Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (22 page)

“Not exactly luxury accommodations,” Engraham observed, “but then again, the usual passengers are convicts.” He looked toward a tall uniformed man who stood talking with two men in regimental coats. “That’s the captain himself, over there.”

Connor followed Engraham’s gaze. Captain Olaf was taller than average, broad-shouldered, with a muscular build that made Connor wonder if he had worked his way up from dockhand. His brown hair was gray along the temples, and his face was tanned with permanent creases around his eyes. For an instant, those sea-gray eyes met Connor’s, then moved away. He had obviously been of no interest to the captain, but in those few seconds, Connor thought he’d seen both intelligence and cunning in the man’s eyes, a good sign if they were to navigate to a safe harbor.

Before he could get a second look, they were being hustled down a narrow set of steps into the crowded hold. Connor gagged at the stench, a mixture of sweat, urine, and old vomit. Though the floor was relatively free of debris, the smell was strong enough that Connor guessed it had worked its way into the wood.

Engraham laughed. “This is one time someone could feel blessed to have no sense of smell. Olaf said that they wash out the hold after each voyage, and sometimes a storm does it for them during the trip. Still, hard to get rid of what hundreds of passengers leave behind, I imagine.”

Connor had expected lodgings worthy only of cargo and he was not obliged to upgrade his opinion. A line of small portholes ran along one side of the hull, casting a dim light into the hold. Filthy woven hammocks swung from the support posts, far too few for the number of desperate souls who would crowd into the space. Still, Connor had expected worse. No leg irons were pinned to the walls, no empty manacles littered the floor.

Engraham seemed to guess his thoughts. “Most of Donderath’s convicts aren’t violent,” he said. “Or at least, if they killed anyone, it was more likely to be a friend or relative who had it coming, rather than a random murder. The worst of the lot get hanged. Most of the folks who get sent to Velant aboard these ships are petty thieves, strumpets, and debtors. Hardly a dangerous group.” His eyes were shadowed, and Connor wondered if Engraham was thinking about his mother’s long-ago exile.

“Where do you figure they’ll take us?” Connor asked.

Engraham shrugged. “Don’t know. First port that’ll let us dock, I figure. If it were up to me, I’d try the Lesser Kingdoms before I headed across the sea for the Far Shores.”

They watched out the portholes as the hold grew more crowded behind them. As sailors wheeled the last carts of provisions aboard—including Engraham’s kegs—the mood of the crowd on the docks grew surly. The sailors, armed with crossbows, kept the mob at bay as provisions were loaded onto the ship.

Once the mob realized that no more passengers were getting aboard, muttering turned to jeers and shouted obscenities. Bottles and rocks flew through the air, falling far short of the ship.

“Looks like we were lucky to get aboard,” Connor observed.

“That we were, although there are still a few other ships left in port.”

“Think the mob will do anything to keep us from sailing?”

Engraham shrugged. “This is a large ship. Once Olaf opens up the sails, there’s not much the folks on shore can do.”

By now, the hold was crowded with people. They milled about the space, murmuring to each other in quiet tones, or praying for deliverance. Connor glanced behind him. Many appeared to have brought nothing with them, while others had a small knapsack or bundle. Most were men, with only a few
couples and no children. From what Connor had seen of the refugees leaving the city, families had chosen to make their escape on foot.

Shouts outside drew Connor back to the porthole. The mob on the dock had begun to riot, and men were leaping into the water to swim toward the ship, while others commandeered any raft or battered dinghy that had not already been stolen. As they rowed out from shore, they quickly realized why their boats had been left behind by those who had already fled. Within a few lengths from shore, the decrepit boats began taking on water, rapidly sinking and leaving their would-be masters swimming for shore.

The ship lurched as the sails dropped and filled. Connor saw the lines fall away, freeing the
Prowess
for her journey. His stomach felt a sick tightness that had nothing to do with the sea. As the ship sailed into the bay, Connor had a better view of the coastline. As far as the eye could see, smoke hung heavy over the land. Everywhere he looked he saw buildings that had been destroyed in the firestorm, and in many sections of the city, the fires still burned, fed by the tinder of thatched roofs and dry wood.

Those who stood at the portholes watched in silence. Connor saw the same stricken expression on their faces. Donderath was in ruins, defeated, its people forced into exile. And if Lynge’s guess was correct, the other major kingdoms of the Continent might fare no better.

Perhaps now, whatever was causing the holes in my memory will stop, Connor thought. I can no longer betray Garnoc—or Penhallow. And if I can figure out what to do with the map and the disk, maybe I can redeem myself.
His fear of being found out had tempered to lingering sadness that he might, in the end, have let Garnoc down.
Garnoc never suspected, but I knew, and I didn’t have the courage to tell him. What if, somehow, I was
compromised by the enemy? Sweet Esthrane, what if they learned something through me that led to all this?

His thoughts had gone around and around since the firestorm, ending only when he was too exhausted to think at all.
If I unwittingly had a hand in this, then I’ve borne a price. I’m an exile, I’ve got no money, no patron, nothing but the clothes on my back. I just wish I knew who was behind the gaps, and what damage I’ve done.

Once under sail, the
Prowess
cut through the sea at a brisk pace. Soon the coastline was just a fuzzy image on the horizon. Engraham’s eyes narrowed.

“It doesn’t appear that the good captain is setting out to sea,” he said quietly. “We’ve put some distance between us and the shore—enough to avoid the shoals—but we’re maintaining our course instead of veering away.”

It was just after dawn and Connor realized how exhausted he was after the events of the night before. He sank down against the hull, fighting for enough space in the crowded hold to stretch out his legs, though he remained seated. His fellow passengers had grown quiet. All in all, he thought, there had been few hysterics aside from the angry mob on the dock. He looked around at the faces and guessed that he had not been the only one to go without sleep. His fellow passengers, no,
refugees
, looked exhausted.

How in Torven’s name did this happen? Donderath wasn’t supposed to lose the war. We certainly weren’t supposed to end up like this.
Connor sighed.
If it never crossed my mind we could lose, I wonder if King Merrill and the War Council seriously thought about it either?

Engraham slid down beside him. “Do you think it’s like this everywhere in Donderath?”

“Lynge—the seneschal—thought so. He was getting reports
when I left that the flames hit the manor houses before they hit the city. The heir to the throne is dead.”

Engraham’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? Then there’s no hope for Donderath. Meroven won.”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least, Lynge believed differently.” He glanced around to make sure that no one was listening and quietly recounted what Lynge had told him. Engraham’s expression grew grave.

“So if Lynge is right and our mages did to Meroven what their mages did to Donderath, then the four Ascendant Kingdoms may be in ruins?”

Connor nodded. “It’ll take months to confirm. Time for riders to reach the other kingdoms, see what remains, and report. But without the king or the heir, what’s to become of the people who are left? And if our mages succeeded in killing Edgar and the Vellanaj king, then there’s naught but chaos.”

Engraham sighed. “Let’s hope that the Lesser Kingdoms managed to stay out of the line of fire. They didn’t take sides in the war, so there’s no reason for them to be targeted.”

“Let’s hope.”

Three days later, Connor felt the ship’s motion slow. He poked Engraham to rouse him from his sleep. “Wake up. I think we’re getting close.”

The hold was dark except for the moonlight that streamed through the small portholes. Engraham and Connor got to their feet and picked their way across the tangle of sleeping bodies to reach the hull. Connor looked out across the moonlit water. He could make out the silhouettes of the buildings, but the town was dark.

“No lights,” he muttered.

Engraham shrugged. “Would you expect many? It’s not quite dawn. Even most of the taverns are closed by now.”

Connor stared at the quiet harbor town. “Maybe. I don’t like it.”

Resigned to wait until daylight, they went back to sleep. It seemed to Connor that he had barely dozed off before excited voices roused him.

“Can’t see anyone on the streets.”

“The boats are all gone.”

“Look—everything’s burned.”

Fearing the worst, Connor woke Engraham and made their way to the portholes. His heart sank as he looked out. The harbor town looked deserted. Empty docks jutted out into the bay, littered with bits of wood and debris. Much of the town had burned. Roofless, windowless buildings stared back at them like skulls.

Engraham turned, leaned his back against the hull, and covered his face with his hands. “It’s true, then, what your friend Lynge feared.”

Connor felt cold dread rising inside him. “We can’t know for certain. All we can see is the coast. Surely neither side’s mages were strong enough to destroy everything.”

“But we don’t know that,” Engraham argued. “There might be nowhere left to run.”

Connor said nothing, unsure of any reply. It was the first time since they had set sail from Castle Reach that he had broken through the shock and exhaustion to wonder about the magic itself, instead of its immediate effects. “I’m sure we can exist without magic,” he faltered.

Engraham raised his head to look at him. “Can we? Who’ll heal the sick?”

“Even healers use powders and potions. My grandmother could treat a fever with her poultices and she didn’t have a wink of magic.”

“Ships use mages to navigate,” Engraham countered.

“Obviously they have other ways as well, or we wouldn’t have left the harbor.”

“Mages set wards to keep back floods, to make the crops grow, to bring the rains.”

“Crops grow and rains come without magic,” Conner replied. “Walls can be built to hold back floods. What we did with magic we can do without, if we have to.”

“For how long? How long do you think it will take for people to get restless? Even the poor could scrape together the coins for a hedge witch or a granny conjurer to do magic on their behalf. The merchants and nobles relied on their mages even more.”

Connor felt a headache start behind his eyes. “They can get as restless as they like, but if magic is gone, they’ll have to learn to deal with it.”

“You’re a practical man, Connor. I’ve always liked that about you. But I’m afraid a change like that won’t come easily for most people. Seawalls will break. Crops will fail. People will die.”

Connor sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, Engraham had a point. For those who had survived the war, the future would be harsh until magic returned. If it ever did.

Connor felt the ship lurch. “We’re picking up speed. Captain Olaf must have decided against putting in to port.”

“What’s the point? If the people who lived there are gone, odds are they’ve looted everything they could carry. After all, that’s what the good captain’s men were out doing right before we left.”

“Where now?”

Engraham stared out the porthole. “Down the coast a bit farther, I’d guess, just in case things are better in the south. But Olaf won’t dare waste much time or go too far out of his way.
We’ve got too many people on board and no spare provisions, I’d wager. I’d lay my bets that within a day he’ll head northeast, toward the Far Shores.”

“Then let’s hope we find a warm welcome when we get there,” Connor muttered. “The Cross-Sea Kingdoms weren’t interested enough in the war to take sides.”

“You think not?” Engraham chuckled. “I’d bet they were very interested. After all, they trade with every kingdom on the Continent. Wars are bad for business. They don’t give a rat’s ass about the politics; that much is true. I’m guessing they were hoping that it would boil down to a few skirmishes and insults followed by a return to business as usual. This—” he said with a vague wave to indicate the destruction of the Continent’s kingdoms, “will upset the balance. It’ll change everything—everything that determines who has power and who doesn’t.” He met Connor’s gaze. “We could get to the Far Shores just in time for another war to break out.”

“In that case,” Connor said with a yawn, “I’d best get as much sleep as I can.”

True to Engraham’s prediction, Captain Olaf changed the
Prowess
’s course during the night, and by the stars, Connor could tell that they were heading north once more. The winds were favorable, and it seemed the captain was in a hurry, because the
Prowess
cut through the sea, moving at full speed.

In the hold, the refugees had sorted themselves out into small groups. Some had arrived together, while others had found common cause aboard ship. Men played cards and rolled dice, wagering whatever coins or trinkets they had carried aboard. Most of the women clustered together in one corner. Whether they had arrived alone or with one of the men, during
the day the women left the men to their gaming and talked in quiet voices, sang, or prayed. A few had brought needlework or knitting with them, and they worked in the dim light of the hold, listening to the chatter around them.

One woman sat apart in the center of the hold. Crowded as it was, she had a circle of empty space around her, as if her fellow passengers did not wish to get too close. Her clothing looked to have once been of fine materials, velvet and brocade, but now her finery was stained and torn. Connor recognized her as Benna, one of the many fortune-tellers who roved the wharf taverns. Unlike Alsibeth, whose clients numbered among Donderath’s wealthy and powerful, Benna and her ilk made their living interpreting the dreams and tea leaves of the fishermen, dockworkers, and day laborers who hung about the wharves or sailed in and out of the harbor.