Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (39 page)

“Look at the bright side,” Dawe said, elbowing him. “Maybe Connor’s buddy has taught Ifrem how to brew a proper bitterbeer.”

Blaine pulled his cloak around him, heading into the night, toward the road to Bay-town. Verran’s stew had filled his stomach and warmed his blood, though the bitter wind was making a quick end of any lingering warmth.

The road ahead of him was deserted. Moonlight cast the snow in shades of blue, and Blaine repressed a shiver. His boots crunched through the frozen top skin of the snow, and his breath misted despite the heavy scarf he had pulled over his face. He sincerely hoped that Old Man Jordenson would be on time. Jordenson had a homestead just a ways up the road from where Blaine and the others lived, and he made a nightly run into Bay-town and back to deliver produce and pick up ale or whiskey. He passed Blaine’s homestead every night at sixth bells, and returned from town a few candlemarks later, usually around tenth bells. For a few coppers, Jordenson was happy to
give his fellow homesteaders a ride in and back. Blaine’s teeth chattered, and he devoutly hoped that this was one night Jordenson would not be late.

Behind him in the darkness, he heard the snow crunch. Blaine stopped, motionless, listening. One hand fell to the knife sheathed on his belt. Wolves were common in Edgeland, and Blaine had no desire to face one out here alone on the road. After a moment, when there was no sound except for the wind, Blaine continued walking toward the meeting point, his senses on high alert. Twice, he froze, listening, sure he had heard something in the shadows. By now he was certain that he was being watched, although he saw nothing to provide a clue to his pursuer.

The meeting point, a small wooden shed at the end of the lane, was just ahead. By Blaine’s reckoning, Jordenson should be along any moment.
After all that happened, I’m probably just tired, and nervous. My imagination is playing tricks. Who would be crazy enough to be out on a night like this, besides Jordenson and me? A wolf would have attacked by now, if it meant to. Probably just some wild dogs.

Blaine approached the wooden shed and heard the twang of a bowstring. Pure instinct drove him to the ground, landing him facedown in the snow. He lay still for a moment, listening. He heard boot steps, coming closer, and then another sound, the creaking of wagon wheels straining against the rutted snow. There was a muffled curse, then footsteps retreating as the sound of the wagon grew closer.

Cautiously, Blaine stood, knocking the snow from his cloak. A hunting arrow had embedded itself into the wall of the shed, at just the height that might have taken him through the back had he not thrown himself down.

Blaine turned, scanning the shadowy horizon, looking across
the snow toward the forest. He saw no one. He hesitated, sure that he would find footprints in the snow, but unwilling to miss his ride into town.

“That you, Mick?” Jordenson called as his wagon rolled up to the shed. “You wantin’ a ride into Bay-town?”

Rattled from the near miss, Blaine nodded. He stepped up to the shed wall and snapped the arrow free. There were no unusual markings, no pattern to the fletchings, no remarkable workmanship. Only one thing set this arrow apart from hundreds of arrows in the quills of hunters across Edgeland. It bore a military tip, barbed and strong, capable of piercing even plate armor. Only one place in Edgeland was permitted such arrows: the armory at Velant.

“I said, do you want a ride to Bay-town?” The irritation in Jordenson’s voice broke Blaine out of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said, hiding the arrow in the folds of his cloak. “Yes, I’d appreciate it. Damn cold night.”

“By Torven’s stars! You’ve said that right.” Old Man Jordenson accepted the coins Blaine paid for a spot in the back of the wagon, and reined in his skittish horse.

“Keep a sharp eye out, will ya?” Jordenson said as Blaine settled into the horse blankets and straw in the wagon. “Old Betta’s been skittish the last few miles, and I’m wondering if there be wolves about.”

Blaine’s gaze scanned the tree line.
Not wolves
, he thought.
A hunter. And the question is, why was that hunter hunting me?
“I’ll keep watch,” Blaine replied, glad for the shelter of the wagon as Betta jerked the wagon into motion.

The wagon creaked as it labored through the snowy ruts. Blaine was glad to see the lights of Bay-town come into view, glittering against the snow and the water, a welcome beacon. Down the coastline, Blaine could just glimpse the shadow
of the fortifications that were being rebuilt to guard against unwanted visitors from abroad. He turned, looking for the familiar shadow that was Velant, but the ruins of the prison camp blended completely into the twilight sky.

The crowd at the Crooked House was fairly subdued. A few men played at dice or cards, protesting loudly when their luck went bad. A cluster of men gathered around the fire, swapping tales. Engraham was tending bar, and if he minded the shift from tavern master to bartender, he didn’t show it. “Hey there, Bl—I mean, Mick,” he said with a ready smile. “Ifrem was hoping you’d show up. Everything all right?”

Blaine shrugged and put down enough coins to pay for a glass of whiskey. The wagon ride into town had once again chilled him to the bone and soured his mood. “Right as it can be, I guess,” he replied. “How are you catching on to the new job?”

Engraham grinned. “What’s to catch? This bar’s not that different from the Rooster and Pig, ’ceptin’ the fact that the whiskey’s rougher and we’re more likely to ferment potatoes than wheat.” He nodded toward the room full of patrons, who seemed oblivious to his comments. “Don’t think they rightly care what we ferment, so long as it helps them forget their troubles.”

“You and your mum doing all right?”

Engraham nodded. “Aye. Funny thing, how someone close to you as your mum can become sort of a stranger when you lose enough years together, but we’re working on it. After all, I was just a lad when she was sent away, and I show up a grown man—there’s some adjusting to do, for both of us. But odd as it sounds, I’m glad I made it here. If I can’t be in Donderath, I don’t know where else I’d feel more at home.”

Blaine thanked him for the drink, tossed an extra coin to
him for his trouble, and headed up the back stairs. The Council was already assembled in the upper room. By the sound of it, they’d been gathered long enough for tempers to flare.

A thump that sounded like a man’s fist hitting the table rumbled through the door. “Dammit, Adger, be reasonable. What you’re reporting is nothing but hearsay.”

Blaine opened the door. Peters the fishmonger was half-standing, his fist still against the table. Adger, the distiller, sat across from him, his face flushed with anger.

“This ‘hearsay,’ as you call it, comes from three different, independent sources,” Adger argued. “And all three say they’ve seen wild magic out on the far ice, dangerous magic. We’re in danger.”

Peters sat down, scowling. “Who says so? A bunch of drunken trappers?”

“Perhaps, but I’ve seen the wild magic and have the bruises to show for it,” Blaine said. The Council fell silent, and they all turned to look at him.

“And how did that happen?” Peters snapped.

Blaine sat down in the remaining empty chair at the table and sipped his whiskey. He did his best to recount their adventure without betraying Grimur’s secret or the existence of the map and pendant. When he finished, the others were silent for a few moments.

“Those trappers that disappeared, do you think that’s what happened to them?” Trask asked.

Blaine shrugged, unwilling to repeat Grimur’s tale. “That would be my bet. We were pretty lucky to get out of there alive.”

Peters leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought the magic was gone, but maybe it’s just broken. Could it fix itself?”

Blaine shrugged. “Who knows? It didn’t break itself. We know from what Connor told us that the mages on both sides of the war broke the magic. We also aren’t sure the magic is ‘broken’ everywhere in the world,” he added.

“That does us little good,” Adger grumbled. “Our ships can’t reach the Cross-Sea Kingdoms, and as it is, we’d be asking them to conquer us.”

“I agree,” said Jothra. “But it raises an interesting question. If it required mages to break the magic, does it require mages to fix it? And if the mages of power are dead on the Continent, and we have none here, where could we find mages we trust to set things right?”

The group was silent for a few moments, then Ifrem cleared his throat. “As interesting as the speculation is,” Ifrem said, “we have a more pressing problem, which is why we convened. Trask and Mama Jean have completed their inventory of our food stock. I’ll let them share what they’ve found.”

Trask looked uncomfortable, and not just because his broad, muscular body was wedged into one of the tavern chairs. He drummed his fingers nervously on the table, like a schoolboy caught playing truant. Mama Jean’s expression was unusually pinched with worry, making her look older and worn.

“Might as well cut to the worst of it,” Trask said in a voice still thick with the accent of the Donderath hill country. “We’ve counted colonists and we’ve inventoried what’s in the warehouses. We’ve also figured out about how much food each homestead can raise for itself, and what amount of surplus they can generally bring to market. We also managed to find most of Prokief’s receipts for supplies from the homeland and tallied what the Bay-town merchants bought from Donderath suppliers.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’ll say it if he won’t,” Mama Jean interrupted. “From what
we can figure, we don’t have enough food for everyone in Edgeland to make it through the winter.”

Outcry erupted around the table, until Ifrem pounded his fist to settle them. “There’ll be time enough for riots when word gets to the street,” he said sternly. “We’re supposed to be the governing body.”

Blaine had been quiet as the others had expressed shock and outrage. Mama Jean’s news had not really surprised him. He remembered growing up at Glenreith, watching his mother fret and argue with the manor’s seneschal over what to plant for the next harvest, always with an eye toward having enough to last the winter. Though the ships from home had been slower to arrive in recent months, no one had really expected them to stop altogether. Without ample preparation, hunger was certain.

“By our count we’ve got enough for several hundred fewer people than we have,” Trask added. “There weren’t many newcomers on the ship, but they’re still mouths to feed. Normally, the colony only loses a few dozen over the winter to fever and accident. So we all need to do with a little less, and come up with a way to find a little more, if we’re to get through ’til spring.”

“What are our options?” Annalise might be a seer, but she was also a good merchant, and she understood a ledger. “It’s too late to plant more crops until spring. We don’t dare eat through the seed stock or kill too many of the animals. We have no choice except to ration what we have and hunt for what we don’t.”

“I don’t fancy telling the folks out there that we’ll need to ration,” Adger said. “And with trappers disappearing out on the ice, there won’t be a lot of enthusiasm for going hunting too far afield.”

“We could take the herring boats out.” Everyone turned to
look at Blaine. “I know we don’t usually fish beyond the bay after the long dark sets in, but if we have to, we have to.”

“The waters are more dangerous in the winter,” Peters said.

Blaine shrugged. “And the fish are in different places than they are when we’re in the white nights. We’re at Yadin’s mercy, even more than usual. But a full catch on just a few boats can bring in enough fish to feed most of Bay-town, at least for a while.” He paused. “One ship can bring in six tons of fish, if we take all we can carry. A few outings of the fleet, if we’re successful, should keep us in herring. If we get lucky, we might get a whale.”

“Herring for breakfast, lunch, and supper,” Adger growled.

Mama Jean turned on him. “Washed down with your rotgut.” She looked back to the group. “We have enough flour, if we portion it out to make it last, to go until spring. So you can have coated herring, herring and biscuits, herring and pancakes…”

Despite the tension, the group laughed. “All right, then,” Ifrem said. “We need to leave here with a plan.”

“I’ll rally the fishermen,” Blaine said, dreading Piran’s reaction to learning he was about to be drafted for more herring duty.

“I’ll gather the merchants and work out a fair rationing system,” Annalise replied.

“I’ll help you,” Mama Jean volunteered.

“Adger and I can roust up some hunting parties,” Peters said with a glance toward Adger, who scowlingly acknowledged. “If we could bring down a few walrus, instead of small game, we can salt and dry the meat for later, when the storms are bad.”

“I’ll work with Engraham to make sure we can adjust the mash to brew whatever we’ve got in the storehouses,” Ifrem said.

“What do we tell the colonists?” Annalise’s voice brought silence.

“Tell them the truth,” Blaine replied. “The only way we’re going to make it through this is to work together. They deserve to know.”

“We’ll need their cooperation if we’re going to take the fleet out,” Ifrem agreed. “And it wouldn’t hurt to send gleaners out to the Velant farm fields. We brought in the cabbages, but I can’t say that we dug for all of the potatoes and root crops in those fields. I’ll gather a harvesting team.”

Ifrem looked from face to face. “Edgeland is going to need its leaders more now than ever before. Right now, that’s us. We’ve got to help keep the peace and get people working together.”

Blaine thought about the long dark in years past, and how, inevitably, toward the end of the sunless period, even at the best of times, Edgeland saw its peace disturbed by brawls, suicides, and murder. “Then Charrot help us, because we’ll have our hands full,” he murmured.

Blaine waited until the Council adjourned and its members had filed downstairs before he removed the arrow from its hiding place within his cloak. He had signaled Ifrem to stay behind, and now he laid the arrow on the table between them.