Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (56 page)

Lowrey crumpled in his chair, his expression miserable. “I never meant her any harm. It was all just a game, a puzzle to solve. No one ever pays attention to scholars. We’re used to being ignored, or ridiculed. Some of the old houses had already died out. And as far as I could tell, the heirs of the remaining great Lords of the Blood were killed either in the war or in the
Great Fire. Hunting for the amulets seemed like a purely academic exercise. I never thought—”

“What happened, Treven?” Penhallow’s voice was silky, reassuring, and Connor knew that it carried a nearly irresistible compulsion for those who were not linked by blood to the
talishte
.

Penhallow’s voice helped Lowrey collect himself, though his face still showed pain and regret. “A day after I’d been to visit Lady Alarian, rough men came to her house. They demanded to know what she’d told me. But the dreams had warned her, and she brandished a sword at them, told them to get out of her house. Imagine that.” He chuckled sadly. “An old lady thin as a reed, swinging a sword and cursing at them like a pirate.”

Lowrey drew a deep breath. “They were Pollard’s men, of course, probably sent by Reese. The men didn’t leave, and they overpowered her and her servants.” He swallowed hard. “Sweet Esthrane, Penhallow, they tortured her, an old lady, trying to make her tell them. She died,” he said, swallowing again. “But she didn’t tell them anything. Spat in their faces,” he said, wiping a tear away.

“How do you know this?” Penhallow’s voice was gentle, still satin smooth with compulsion.

“A few of the servants managed to escape. One of them remembered letting me in at the door and had obviously overheard a little of our conversation before Lady Alarian sent him away. He was frightened out of his wits, and he could only think to come find me, warn me.”

“What happened to him?” Penhallow prompted.

“I took him to the abbey, where the silent scholars are, the ones who took a vow not to speak. I have friends there, and they hid him.”

“Did you have any idea you were being followed?” Penhallow asked.

Lowrey shook his head miserably. “Not at the time. I was stupid. No, not stupid, just naïve. There were signs, warnings. I thought they were just strange coincidences. I wasn’t thinking about my odd little obsession mattering to anyone but other scholars and mages. Never thought it would threaten anyone. I hadn’t even heard of Vedran Pollard or Pentreath Reese.” He looked at Penhallow as if pleading for absolution. “I wasn’t even a prominent mage. I’d hoped that this study might get someone at one of the monastic archives to notice me.”

“How long after all this were you kidnapped?” Penhallow asked gently.

“Just a day or two,” Lowrey replied. “Traher Voss is the one who put the other pieces together, explained what was going on.”

“What about your research? The things Lady Alarian gave you?” Connor asked, unable to wait any longer.

“I had hidden them, but not because I thought ruffians would want them. Professional jealousy among scholars can be quite vicious,” Lowrey said, sniffing back tears. “I was afraid one of my colleagues might get wind of what I was working on and steal my notes. Once Voss told me what was actually going on, I realized that I didn’t really have a choice about telling him. I was going to be in ‘protective custody’ by either Voss or Reese, and Voss seemed the better end of the deal.”

He sighed. “Voss’s men went out the night they abducted me—or saved me, depending on your point of view. Brought back everything. Good thing, too. Someone burned my house down the next night.” Lowrey’s bravado had disappeared. Without it, he looked older, defeated.

“You didn’t realize the danger,” Penhallow said in his most compelling tone. “You weren’t to blame for what happened. You did the right thing to trust Voss, and now you can help stop Reese and Pollard.”

To Connor’s surprise, Lowrey sat up, his spine stiffened by sudden anger. “I don’t need your damned compulsion to make me feel better, Penhallow. I’ll keep my guilt, thank you very much. I need it to be angry enough to be brave. I’m no warrior, and I might be an old fool at times, but if I can do anything to bring down those bastards and hurt them like they hurt her, then I’m in.” Lowrey’s blue eyes crackled with anger, and his hard-angled face took on a look of determination.

Penhallow sat back. “Good. Because it’s going to get interesting. But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Connor shifted in his seat. From the time Lowrey had begun recounting his adventures, something nettled Connor in the back of his mind, although he couldn’t quite put the feeling into words. Engrossed in Lowrey’s tale, he’d tried to squelch the feeling, but it grew stronger until he felt it like an itch under his skin.

“Can I see what you collected?” Connor blurted. Penhallow and Lowrey looked at him strangely, and then Lowrey shrugged.

“Over here,” he said, rising and beckoning Connor to follow.

The nettled feeling in Connor’s mind grew stronger, as if a vital memory eluded his reach. Mystified at his own feelings, Connor knew that he could no more deny the urge than stop breathing.

He followed Lowrey to a small library off the sitting room. Books, scrolls, and iron-bound wooden trunks of every size and shape filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to overflowing, and then were stacked around the sides of the room.

Penhallow was watching him with a puzzled expression, but said nothing. Connor was relieved; he could neither explain himself nor resist the compulsion flowing through him. The books on one side of the room seemed to draw him, and Connor let himself move closer. His right hand stretched out, as if on
its own volition, seeking a book Connor was sure he had never seen before, but whose image was clear and sharp in his mind.

“Connor?” Penhallow said quietly. Connor ignored him, intent on the book. He began digging among the stacks of books and scrolls, tossing things aside in his urgency.

“Connor!” This time, Penhallow’s voice carried compulsion, but for once, it had no effect. Connor kept digging. Penhallow took a step toward him, but Lowrey laid a hand on Penhallow’s arm and shook his head, watching Connor with a thoughtful expression.

Just then, Connor’s right hand touched the binding on a small leather journal. Its worn cover was unadorned, and it was of a size to fit easily into a pouch or beneath a vest without attracting attention. By comparison to the illuminated manuscripts and fancy scrolls around it, the journal was utterly unremarkable, easily overlooked.

Connor turned to the others, holding the journal aloft, brandishing it in triumph.

“Connor—” Penhallow ventured again. Lowrey hushed him, watching owlishly as Connor carried the journal to a table and opened it.

Inside, the pages were filled with a tight, neat script in symbols Connor had never seen before. He remembered opening the journal to its first page, and then everything went black.

“Connor?” Penhallow’s voice was soothing. Connor found himself lying on the small sofa in the parlor, a cold cloth across his forehead. Both Lowrey and Penhallow were regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Oh, gods,” Connor moaned, and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Connor—”

“I tried to tell Garnoc. I meant to. Then he sent me to the library to find the map and the Great Fire came, and he sent me away. Oh, gods. I never meant to betray anyone. I’m so sorry.”

“Connor.” This time, the voice sounded with compulsion, cutting through Connor’s panic and the blinding headache that throbbed behind his temples. “What makes you think you’ve betrayed anyone?”

Connor did not open his eyes. Shame overwhelmed him, and he struggled to find his voice. “I kept blacking out. At least three times, either on my way back to Garnoc from seeing you, or when I was on an errand for Garnoc, I’d be on the road and then suddenly wake up in a ditch candlemarks later, with no memory of what happened. And I swear, I had nothing to drink. You’ve got to believe me,” he said desperately. He opened his eyes and clutched at Penhallow’s sleeve.

“No memory at all. I was so afraid that I’d been bewitched by someone who wanted to know Lord Garnoc’s business. I knew I should tell him, but I was ashamed—and afraid.”

“You were bewitched all right, by a master,” Lowrey said, and to Connor’s amazement, the mage chuckled. “I haven’t seen a ‘buried treasure’ spell for a long time, and I’m betting this is a powerful one.”

“Buried treasure?” Penhallow raised one eyebrow inquiringly.

“Oh, it has a fancy magical name, but that’s what we called it. It’s a memory charm wrapped in a forget spell. The good ones are quite complex, and this one would need to be if you never noticed anything amiss through the
kruvgaldur
.”

“What in Raka are you talking about?” Connor tried to sit up, but Penhallow pressed him gently back into the cushions.

Lowrey grinned. “Do you remember anything about the passage you just read from that journal for us?”

“Read?” Connor looked from Lowrey to Penhallow as if he expected a bad joke. “I couldn’t read a word of it. It was nothing but symbols and nonsense.” Lowrey and Penhallow exchanged glances. “What?”

“I figured as much from the vacant look in your eyes when you were reading. Fact is, you scanned through that mage’s book without a hitch, even though that script is only known to master mages. Then you read a portion out loud to us.” Lowrey looked at Penhallow and grinned. “I’ve got a good idea who set this up.”

Penhallow looked at him nonplussed. “If you don’t stop teasing the boy, Treven, I shall be forced to extract your main point myself,” he said, giving a flash of his eyeteeth.

Lowrey grimaced. “No need to be a bully. I thought it was plain. Vigus Quintrel left us a trail of bread crumbs to find him—and he hid the trail in here,” he said, reaching over to tap Connor’s forehead.

“Explain,” Penhallow said, regarding Connor with a worried glance.

“Vigus obviously feared Meroven would make some kind of major magical strike. He planned his disappearance carefully. But he also knew that you and Garnoc would need a way to find him,” Lowrey replied, warming to the topic. “And if he’d been paying attention, he’d have realized Conroy here was your courier.”

“Connor,” Connor corrected under his breath.

Lowrey dismissed his objection with a gesture. “It would have been easy for a mage like Quintrel to use magic on Connor,
put him into a deep sleep, plant information in his head that wouldn’t be remembered without a trigger, and then erase any memory of the event. Connor would have a ‘blackout,’ as he calls it. There would be nothing for your
kruvgaldur
to find, and no one would be the wiser until the triggers Quintrel set made Connor remember part of the message.”

“Part of the message?” Penhallow looked sharply at Lowrey.

Lowrey nodded. “I’m quite sure that if there were multiple blackouts, Quintrel took the opportunity to hide all the information he thought we’d need where no one would find it—until it was time.”

“So I didn’t betray anyone?” Connor asked, feeling hopeful for the first time in months.

Lowrey chuckled. “Doubtful. You’re the key Quintrel hid in plain sight.” He looked at Penhallow. “Which makes him a pawn in a very dangerous game, Lanyon. If Reese ever suspected—”

Penhallow nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. I didn’t ask for some mage to go mucking around in my mind, shifting my memories around. Reese will try to kill me, won’t he?”

Lowrey shrugged. “Only if he finds out. And he won’t kill you right away—he’ll try to find out what you know, even if he has to cut your—”

Penhallow cleared his throat loudly. “That’s quite enough, Treven. Connor’s already had a fright. You’re not helping.” He looked at Connor, and Connor saw a flicker of worry in the
talishte
’s blue eyes. “I will protect you, Connor. I’ve bested Reese for several hundred years, and I’m not about to lose to him now. You have my word.”

Lowrey snorted. “Did you forget we’re bottled up under siege?”

“Safe for the moment,” Penhallow muttered.

“What… what did I say? When I read from the book?” Connor asked. His headache was easing, and he managed to sit up.

“You said, ‘A remnant remains. I have hidden hope. When the light returns, so will the lanterns and their keepers.’ ”

“That’s it?” Connor said incredulously. “That’s all I repeated, out of that whole journal? That bit of rubbish is what’s had me scared out of my head these last few months?”

Lowrey grinned. “If there’s one thing a mage likes better than a complicated spell, it’s a riddle. Quintrel’s hidden away mages with potential, spirited them out of the city before the Great Fire. That’s his remnant. When the light—magic—comes back, there will be mages with the potential to wield great power—the lantern keepers—to use the magic. That’s his ‘hidden hope.’ ”

“So Quintrel thought that magic could return,” Penhallow pressed.

Lowrey nodded. “Apparently so.”

“You think there’s more hidden in my head?” Connor asked. He was proud that his voice sounded reasonably calm, although his heart was still thudding.

“I’m sure of it. Probably triggered by some other item of Quintrel’s he’s left lying around. Like that journal. Meaningless to anyone else, but with the key,” Lowrey said with a meaningful look at Connor, “everything is clear.” He met Penhallow’s gaze. “I suggest you hang on tight to that journal,” he added. “There may be more you need later.”

Connor frowned. “If Treven’s right and it takes timing as well as the special objects to raise the magic, then we’ve got to tell Blaine. He could get to Mirdalur and have nothing happen.”

“Or he could find Reese and Pollard waiting for him,” Penhallow said grimly.

Lowrey sat up in alarm. “Blaine? Blaine McFadden is still alive? Is he still in Velant?”

Connor shook his head. “No. He came back to Donderath to see if he could raise the magic.”

Lowrey looked distressed. “That’s bad. He can’t go to Mirdalur, not without the proper preparations.”

“Why not?” Penhallow asked, concerned. “What’s the risk? Without the other elements, nothing will happen.”