Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (55 page)

Lowrey cleared his throat. “Since I’ve been here for a month and I take it you’re newly arrived, allow me to play host with Traher’s resources,” he said with a voice that revealed more curiosity than welcome. “I’ve learned my way around, and if I’m a prisoner, it’s a most agreeable prison. Aside from not being permitted to leave, I’ve had the run of the place and all the food and wine I care to consume.” He patted his stomach. “And I can consume a lot.”

He paused and looked hard at Penhallow. “If I recall correctly, you’re dead, aren’t you? Fascinating.
Talishte
, is it? I’ve been studying your kind for decades. Once we get you settled in, I’ve got a few questions for you.” He headed off down the corridor in the opposite direction of where Voss went. After a few steps, he paused and turned, motioning for them to follow him.

“Well? Are you coming?” He stood with his hands on his hips.

Penhallow chuckled. “After you, Conroy,” he said.

Connor glared at him. “That’s not funny.”

Treven Lowrey led them deeper into Voss’s fortress. The interior rooms were to Penhallow’s liking, as they were windowless and kept out the sun. They made a detour at the kitchen, where Lowrey was a dour host, gathering fruit, bread, cheese, and a trencher of bread for Connor and a flagon of fresh deer’s blood for Penhallow, while pocketing a few small cakes for himself, all the time grumbling about the lateness of the hour.

“Carry these,” he said, handing Connor enough goblets and napkins for them all.

“How did you come to be Voss’s ‘guest’?” Penhallow asked as Lowrey continued his raid on the kitchen.

“Not quite sure,” Lowrey replied. “I’d had the feeling I was being followed and watched. One night, as I was going down to the pub, two ruffians grabbed me and tried to throw me into a carriage. To my amazement, two larger ruffians attacked—at the time, I wasn’t sure exactly who was attacking whom, or why—and thrashed the first two brigands, then dumped the carriage driver out of the box, forced me into the carriage, and stole it themselves.”

Lowrey led them out of the pantry and down the corridor, which was lit with lanterns that hung at intervals from hooks on the walls. “In here,” he said, nudging the door open with his foot.

Connor moved around the room, lighting the lamps. It was a very comfortable library, one that reminded Connor of the king’s library in Quillarth Castle. Shelves of books covered the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. The fireplace was dark,
but near it were two comfortable chairs and a leather-covered bench. Lowrey appropriated one of the chairs, motioning for Penhallow to take the other. Connor found a seat on the bench, and Lowrey pulled a small table between them for their repast. He spread out their bounty, along with the goblets he had foisted on Connor to carry from the pantry. Lowrey did not settle back into his chair until he had poured a goblet of blood for Penhallow and filled his own goblet and Connor’s with wine. Then he withdrew the cakes from his pockets and took a bite.

“Why would anyone want to kidnap you?” Penhallow asked.

Lowrey dabbed a few crumbs from his lips and shook out his napkin. “I couldn’t figure it out at the time, but now I’m sure it was because of the magic.”

Penhallow and Connor exchanged glances. “Magic?” Penhallow asked.

Lowrey gave them a sour look. “Oh, I see the look in your eyes. Makes me glad you’ve eaten, you look so hungry. I’m a scholar and a mage, or perhaps, more to the point, an ex-mage. Lost my powers when the magic died.” He shook his head. “Apparently in some circles, even without magic I’m dangerous.”

“You seem to think it’s all a joke,” Connor said accusingly.

Lowrey leaned back and crossed his arms. “No, no. It’s no joke. It felt quite real when those villains were fighting over me outside the pub. I was afraid someone was going to slit my throat, hoping to pick my pocket of coins, and I had only enough to buy a pint or two at the pub. As I said, I’m a scholar. Not the man to rob. But,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, “once I got over the fear, I realized that whatever was going on was a damned sight more interesting than what I’d normally be doing, and I settled in and went along for the ride.”

“Who tried to kidnap you?” Penhallow asked. He had poured a goblet of blood and sat back, looking as comfortable as if he were in his own quarters. Connor watched Lowrey closely, trying to come to his own decision about the wiry little man. There was shrewd intelligence in Lowrey’s eyes. Yet he knew from court that even scholars in monastic houses often worked as spies and informants for other powerful interests, and that the research they did served purposes more worldly than academic.

“I had no idea,” Lowrey replied. “Voss tells me the men belonged to Vedran Pollard, working for another man, a
talishte
named Pentreath Reese. Do you know them?”

Penhallow looked as if he’d tasted spoiled meat. “Unfortunately, yes. Why did they want to kidnap you?”

Lowrey’s grin was crafty. “On account of the magic. I’ve made a life’s work of studying cartography and astronomy, which influence magics small and large. To tell you the truth, my magic is very much influenced by the movement of the stars, which is what got me started on the subject. Bit of an obsession, I must confess. I traveled among all the noble houses, searching through their libraries, to compare old maps with new ones and to look for references to the stars in their courses in olden days. Wanted to trace both the maps and the star positions back to the beginning of magic on the Continent, see how it influenced mages over the years.”

Lowrey paused and looked from Penhallow to Connor like a schoolmaster quizzing errant boys on their lessons. “You do know that magic wasn’t always here, don’t you?”

“Yes, we were aware,” Penhallow said, staving off what Connor guessed would have been a long lecture.

Lowrey looked disappointed, but rallied quickly. “Traced it
back to a place called Mirdalur, where the first great Lords of the Blood pulled the energies together to bring magic to the Continent. Since the war and all, when the magic died, I’d been trying to figure out whether someone could do what the great lords did at Mirdalur, and bring it back.”

“And what did you discover?”

“Well, that was what I was really afraid of when those ruffians grabbed me. I was afraid that someone might harm my research. I’d gone through all those tomes in the noble houses, you know, before the Great Fire.”

“So your notes are all that remains of those books,” Connor said.

A furtive look glimmered in Lowrey’s eyes. “Not exactly,” he said. “I, uh, liberated, volumes that were particularly helpful. Those high-born dandies weren’t using them. Most of the books were thick with dust and falling apart—shameful treatment for a book, you know. I took them with me, for safekeeping.”

“You looted the noble libraries, stole what you wanted, and hid it,” Penhallow summarized, his voice more amused than scolding.

Lowrey grimaced. “It sounds bad when you say it like that, but I guess you could see it that way.”

“Where are your books now?”

Lowrey gestured to a corner of the library where frayed and aged tomes lay stacked on a table. “Over there. Once Voss explained to me who was after me and why, and that Reese’s men wanted to make sure the magic never came back, I told him where I’d hidden the books and he brought everything here. Now I’m the scholar-in-residence, and Voss keeps me quite comfortable.”

Penhallow exchanged glances with Connor, who could sense
the other’s excitement even though to Lowrey, Penhallow’s expression might not reveal anything. “And what did you discover?” Penhallow asked, then held up a hand, forestalling Lowrey, who appeared to be ready to launch into a lecture. “In a nutshell?”

Lowrey frowned at being cut off, and for a moment, Connor did not think the scholar would comply. “It’s all very interesting,” he said finally, looking wounded at the need to cut his dissertation short. “It took a special combination of place, people, power, and timing to make it happen the first time. Unfortunately, the records from those years are largely nonexistent, but I have some firsthand accounts written by the men who were there, who kept journals.

“Mirdalur was important because the energies ran through it. That made it a place of power long before the great lords convened. It’s the kind of place where people built shrines or felt they ought to leave an offering to the gods.” Lowrey leaned back.

“Getting all the great lords to work together—that might be the real trick. My theory is that they each had latent magical ability, even if they didn’t know it. In other words, they were good ‘conductors’ for the magic.” Lowrey rubbed his hands together, getting excited over the story despite his previous pique. “They were all exceptional men in their own right, which is why they had fought their way to the top as warlords in a brutal age.”

He leaned forward. “And I have another theory: that the magic flowing through them that night changed them. I think it not only made them more likely to pass on magical ability to their children, but I think it marked them in their very blood.”

“Can you prove any of this?” Penhallow asked skeptically.

Lowrey looked wounded at Penhallow’s doubt. “A scholar,
even a scholar-mage, can’t ‘prove’ anything. But he can assemble enough evidence to make the case to a reasonable man. And I think I’ve been able to put the pieces together to make a pretty solid case.”

“So what would it take to bring the magic back?” Connor asked, leaning forward, feeling as if he would burst if no one asked the question.

Lowrey tented his fingers. “I’ve told you about people, place, and power. Timing is the other element. Whether the first lords knew it or just got lucky, I believe that there are times of the year when the power is stronger. The equinoxes would be ideal, when the natural powers are balanced.”

Connor frowned. “We haven’t had the solstice yet. The spring equinox is still months away.”

Lowrey nodded. “That’s correct. You can’t rush the natural order of things.”

“What else did you discover?” Penhallow pressed. “Is timing the only other piece?”

Lowrey looked mildly annoyed at being forced to tell his story on someone else’s terms. “I’m not certain how many Lords of the Blood it requires to raise the power. I would assume that at least one of the heirs of those original Lords of the Blood would be necessary to awaken the magic again. Mirdalur would be my first choice of location, because that’s where the ritual worked the first time.”

“First choice,” Penhallow said intently. “Are there other possibilities?”

Lowrey nodded. “Possibly, although the old lords no doubt had their own reason for choosing Mirdalur, and it is a very strong place of power. In theory, other places of power might work, although you’d want one that was as strong as Mirdalur.” He paused. “It’s difficult to say with certainty. I’ve only been
able to find bits and pieces of information, you see, and it’s quite possible there are still unknowns.” He looked at them over the rim of his spectacles. “Unknowns can make for nasty magic.”

“What about the ritual itself?” Connor asked, too drawn into the conversation to think about whether Penhallow preferred to lead the questioning. “What did they actually do?”

Lowrey managed a smile. “That’s where my research let me put together pieces no one else found,” he said with an air of satisfaction. “The first Lords of the Blood worked the ritual using items known to attract and concentrate power: amulets, that sort of thing. There were also thirteen carved pillars at the site to focus the energies. Both the location and the objects themselves aligned with the position of the stars and the natural energy of the land. I’ve heard legends about Mirdalur all my life, but never anything about the objects, or anything linking its power to the stars or to the site itself.”

“How did you discover them?” Penhallow asked. Connor knew that as intrigued as the
talishte
was, Penhallow’s long existence had also made him suspicious, a trait that had saved both of their lives on more than one occasion.

Lowrey looked extremely pleased with himself. “The family of one of the Lords of the Blood had fractured enough times that everyone thought there were no relics or heirlooms left. But the family matriarch was a stern old woman, Lady Alarian, and she had a secret. She’d been the one entrusted with the guardianship of her family’s amulet, and she also had a list and description of what the old lords carried and a drawing of two of the carved pillars.”

“What happened to the items?” Penhallow asked with more excitement in his voice than Connor had ever heard.

Lowrey looked away, suddenly tense, his eyes downcast with guilt. “Lady Alarian was a very old woman, and she took her
role as guardian very seriously. The objects had passed from the wife of the old lord to his eldest son’s wife down through all these years. They were to keep the items secret and guard them with their lives.”

“So how did she decide to trust you?” Connor asked.

“Lady Alarian set great stock by dreams,” Lowrey said. “She had been troubled by a dream in which the carved posts were talking to her, telling her that a ‘glass-eyed messenger’ would come and that she should share her secrets with him.”

“Glass-eyed?” Connor asked, and then looked at the wire spectacles perched precariously on Lowrey’s thin nose.

Lowrey shrugged. “When I finally tracked down the hints and clues to find Lady Alarian, she took one look at me and told me that the gods instructed her to confide in me. I was pleased, to say the least.”

“Who else knew that you had the objects?” Penhallow asked. “Once their existence was known, it would be a death sentence to possess them.”

Lowrey’s face lost its joviality. “I pursued the stories of the first lords with a scholar’s zeal. Even after the Great Fire, I never thought that my strange academic passion could have anything to do with the real world. I wanted to find a bit of history, to touch the past.” His voice had a pleading quality, like a child begging to be forgiven for a yet-undiscovered transgression.

“What happened to Lady Alarian?” Connor asked quietly, though the tightness in his gut feared a response.