Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (16 page)

“Just so you know,” Verran added, “everyone says there’s a storm coming. Not only that, but Estendall’s acting strange. Couple of the merchants swore the ground’s quaked in the last
few days. Heard some fishermen saying that there’ve been worse than usual waves because the volcano’s shaken things up.”

“Prokief probably took it as a sign. That man was always as superstitious as he was stupid,” Blaine said.

“Just bring Dawe back,” Kestel said, looking from Blaine to Verran. “I’ve gotten used to having him around.” Her tone was offhanded, but Blaine saw concern in her eyes. Dawe’s dry sense of humor usually won a laugh out of Kestel, and his penchant for building helpful contraptions around the farm had also gone far to endear him to her.

“We’ll do our best,” Blaine said.

B
LAINE, VERRAN, AND PIRAN JUMPED DOWN
from the wagon and gave the driver a coin for his trouble. The wagon’s runners crunched across the hard-packed ice of the Skalgerston Bay road as it headed down the street. Blaine’s eyes narrowed as he looked from side to side. Soldiers wearing the burgundy livery of the Velant prison regiment were posted at intervals. Two of the soldiers converged on Blaine and the others.

“Papers,” the guard demanded, holding out a hand.

Annoyance was clear on Piran’s and Verran’s faces as they dug for their Tickets of Leave, and Blaine guessed that the soldier could see the same impatience in his own expression. They remained silent as the soldiers took their time examining the Tickets before handing them back with a snap of the wrist.

“What’s your business in the city?” one of the guards barked at Blaine.

Blaine met the man’s eyes and tapped his Ticket. “Colonist. I can go where I please.”

“That can change.” The soldiers eyed the three men but did not make a move toward their swords. “Best you stay out of trouble, or there’ll be a price to pay.”

Blaine and the others said nothing until they had rounded the corner. Piran let loose a string of curses. “What in bloody Raka do they think they’re doing? Since when have there been that many guards in the Bay?”

Verran looked both directions to assure that they were out of earshot of the guards. “I’m guessing that Prokief’s taking extra precautions.” He met Blaine’s gaze. “I think you’ve got part of your answer. Can’t imagine Prokief sparing the guards if he hadn’t run into the same kind of problem we had with the magic. Now you know what Dawe and I ran into.”

“Yeah, but did the warden-mages help cause the disturbance, or were they hit with it like us?” Blaine asked as they turned their backs to the wind and began walking.

Within a four-block stretch along the waterfront, guards stopped them two more times demanding papers. Blaine watched the guards closely as they examined the Tickets of Leave.
Something’s scared them
, he thought.
This isn’t a normal patrol.

The third set of guards took so long looking over their Tickets that Blaine began to wonder if the papers were going to be confiscated. “State your business,” the guard snapped.

Piran moved to answer, but Blaine laid a cautioning hand on his arm. “Just wanted a tankard of good ale,” Blaine said with forced affability. “Not a crime, is it?”

“The Commander’s posted new regulations for the city. Best you have a look, or you’ll find yourselves in irons.”

Blaine felt Piran shift as if to make a response, and he dug his fingers into Piran’s arm. “We’re here for ale, not trouble. Just point us to the posting.”

The guard pointed to a broadsheet nailed to the side of a pipe shop’s wall. Blaine could feel his gaze on them as they made their way over.

“Does me precious little good,” Piran groused. “Never learned to read much more than my own name.”

Blaine scanned through the posting and let out a low whistle. “Something’s definitely got Prokief nervous,” he murmured. “ ‘Colonists and sailors will present their Tickets of Leave upon demand. Edgeland-born colonists must show a naming ticket from their town of birth.’ He’s calling for a curfew at ninth bells, with the threat to confine anyone caught in the street after that time. Taverns have to close before ninth bells or house their patrons for the night.”

“And if someone goes out to take a piss in the bushes, do they count that as breaking curfew?” Piran asked indignantly.

“Spare yourself the trouble and just piss out the window,” Verran replied.

Blaine returned to the broadsheet. “Uh-oh. ‘Soldiers can enter any house at any time to search for illegal mages or unlawful magical items.’ And look here: ‘Anyone with any magic, however minor, must register with the tax officer in the city. Unregistered magic users will be rounded up and taken to Velant.’ ”

“He can’t do that,” Verran muttered.

“Does he think someone in Edgeland caused whatever it was we felt?” Piran asked.

Blaine shrugged. “You know Prokief. Probably.” He let out a long breath. “Let’s go see what we can find out in the tavern. Maybe someone else will know something.”

A walk along the storefronts confirmed Blaine’s suspicions. Several of the merchants who carried imported objects from Donderath—fabric, pottery, and the few luxuries to be had in Edgeland, such as trinkets and cheap jewelry—were closed. Merchants who relied on Donderath for their raw materials
had sparse goods in the windows of their shops. The grocers in the market stalls displayed none of the foods from Donderath that usually augmented the Edgeland-grown vegetables, freshly slaughtered chickens, roughly milled flour, goat cheese, and jerked game meat from local sources.

Blaine stopped to purchase the salt and cinnamon Kestel had requested that he bring back. He added a small bag of the pipe weed Dawe favored, in the hopes that his friend would return home to enjoy it.

“Sure’n you’re joking, aren’t you?” the woman behind the stall said. Her breath was heavy with onions and her teeth were stained yellow from the chipped ivory pipe she held in one hand. “Ain’t got no spices, and I won’t have no more until the ships come again from Donderath. If they come,” she added darkly.

She turned out a small bunch of the dried pipe weed into the empty tin Blaine handed her. “That’s the last of the smoke weed, too. Either make it last, or figure out how to grow it here.” She laughed. “Might as well face facts. Donderath’s cut us off. We’ll starve this winter, mark my words.”

“Is that what everyone thinks?” Blaine asked with a nod to the other merchants down the row of makeshift stalls and pushcarts. The market was less busy than he had ever seen it, and the stalls were nearly empty of wares.

“What’ll happen, I wonder, when the long dark comes?” The merchant woman rubbed her hands together. Dirty gloves, roughly knitted, were scarce protection against the cold. “Edgeland was never meant to provide for itself. I reckon the king’s found a way to save himself some coin and execute the lot of us, the guards and the guarded together.”

“I pray you’re wrong,” Blaine said quietly, gathering the items he had purchased.

“Pray all you want; the gods can’t hear you here,” the woman replied, turning to the side to spit into the snow.

Blaine and the others exchanged a glance as they walked away from the market. “She’s got a point,” Verran said, biting into a hard piece of cheese. “The long night is bad enough when we’re not hungry. The fights start getting worse around the second month of dark, and by the time the white nights are back, we’re all barely sane.”

“Doesn’t matter why Donderath’s decided not to send more ships,” Piran muttered. “What matters to me is what Prokief plans to do about it. That’s what’s got me worried.”

They stopped in front of Crooked House tavern, so named because one side of the building had sunk during a spring thaw. Blaine and the others walked through the slanted doorway, ducking where the building’s settling had made part of the lintel lower. Inside, the room had a slight cant to it, like a boat deck in a storm.

“The only people who can walk straight in this place are already drunk,” Piran muttered.

Ifrem, the tavern master, hailed them as they entered. He was an older man with a bald head and a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. A beating in Velant had given Ifrem a permanent limp, and cost him the sight in one eye, which he covered with a patch. “What’ll you have, Mick? Ale or whiskey?”

“Whiskey,” Blaine said, dropping a coin on the bar. He looked around. “What’s the occasion? You’ve got quite the crowd in here.”

Ifrem poured their drinks and looked around to see who else was close enough to hear. “Strange things going on. Heard the fur trappers telling about odd lights and men disappearing.”

Blaine nodded. “We heard that, too.”

“Then yesterday, everyone was going about their business and people started falling over. Some of them keeled over right proper. Eyes rolled back in their heads and they went down. Just about everyone else got the headache of their lives.” He chuckled. “Can’t say I enjoyed the headache, but we sold plenty of medicine afterward,” he said, tapping his bottle of whiskey.

Blaine and his friends exchanged silent glances.
So it wasn’t just us.

“How are folks taking it?” Piran asked as he took a sip of his drink. Verran left them to drift over to where the musicians congregated in one corner. He withdrew the pennywhistle that was always in his pocket, and began to play a jaunty tune.

Ifrem shrugged. “Some people think Prokief’s mages are up to something. A few thought it was a stroke of the gods. Best theory I’ve heard is that the warden-mages wanted to identify anyone with a hint of magic—why, I’m not sure, but you’ve seen the posting?”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah. We were going to ask about that.”

Ifrem shrugged. “I’ve got some guards who are regulars here. Not bad fellows; got into trouble back home like everyone else and got the choice of Velant or the noose.”

“Like everyone else,” Blaine murmured.

“They were pretty closed-mouthed, even after their ale, but it sounds like there’s been trouble up at the prison, and Prokief wants to make sure it doesn’t spread into the rest of the colony.”

“What kind of trouble?” Blaine asked.

“Couldn’t get a straight answer out of them, except that it had something to do with magic.”

The door opened, and a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Ifrem’s face darkened, and he murmured a curse.

“Looks like we’ve got our own trouble,” Piran growled under his breath. “Prokief just walked in.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine could see the crowd part as Velant’s commander entered, followed by four burly guards. Prokief was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cloud of unruly dark hair and a full, dark beard. Rumor had it he had served Merrill too well in a border war some years before, showing a taste for bloodshed and a record for butchery that the king found embarrassing. Merrill had “rewarded” Prokief with the position of Velant commander, in effect exiling him along with his charges.

As soon as the guards had cleared the threshold, patrons began to make their way to the door, jostling one another to leave. Prokief’s expression was smug, telling Blaine that the commander relished the fear with which the colonists regarded him.

Prokief nodded toward the large, central table where several men sat playing cards. Without a word, two of the soldiers walked over and upended the table, scattering cards, coins, and chits. “Game’s over,” one of the guards said. The cardplayers scrambled for the door as the guards righted the table. One of them pulled out a chair for Prokief, who unfastened his cloak and sat down, handing his cloak to the guard.

“A bucket of your best beer, Ifrem, quickly now,” Prokief commanded.

Blaine saw Ifrem’s jaw clench. “As you wish, Commander,” the tavern master said tightly. Ifrem carried over a bucket of beer and set it in front of Prokief, along with a tankard. “On the house,” he said stiffly. As he walked back, Blaine caught the look in Ifrem’s eyes. Prokief would drink the night away with no intention of paying his tab, so the generosity had been Ifrem’s way of gaining the upper hand.

“Damn right it’s on the house,” Prokief snapped. “Bring me bread and cheese, and another pail of beer for my men. Mind you’re quick about it.”

Ifrem’s shoulders tensed, but his expression was neutral. “As you wish.”

Prokief poured himself a tankard and drank it in one draught. He belched loudly, and his guards laughed with gusto, although their humor sounded forced.

“Seems like some of your customers had a little too much to drink,” Prokief said loudly. Ifrem stiffened, then went on with his work behind the bar. “Got a few of them back at the prison last night. Drunk and disorderly.” He clucked his tongue in mock distress. “What a shame.”

“That bastard,” Verran muttered. Blaine laid a hand on his arm and gave a warning shake of his head.

“I think one of the men we picked up was a friend of yours, McFadden,” Prokief said. “Killick, I think the name was. Passed out drunk in the street. Disgraceful. Some time back in Velant should remind him of his manners.”

Ignoring Piran’s warning glance, Blaine turned slowly in his seat. “It’s illegal to hold citizens who have their Ticket,” Blaine said evenly. “King’s orders.”