire from the sky had touched them. The roof of Charrot’s temple was missing, and several of the columns had crumbled. Esthrane’s temple had lost a wall, leaving the inner court exposed. Only the front façade remained of the temple to Torven. In the center of the square, the fountain still functioned, but the stone tile around it was cracked and scorched. Across the way, the Tariff House had received a direct hit from the Great Fire, destroying half of the building and badly damaging the remaining part of the large structure.

“There’s a lot of activity around Torven’s temple,” Kestel noted, nudging Blaine, who turned to look. A crowd of several dozen robed men and women were bringing a steady stream of offerings to place in front of Torven’s statue, and across the open square, Blaine could hear their chants and songs. “Are they Tingur?”

“How do we tell the Tingur from regular worshippers?” Kestel asked quietly.

Blaine watched the crowd, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. We’ll have to be careful.”

The garrison of soldiers Niklas had assigned to help keep peace waited in the plaza. Blaine swung down from his horse to regroup with Captain Larson. Kestel joined him a moment later.

“Where would you like us to begin?” Larson asked.

Blaine grimaced. “I’m going to need help from you and your men to warn the residents and get as many people as possible
to higher ground, someplace they can shelter themselves from wind and water.” He paused. “We’ve brought soldiers with us who can lend a hand.”

Larson let out a long breath. “And you said the storms are coming soon? Even with help that’s not an easy order, m’lord. A lot of the buildings that survived the Cataclysm are in poor shape. Most buildings in the lower third of the city nearest where the wharves were have been damaged so badly that the upper floors aren’t habitable. The tunnels still exist below the city, but they’re likely to fill up with water.”

“That’s why we’re relying on you and your men, Captain,” Blaine said. “General Theilsson will send what men he can spare, but he’s going to be stretched thin. Is there anyplace people can take refuge?”

Larson thought for a moment, turning to look over the city’s roofs. Finally, he nodded.

“The northeast side of the city didn’t get hit as hard as the section near the wharves or just below the castle,” he replied. “There are buildings out that way that might be safe on the upper levels, and some large barns and warehouses where we might get people to shelter.”

He shook his head. “There’s no way, m’lord, that we can get all the people in this city to shelter there.”

“Then save the ones you can,” Kestel urged. The wind gusted through the square, swirling leaves around the fountain and raising dust clouds in the corners.

Larson nodded. “Aye, m’lady.” He chewed his lip as he thought, then turned to his men.

“Gorett, Taben—start moving food and blankets to the barns on the northeast side. There’s a storm coming.”

Larson turned to the other soldiers, who stood in ranks, awaiting orders. “Strong storms heading our way. Gonna be
floods, heavy rain, maybe worse.” He paused. “I want teams of two spread out through the city. Shout a warning at every marketplace, every intersection, every square. Send the people up the hill to the granary barns on the far side of the city. No wagons, no carts—just what they can carry.”