Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (59 page)

Within another candlemark, they were ready. The horses were tethered in a stand of trees well back from the crest of the hill, safely out of sight. Piran handed out weapons from the cache they had gathered. Through it all, Dawe sat to the side, fiddling with his crossbow, which Blaine noticed had been oddly altered.

“What’d you do to that thing?” he asked.

Dawe looked up. “It’s not as good as it could be, but we haven’t exactly had a forge for me to work with. Still, I’ve made a few modifications, changed the tension, added a few extras,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. “It won’t shoot quite as far as before, but I can reload faster.”

Blaine clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s good enough for me.”

Moving silently, they made their way down, with the hill between them and their quarry. A stand of tangled, dead weeds gave them cover as they circled the soldiers encamped at Glenreith’s doorstep. Blaine and Piran went to the left of the camp. Dawe took his altered crossbow and found a sheltered spot from which to pick off soldiers along the back of the camp. Kestel and Verran followed, ready to provide a distraction to lure soldiers closer to Dawe’s range. Geir took to the air, and within minutes had eliminated both sentries without making a sound.

Verran and Kestel slipped closer to the back row of tents, and Verran began to play a lively tune on his pennywhistle. Kestel let her cloak drop, revealing a mix of silk scarves and split skirts that showed more than they covered, the costume of a successful camp follower. She began to dance to the tune Verran played, and the soft jangle of bells at her wrists coupled with the strange music soon drew the men from their tents. Blaine shook his head in wonder at the outfit Kestel had managed to put together from the odds and ends in her small bag, but improvised as it was, the scandalous outfit quickly overcame the soldiers’ suspicions, and soon a row of men in their nightshirts gathered, catcalling and whistling their admiration.

Kestel swayed a few steps closer, then sashayed back, beckoning with the graceful movement of her hands for her admirers to follow. Verran played, seemingly intent on his music. Blaine had watched both Verran and Kestel hide at least a dozen knives each beneath their garments, and the soldiers would soon be within striking distance.

With the attention drawn toward the rear of the camp, Geir touched down in shadows near the front, moving with
talishte
speed from one darkened tent to another, quickly dispatching those who had not roused to watch the show. Blaine and Piran waited for their part in the attack. Kestel had lured the soldiers several yards from their tents, and in a few steps, they would be within Dawe’s range. Verran began a new tune, and Kestel’s dance became even more suggestive, swaying her hips, revealing more than a flash of breast, and undulating with the rhythm of the music until Blaine feared that the cheering men might rush toward her. Kestel was moving steadily backward, closer to Dawe, and as the music reached its climax, she reached up languorously to loosen the knot of the silk scarves that covered her chest, letting the silk fall away to dance naked from the waist up. Eagerly the soldiers edged closer, and Kestel flashed them an enigmatic smile, their attention completely focused on her breasts, her narrow swaying hips, and the promise of paradise in her eyes.

They never had a chance.

Dawe got off three good shots before most of the soldiers even realized they were under attack. Blaine and Piran rushed from the shadows, attacking with swords and daggers. Before the besotted soldiers could react, Kestel had slipped her hands down her torso as if to loosen the ties on her skirts, but her hands snapped up and toward the soldiers, sending several small throwing knives with the practiced aim of an assassin. Verran had also unsheathed two of the knives hidden in his clothing, and rushed at the two nearest soldiers, striking one through the heart and slashing another across the throat before they had gathered their wits.

Belatedly, the camp’s survivors roused in alarm. Geir easily held his own against three soldiers who had obviously just rolled from their cots and grabbed their swords, running out to meet the threat without full uniforms or armor. Blaine and
Piran each fought two soldiers, who battled fiercely as the odds against them became clear.

One of the soldiers rushed at Kestel, enraged, and grabbed her by the shoulder, wheeling her to face him. His look of rage shifted to shock and then fear as she used his momentum against him, tumbling him across her back and onto the ground, then ramming a knife between his ribs an instant later. Blood spattered her bare chest, and in the moonlight she looked like a savage, avenging goddess.

In moments, the battle was over. The bodies of half-dressed, bloody soldiers littered the ground. Verran and Kestel had already begun to loot the tents of the dead, and sometime amid the action, Kestel managed to retie her scarves into a semblance of propriety and to retrieve her cast-off cloak. Geir joined Blaine and Piran as they were cleaning their swords, and Dawe sauntered over, his altered crossbow slung over his shoulder.

“Pitiful excuses for mercenaries,” Piran said, looking disdainfully at the bodies scattered around them. “Have none of them seen a woman before?”

Dawe chuckled. “Maybe they’ve never seen a woman like Kestel,” he said. “Even if we’ve become familiar with her charms.”

“In your dreams,” Kestel snorted, rejoining them. She and Verran each carried an armful of stolen treasures: food, supplies, and weapons.

“Piran’s right,” Blaine said. “If these are Pollard’s men, he’s scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Geir shrugged. “Be thankful for small favors. Would you prefer another fight like the one at Penhallow’s crypt?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Blaine replied quickly. “But you’ve got to admit, they were hardly crack troops. Makes you wonder what their real purpose was and why they were sent
here. I’m beginning to doubt their presence had anything to do with us.”

“Actually, if Pollard gambled that their presence alone would intimidate the people inside the walls, he was betting it would never come to a fight,” Piran replied. “Why waste your best troops if all you really want to do is keep someone bottled up?”

Blaine sighed. The moment he had often dreamed about and most dreaded was now upon him. The group gathered up the last of the usable plunder and headed for the gates, dragging their stolen windfall behind them wrapped in tent canvas. The rest of the group waited at a distance as Blaine approached the gates.

We look like vagabonds, beggars, or worse
, Blaine thought.
I left in disgrace, and I’m not exactly coming back in triumph.

Blaine reached the locked gates and stood far enough back to afford any watcher on the walls a clear view.
And a clear shot
, he thought gloomily. With his hands well away from his weapons, Blaine looked up at the top of the wall.

“We’re here to see Lady Judith,” he shouted.

“She has no time for the likes of you,” a voice called back. “Be gone.”

Blaine glowered. “We just saved your asses. A little gratitude, please. I need to see Lady Judith.”

“Saved us so you could loot the place yourselves, you mean,” the voice shouted back. “Be gone.”

Blaine struggled with his temper. “If I can’t see Lady Judith, then let me see Edward.”

“What need do you have to see the seneschal?”

“I have a message from Lord Penhallow,” Blaine replied, his voice growing brittle with anger. “You don’t want to be responsible for the message not being delivered.”

The threat of angering one of the
talishte
seemed to move the
obdurate guard to action. Blaine heard a mumble of voices and saw motion as a runner was sent from the gate. After what seemed like an eternity, there was motion again, and Blaine spotted a second shadow above the wall’s crenellation.

“I am Edward. Say your piece.”

Despite his earlier mood, Blaine could not stop from smiling at the sound of the familiar voice. “Edward, It’s me, Blaine. I’ve come home.” He stood where the moonlight gave the watchers on the wall the best view, and looked up so that his face would be easily identifiable. He heard a gasp.

“How can it be? No one returns from Velant.”

“Long story. Velant fell when the magic died. A merchant ship made it to Edgeland, and some of us sailed it back home. I’ll tell you all the details when someone comes to let me into my own damned house,” Blaine replied.

“How do we know it’s really him?” the guard argued. “He could be the one who sent the soldiers.”

“Vedran Pollard sent the soldiers,” Blaine shouted. “He’s working with Pentreath Reese, and every moment my friends and I stand here like targets, he could pick us off with bowmen. Let us in, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Let him in.” Edward’s voice carried down to the waiting group below. “I’ll take responsibility.” There was a murmured conference. “Oh, all right. Have it your way. Just let them in.”

A few moments later, Blaine heard the sound of the gate’s massive bar sliding back, and one of the heavy iron-bound oak doors swung partway open. “Enter slowly, hands away from your weapons,” an unseen guard shouted.

Swearing under his breath, Blaine nodded to his friends and then approached the gate warily, hands raised. On the other side of the wall, eight bowmen with crossbows stood with quarrels notched and ready, aiming at his heart. His companions
filed inside the gate and stood silently behind him. They had abandoned the looted weapons outside the gate.

“Get a good enough look yet? It’s only been six godsdamned years,” Blaine snapped.

A thin, older man pushed past the guards, and Blaine recognized Edward. They stood in silence for a moment, and then Edward nodded.

“Lower your weapons. It’s Lord McFadden, all right.” Edward gave a tired smile, and stepped forward to embrace Blaine, thumping him on the shoulder. “Welcome home, m’lord.”

Blaine stepped back and laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Edward.” His face tightened in concern. “Aunt Judith, is she well?”

To his relief, Edward nodded once more. “As well as any of us are these days,” he said.

“Trapped by brigands, and now vagabonds at the gate—sure, I understand.” Blaine’s tone made the comment seem such an everyday occurrence that Edward chuckled.

“Good to see the past few years haven’t changed your sense of humor, m’lord,” the seneschal said. For the first time, he looked up to take in Blaine’s companions. “I see that you have friends with you.”

“Kin now as much as kith,” Blaine replied. “In a place like Edgeland, you make your own family.”

Edward met his gaze, and a flicker of comprehension for what Blaine hadn’t said aloud gave Blaine to know that the seneschal did understand. “Your guests are always welcome, m’lord. Let’s get out of the cold and inside, where you can refresh yourselves. You’ve had a long journey.”

Blaine chuckled. “In other words, we’re filthy, unshaven vagabonds, and it would be nice to look presentable before Aunt Judith sees us.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Edward’s mouth. “As you say, m’lord.”

Piran cleared his throat. “What about the weapons we scavenged… m’lord,” he added a breath too late with a light touch of sarcasm.

Blaine looked to the guard. “When we fought off the intruders, we liberated weapons whose owners didn’t need them anymore. They’re wrapped in a tarp just beyond the gates. I believe we can never have too many weapons. Please have your men retrieve them.”

Doubt and duty warred in the man’s face, but training took precedence over his skepticism. “As you wish, m’lord.”

Blaine looked at Kestel and the others who were still hanging back. “I don’t know about you, but a hot bath and a shave sounds like an acceptable price for dinner and a roof over our heads.”

Kestel chuckled. “I’ll pass on the shave.”

He waved for them to follow Edward, who stood waiting for Blaine to catch up with him. “Come on. You’ll be safe here. I killed the only thing worth fearing at Glenreith.”

“If you say so… m’lord,” Verran murmured, following Blaine with a wary glance at the soldiers, who had lowered their weapons but who still regarded the group with barely veiled suspicion.

Blaine was silent as they walked toward the manor house. He winced as they crossed the place in the long gravel carriage approach where he had killed Ian McFadden.
He more than deserved it. I don’t regret it, not even with what it cost me. Or maybe I don’t know yet just how much it cost me
, he thought, glancing up at the manor with a sense of foreboding.

Before his exile, Glenreith had been neatly kept. It lacked the opulence of the great manor houses, eschewing the gold leaf, elaborate statuary, and ornate grounds that graced the homes
of the wealthiest lords. Yet Blaine had never thought that Glenreith looked plain or austere. Built originally as a fortification, the original manor house had a hulking presence. The newer manor, which had been Blaine’s home, was less fortresslike and more gracious. What it did not have in ornamentation, it made up for with “good bones,” as his aunt Judith would have said. The stone manor was well proportioned, amply large, and stately in its own way.

The last six years had not been kind to Glenreith. As Blaine had glimpsed from a distance, one wing had collapsed. Much of the grounds lay untended, and the gardens, even in late autumn, showed signs of obvious neglect. Several large, grand oaks had fallen, split by lightning or pulled up by the roots.
Magic storms?
he wondered, taking in the magnitude of the damage.

As they walked up the cracked stone steps, Blaine felt a wave of sadness. Now that he was up close, he could see broken windowpanes and damage to the manor’s roof.
With father dead and me in exile, Judith and Edward would have had to rely on their wits to keep the lands going
, he thought with a pang of guilt.
Carr is just now old enough to really help. What a choice. Suffer the dragon, and at least have enough to eat. Slay the dragon and starve.

At the top of the steps, Edward stopped in front of the manor’s once-grand doors. Their paint was peeling and Blaine could see where the wood had been pitted in places by something that had slammed against it hard enough to mar the surface.