Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (26 page)

A crash sounded behind them and Blaine caught a glimpse of teams of men bringing down the hated gibbets, leaving them in a tangle of bent iron, broken wood, and decaying corpse flesh on the trampled snow.

The crowd streamed forward, shoving their way into the courtyard.

For the first time, Blaine got a good look at the source of the fire. Two of the dormitory buildings were charred ruins. Another building, where the women convicts were put to work as bakers and laundresses, was ablaze. Blaine turned toward the hulking stone building, the symbol of Velant’s tyranny and Prokief’s power. Flames streamed from the windows, scorching the stone. Parts of the roof were on fire and bits of burning wood fell to the ground, sending up showers of sparks.

Blaine ran a few steps to the body of a fallen Velant guard and took a sword from the corpse’s hand. He hefted it, satisfied with its grip.

“We’ll go after the guards,” Piran said, marshaling a few dozen men from the crowd, who fanned out, searching among the buildings for the soldiers who had deserted their posts.

“We’ll look for survivors,” Blaine replied, gathering a group of his own.

The smell of burning wood and charred flesh hung heavy in the cold air. It appeared that the fire had started in one of the dormitories and that some kind of effort had been made to put it out, judging from the buckets and tracks in the snow. A similar effort had also failed at the second dormitory, but little seemed to have been attempted to save the stone building or the laundry.

Dozens of structures ringed the wall. Some held foodstuffs, while others housed tools, weapons, and gear. The stables appeared untouched by the fire, though even at a distance
Blaine could hear the whinnies of terrified horses and the crash of hooves against wood as the frightened animals tried to escape their stalls.

“Fan out; take the buildings in groups of four,” Blaine said. “Stay sharp—you’re as likely to find guards as convicts.” He held his stolen sword tightly.

They headed into a barn. It was smaller than the dormitories, but still one of the larger buildings, with a large first floor dedicated to wagons and farming equipment and a loft for storing grain. Blaine paired off with another man while the remaining two colonists headed in the opposite direction.

A soft thud drew Blaine’s attention and he motioned for his companion to follow him. Carefully, they rounded the corner of a farm wagon, weapons raised.

“Please, don’t hurt us.” Cowering against the wall were several dozen men and women. They were dressed in the rough, homespun uniforms of new convicts and their faces were soot-covered. Despite the cold, they wore no cloaks and they huddled together against the chill. Blaine searched their faces in vain, but did not see Dawe.

Blaine nodded to the other searchers, who lowered their weapons. As he drew closer, he could see that many of the survivors had seeping burns on their arms and faces. “What happened?”

The man who had initially spoken got to his feet. He was in his middle years, with a face lined from a life lived out of doors. While he was missing several teeth and had a wide scar across one cheek, his blue eyes glinted with intelligence. “Fire started in First Hall just after dawn.”

“Was it an accident, or was it set?”

The convict shrugged. “Don’t know. It’s been bad here in the last few days. Rumors said the magic wasn’t stable no more,
that Prokief’s mages were losing their hold. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t. Rations have been scarce since the last full moon. Friend of mine in the kitchens said that the last supply ship never showed up and he didn’t think there’d be another one, maybe ever. We’ve been eating thin gruel and spoiled meat for weeks.”

Blaine nodded. “The warden-mages can’t hurt you. We’ve broken down the gate. You’re free.”

The convict looked at him skeptically. “For now, you mean. What happens if the ships start coming again from Donderath?”

Blaine gave a shrug of his own. “Then we’re all dead men. You can stay if you want to.”

“No, that’s quite all right,” the convict hastened to answer. “Rather have a few weeks of freedom than die in this cursed place, and they’ve been dying in scores lately. First, a fever, then the flux. Seemed like the guards or the mages killed someone near every day.” He shook his head. “I’m happy to leave. We were already dead men in here, just waiting for the day our lot came up. I’ll take my chances out there, anytime.”

Blaine nodded again. “We don’t know where the guards have gone, or Prokief. Until we find out, you’re safest in hiding, for now. As we find more survivors, we’ll send them here. Once we’ve accounted for everyone, we’ll use the wagons to get you into Bay-town.” He paused.

“Do you know anything about the colonists who were taken in Bay-town yesterday? I’m looking for a friend of mine who was arrested.”

The group’s self-appointed spokesman shook his head. “Until the fires started, we hadn’t been out of our buildings. When everything started to burn, the guards tried to put out the fires, and when they couldn’t, they ran away and left us to fend for ourselves. We know nothing about what’s gone on in the town.”

Blaine sighed, though he was not surprised. “It was worth a try,” he muttered, turning away.

Blaine and his fellow searchers turned their attention to the rest of the barn, but found nothing. They stepped back into the twilight. The walls of the laundry building were aflame and its roof had collapsed. Thick smoke blanketed the prison yard.

Bodies littered the parade ground. Many lay just outside the burning buildings, those who had jumped to avoid the flames or who had managed to drag themselves outside before succumbing to the smoke. Quite a few guards were among the dead as well. He wondered whether they had been overcome by smoke or set upon by rebellious inmates.

Across the courtyard, Blaine spotted Piran and his volunteers. They had rounded up more than two dozen guards, who were kneeling, hands clasped atop their heads in surrender. Piran and his men had armed themselves from the pile of weapons they had collected. Others among the colonists busied themselves looting the prison’s granary and storehouse, while some were leading wild-eyed horses out of the stable. Given the size of the mob that had accompanied them up the hill, Blaine had no doubt that the rest of the prison’s farm animals would also be liberated in short order.

“We’ve got to find Dawe,” Blaine said to the man who had come with him in search of survivors.

“Aye, and I’d like to find my friends as well,” the man replied. Blaine got a good look at him for the first time. He had an angular, pox-marked face with unremarkable blue eyes and high cheekbones. His woolen cap was jammed down on a shock of light-brown hair that appeared to have been hacked
more than cut to fall shoulder-length. “I’m Taren,” he introduced himself.

“I’m Mick, Mick McFadden.”

“What do you think’s become of Prokief and the rest of the mages?”

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself.” He lit a lantern for Taren and then one for himself. “Come on,” Blaine said to Taren. “Let’s keep moving. Prokief had to have at least two thousand prisoners inside Velant, not counting the ones who were out on the farm or in the mines. We haven’t found nearly all of them.”

“Assuming they’re alive.”

Blaine drew a deep breath. “Yeah, assuming that.”

Blaine held his scarf against his face for scant protection from the smoke and gestured for Taren to follow him. He flung open the doors to a large barn and heard a hurried rustle and hushed whispers.

“If you’re convicts, we’ve come to free you. You’ve nothing to fear,” Blaine shouted into the dim interior. “And if you’re guards, give yourselves up. The prison has fallen.”

The barn remained quiet. Blaine nodded to Taren, and they entered slowly, their swords raised. The barn smelled of leather and sawdust. After a glance around, Blaine realized it was one of the workshops where convicts made the leather gear needed by the miners, and on the other side of the barn, half-finished nets were strung from beam to beam, the work of those assigned to provision the fishing fleet.

“Come out. Show yourselves,” Blaine shouted. “You won’t be hurt.”

Footsteps shuffled in the gloom. Shadows began to move, and figures rose from where they had hidden, stepping into the faint light. As the convicts gave up their hiding places, Blaine did his
best to make a quick head count, and guessed that close to two hundred prisoners had sought shelter in the barn.

“You’re free,” Blaine said. “Stay here out of the cold. We’re trying to account for survivors, and then we’ll see about getting you out of the camp.”

Blaine and Taren moved down the line of buildings along Velant’s outer wall. A slight movement in the shadows between buildings caught Blaine’s eye and he motioned for Taren to be still. Swords at the ready, they moved as quietly as the snow-covered ground would permit.

“Show yourselves! The camp has fallen. Surrender, and we won’t hurt you.”

In response, two dark forms fled to the other end of the narrow alley. Blaine and Taren took off in pursuit. When they rounded the corner, the figures had disappeared. Blaine blinked to adjust to the sudden change from shadow to the glaring snow.

“They can’t have gone far,” he said. The closest building was a large shed. Taren saw it as well, and nodded. Silently, they moved toward the building. Blaine had hoped to follow the tracks of whoever had run off, but with the fires and the general chaos, the snow was hopelessly flattened by dozens of footprints.

“In here,” Blaine murmured as he led the way. The barn was silent, but something seemed out of place. Cautiously, he moved into the half-lit center of the first floor. The light from his lantern cast deep shadows around the barn’s walls. A carriage, testimony to Prokief’s pretense of finery, sat on one side of the building. Yokes and plows took up most of the rest of the floor space, as well as a large sledge and a huge troika. Tools for the prison’s large farm leaned against the wall, and some tools lay abandoned on the ground, as if their users had seen the fires and fled.

Taren pointed, and Blaine nodded. Next to the carriage lay a bit of fresh snow on an otherwise dry floor.

Blaine and Taren split up, moving around the carriage without making a sound. They both set down their lanterns in preparation for a fight. Taren had armed himself with a stolen sword, though Blaine would have been surprised if the man had ever before wielded such a blade. It had been many years since Blaine had labored in his father’s salle under the tutelage of an arms master, and since colonists were forbidden from owning swords, he’d had no opportunity for recent practice. Before, he might have counted on magic to enhance his abilities, but now he was on his own.

Together, Blaine and Taren jerked open the doors to the carriage. The two men inside hurled themselves at their discoverers, and Blaine realized they had found Prokief and Ejnar, his favorite warden-mage.

Prokief fell on Blaine with a fury, screaming with incoherent rage. The man wielded a sword, raining blow after blow. One of the blows slashed Blaine hard on the left shoulder, sending searing pain down his arm. Blaine gritted his teeth and parried with his broadsword. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine spotted Taren skirmishing with Ejnar, who was dressed in singed and dirty mage robes. Taren was holding his own; Blaine returned his attention just in time to parry another deadly blow from Prokief’s sword.

Blaine scored a slice on Prokief’s arm, and a hail of curses greeted him as his opponent gave a pounding set of blows that pressed Blaine to parry. Blaine felt his temper rise. His fighting magic might be gone, but sheer anger rose to replace it.

Prokief swung hard for Blaine’s head and Blaine dodged, though the tip of the blade grazed his temple and a trickle of blood started down his face. He heard Prokief laugh.

“You never had it in you to be the kind of soldier your daddy was,” Prokief taunted. “And he was a piss-poor excuse for a man if there ever was one.” He grinned. “No matter. You’re a dead man, and you don’t even know it yet. Pollard made sure of that.”

“Pollard? What’s he got to do with anything?” Blaine barely moved in time as Prokief hammered home several more blows, relying on sheer brute force. Blaine parried, feeling the shock of the blows in his bones, wondering if he could turn the attack before Prokief shattered his arm.

“I told you the day would come when Merrill wouldn’t be around to care what happened to you,” Prokief jeered. “The ships have stopped coming. Looks like that day is finally here. I’m going to enjoy this.”

Training and anger took over. Blaine struck back with full fury, using the sword with a two-handed grip, driving Prokief back pace after pace.

Prokief scored again, slicing into Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine pressed forward, guessing that Prokief was waiting for him to tire. Blaine had fought well so far, but Prokief was a professional soldier. From the gleam in Prokief’s eyes, Blaine guessed that the commander was toying with him. In a fair fight, stamina and skill tipped the odds in Prokief’s favor.

Blaine smiled.
In a fair fight.
He dove for a scythe that lay abandoned on the barn floor, swinging it with his left hand in a deadly arc that sliced through Prokief’s jacket and opened a bloody slice on his chest.

“You insolent cur!” Prokief grated, but the blow had rattled him enough that Blaine saw the opening he needed. With his full strength, Blaine brought his blade down on Prokief’s wrist. Both the hand and the sword it clutched fell away in a shower of blood and the man sank to his knees. Blaine glimpsed the
flash of steel in the dim light and jerked aside just as a shiv flew from Prokief’s left hand.

Blaine lunged forward and sank his blade deep into Prokief’s chest, pinning him to the side of the carriage. Blood seeped from the wound, spreading across Prokief’s smudged and torn shirt, and a trickle of blood started from the corner of Prokief’s mouth.

Prokief regarded Blaine balefully. “Did you start the fires?” Blaine demanded.

Prokief had grown ashen from the loss of blood, but still Blaine kept an eye on Prokief’s remaining hand. Blaine stepped back. Hatred and arrogance glinted in Prokief’s eyes.