Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (66 page)

Dawe made a face. “Much as it pains me to agree with Piran on anything,” he said with a glance toward Piran, “I think he’s right.” Piran answered Dawe with an obscene gesture, and Dawe grinned.

“I rather like the idea of seeing if we can steal the magic back,” Verran said. He had continued to peruse the library shelves as the others talked, and Blaine hadn’t been sure Verran was even paying attention. He looked over at him to see Verran easily linking and undoing a complex puzzle of metal circles. “Hate to say it, but I agree with Piran too.”

Blaine sighed. “I’m not discounting Geir’s warning. It’s good to know Penhallow and Connor made it out of the crypt, but if they haven’t joined us by now, it stands to reason they’d been detained against their will. Whatever we do, we’re on our own.”

“We’ll take every precaution,” Blaine said, looking at Geir, who nodded. “We’ll assume that we’re being watched, and we’ll take as many guards as Glenreith can spare. But staying here until we’re attacked gains us nothing.” He looked from face to face and saw them waiting for his decision.

“The longer we hesitate, the more likely it is that Pollard or Reese will get ahead of us. We leave for Mirdalur day after tomorrow.”

T
HEY RODE THROUGH THE NIGHT, ALERT FOR
spies. Geir ranged ahead of them while Piran lagged behind, watching for any signs of ambush. Next to him on the seat of the wagon, Dawe had his altered crossbow at the ready. In their time at Glenreith, he had managed to alter half a dozen bows, so that the guards who rode with them or hid in the wagons also carried the enhanced weapons. Beneath their cloaks, they were all well armed. Piran and Blaine preferred their swords to crossbows, as did Geir. Kestel wore a bandolier of throwing knives over her plain tunic and trews, and had a short sword in a scabbard at her hip. Clad like tinkers and peddlers, they drew little attention from those few travelers they passed on the moonlit roads.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Kestel murmured.

Blaine shot her a weak grin. “Neither am I. Did you come up with an alternative we hadn’t thought of?”

Kestel chewed her lip and shook her head. “No.”

“Me neither.”

They rode for a while in silence, and Blaine found his thoughts wandering. It was almost Twelfth Month, and even
in Donderath, the days were growing short and the night stretched long. Edgeland’s long dark and white nights had given him a completely different perspective on the season’s change.

“A copper for your thoughts,” Kestel said after a long pause.

Blaine shrugged and smiled. “Just thinking about how we celebrated the coming and going of the long dark and white nights in Edgeland. The solstice is coming up. Despite father’s many faults, he did keep Vessa Night on the solstice eve and the Feast of Torven on the day itself, and he kept them with style.” He sighed. “Just wondering if I could persuade Edward and Judith to make an effort to keep the holidays.”

Kestel chuckled. “I used to love the bonfires at court on Vessa Night, and the red banners and music to the goddess. King Merrill also had his faults, but he knew how to hold a feast that was the talk of the castle for months afterward. And the food! I’ll remember the roast goose with honeyed parsnips for the rest of my life.”

Blaine’s smile was sad. “Given the circumstances, I suspect anything we could manage at Glenreith would be a pale reflection of the feasts you’re used to.”

Kestel’s smile faded and her expression became pensive. “There were parts of those times that are pleasant to remember, but much of it wasn’t. I don’t miss those days. I enjoyed the feasts we kept at the homestead in Edgeland much more than those at court, largely because at the homestead, there was none of the posturing and politics.”

“Things here are such a mess, it may feel like homesteading to put Glenreith back on its feet,” Blaine admitted. “We’ve been so focused on going to Mirdalur that I haven’t had much time to think about afterward, assuming there is an afterward,” he said with a dour look.

“Let’s hope so,” Kestel said. She shivered and drew her cloak more tightly around herself.

“I’m just hoping that once we get the magic settled, you and the others will consider staying on at Glenreith. There’s plenty of room, more than we had at the homestead. That is, if you don’t have somewhere else you’d rather be.”

Kestel smiled and was quiet for a few breaths. “One thing at a time, huh? Let’s see how things work out.” There was a sadness in her voice Blaine couldn’t place, and she looked away when he tried to meet her gaze.

“Personally, I’m game to stay.” Verran had ridden up behind them. He was still linking and unlinking the metal puzzle, which Blaine knew from personal experience was much more complex than Verran made it look. “I daresay I could assist Edward in procurement.”

Blaine chuckled. “You mean looting the countryside?”

Verran gave a lopsided grin. “Doesn’t sound as good when you put it that way, but yes. There’s a small fortune in livestock wandering free since the Great Fire, and I’m betting that there are still valuables buried in the rubble of the buildings that have been abandoned. I’d see it as my duty to forage on your behalf and bring back the spoils to share with the household.”

They were all joking to relieve the tension, but Blaine had to admit that the idea of continuing the homestead at Glenreith held great appeal. Postwar Donderath was an unforgiving, forbidding place. Keeping people he trusted close to him seemed like more than just friendship; it could be the basis for survival, as it had been in Edgeland. “I’d like that,” he said.

“Stay sharp; there’s a ruin up ahead.” Geir seemed to appear out of nowhere. “I can’t sense anyone inside, but some
talishte
can cloak themselves from others. Keep your eyes open.”

Around the next bend, Blaine saw the ruin. The foundation
stones were very old, and even in disrepair, the structure was impressive. The remains of a large tower still stretched high into the sky, despite the fact that its top lay in rubble in a wide swath of tumbled stones around the base. The thick stone wall was breached in several places, and behind the wall, Blaine glimpsed a roofless façade. He could see straight through the empty windows to the dark sky beyond, reminding him of the eye sockets of a skull.

They rode on high alert, weapons at the ready. In the distance, Blaine heard the hoot of an owl and a faraway howl of a wolf, but in the ruins themselves, nothing stirred. When they were well past the ruined tower, he and Kestel drew up alongside Geir. “Is it true what they said about the tower, that it was a citadel of the Knights of Esthrane?”

“Is that what’s said?” Geir replied. “Do you know who the Knights were?”

Blaine frowned. “I’ve only heard legends. As a child, I was told the tower was destroyed because the Knights betrayed King Merrill’s grandfather. There was talk that they dealt in the dark arts.”

Geir chuckled. “Oh, they’re dark enough, that’s certain. They were
talishte
and mages whose job was to hunt down rogues of both kinds and bring them to the king’s justice. As the king’s agents, they had immunity from prosecution and nearly limitless power. At their best, they did the kingdom a great service by eliminating true monsters. At their worst…” Geir paused and gave an eloquent shrug. “At their worst, they
were
the monsters.”

“What happened to them?” Kestel asked. “That tower looked as if it fell long before the Great Fire.”

Geir nodded, but Blaine thought he looked uncomfortable with the subject. “King Merrill’s father began to fear that the
Knights of Esthrane might someday turn against him. He was wise to fear what he had created, though to my knowledge the Knights’ loyalty was never suspect. He rescinded their letter of immunity and had their leaders watched. There were some incidents that led him to decide the Knights were too dangerous to keep around. He disbanded the order and imprisoned those he could find until he could assure their loyalty.”

“And how, pray, could he do that?” Kestel’s voice was skeptical.

Geir gave a cold half smile. “The king gave the captured Knights over to the royal mages for questioning. But the royal mages had always feared and envied the power of the Knights. Few were surprised when the mages declared the Knights to be traitors. All but a handful of the leaders were destroyed on orders of the king.”

Blaine let out a low whistle. “So, from the Knights’ point of view, the king used them until they became inconvenient, and then betrayed them.”

Geir nodded, tight-lipped. “Exactly.”

“What became of the ones who escaped?” Blaine asked.

Geir looked away. “Merrill’s father didn’t find all of the Knights, and a few of their leaders slipped the net as well. Some among the
talishte
recognized the service that the Knights did in bringing down rogues and felt that the king had been faithless. It was rumored that the Knights survived, with the aid of their fellow
talishte
, in the high country, or in the southern desert. I haven’t heard anything about them in a very long time, so I suspect the survivors eventually died off and the
talishte
members moved on.” He shrugged. “Too bad. They might have been helpful in our current task.”

They rode on, taking shelter just before dawn in the ruins of an abandoned mill. Though Blaine and the others took turns
at watch, the day passed without incident. By the time Geir rose for the night, Piran and Dawe had caught a brace of rabbits and captured a wandering goat, which they cooked over a concealed fire, careful to save the blood for Geir.

“I have to admit, you’ve brought us on some roads I’ve never even seen before,” Blaine said as they ate the roasted meat along with hard bread from Glenreith. Almost from the time they left the manor, they had traveled along rutted side roads and trails that were long disused and barely passable.

Geir shrugged. “A necessary inconvenience. Pollard could put men on the main roads and some of the byways, but he couldn’t possibly scout every farm path.” He gave a cold smile. “Some of these trails have not been well traveled for several lifetimes. I have the benefit of a long memory.”

The wind shifted, and Blaine pulled his cloak around him. “Too bad we can’t risk more of a fire,” he said. “It’s damn cold out here.”

Geir nodded. “We’ve been fortunate that there hasn’t been snow. The trails can be treacherous when they drift closed.”

“I’m just glad there haven’t been more of those magic storms,” Piran said over a mouthful of rabbit.

Dawe made a gesture of warding. “Don’t even mention the storms,” he said.

Piran rolled his eyes. “Warding won’t do any good—magic doesn’t work, remember?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Dawe rejoined. “And the gesture is meant to ask the gods for safety, not the magic.”

“Not sure that the gods are real, either,” Piran replied, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth and washing it down with a drink from his wineskin.

“Personally, I’ll take all the help we can get,” Blaine said, anxious to avoid another foray into the long-running argument
between Dawe and Piran. He turned back to Geir. “How long until we get to Mirdalur?”

Geir consulted the sky, reckoning their position by the stars. The night was clear and cold. “We’ll be to the ruins by daybreak,” he said. “I’d hoped for better, but the roads haven’t been in any shape for us to make better time.”

“I don’t imagine it matters,” Dawe said. “The magic will be just as broken when we get there.”

“Do you think Pollard will have scouts at Mirdalur?” Blaine asked.

Geir frowned. “He’d have to suspect that we had some reason to go there. Since we don’t know what Pollard knows, there’s no way to tell. I figured I’d check out the road ahead when the sun goes down tomorrow. There were no intruders when I did my initial reconnaissance, but it would be wise to be certain.”

Blaine slept restlessly, finally rising a candlemark before his shift at watch. He found Piran moving from window to window, watching the approach to the mill, his crossbow at the ready.

“See anything?” Blaine asked, still groggy.

Piran shook his head. “No. That’s a good thing.” He gestured toward a pot of
fet
that still sat on the warm embers of last night’s fire. “There’s still some in the pot. You look like you could use a cup.” He grinned. “It’s black as night and thick as tar; just the thing to wake you up.”

Blaine mumbled a curse and poured himself a cup. Without sugar and milk to cut the bitter taste, it was barely palatable, and Blaine grimaced as he swallowed it. Within minutes, however, the
fet
had begun to wake him up, and he felt clearheaded.
“Horrid stuff,” he said, spitting to get the taste out of his mouth.

Piran chuckled. “We’ve had worse in Velant.”

“I try not to think about that.” Blaine leaned against the mill wall. “You don’t like this whole Mirdalur thing, do you?”

Piran shrugged. “Hey, I’m a soldier. Soldiers take orders. We don’t plan the campaigns.” He gave Blaine a skeptical look. “And we trust that the generals have a good idea of what they’re doing.”