War of Shadows (55 page)

Kestel leaned into him. “True. And if the survivors from Lysander and Rostivan join up with Hennoch, he might be ready to field an army a lot sooner than we’d like to think.”

Blaine nodded wearily. “That’s certainly possible. Probable, even. And we’ll face the threat when it comes.”

Donderath’s harrowing was not over; not yet, but perhaps soon. And during it all, there were crops to plant and harvest, walls to rebuild, ale to brew, and a Continent to reclaim.

“It’s time to be a lord for a while, instead of a warlord,” Blaine said, pulling Kestel close, enjoying her nearness. “I’m ready to go home to Glenreith. There’s work to be done.”

Two weeks later

I
F REESE IS STILL IMPRISONED, WHY DO WE NEED
to see the Elders again?” Connor was seated across the table from Penhallow, and he was aware that the Wraith Lord’s spirit hovered nearby. It was just a fortnight after the ritual at Mirdalur, and even though Connor knew that his strengthened bond with Penhallow would change him, he was amazed at how quickly his body had healed.

From having been a breath away from the Sea of Souls, Connor now felt healthy and strong. Even the memory of the horror of that night seemed to have dimmed. Connor fought to remember, unwilling to allow the event to recede in his mind.

“Because matters are not yet settled.” The Wraith Lord’s voice was a rough whisper, and Connor knew that Vandholt was doing him a kindness by refraining from possessing him until absolutely necessary. “Reese’s maker has returned.”

Connor could not repress a shiver. “Reese’s maker still exists?”

Penhallow nodded soberly. “Thrane is as old as I am—perhaps
a bit older. He was a ruthless and violent man when he was alive, and centuries of undeath haven’t improved him.”

“Is Thrane an Elder? Or a lord?” Connor searched his memory, but he could not remember ever having heard that name at court.

“Perhaps you know him by his war name: Hemlock,” the Wraith Lord replied.

Connor’s eyes widened. “I thought Hemlock was a superstition, like Red Mariah—the witch who appears in mirrors if called thrice, and steals souls.”

A look passed between Penhallow and the Wraith Lord, and Connor drew back. “Oh no, don’t do it. You’re going to tell me that Red Mariah isn’t entirely a superstition either, aren’t you? I don’t want to hear it.”

“Red Mariah was an insane—and bloodthirsty—conjurer who was cursed to wander the Unseen Realm for her crimes,” Vandholt replied. “And as you’ll recall, I, too, inhabit the Unseen Realm. I have seen her, unfortunately. She is no myth.”

“Red Mariah is the least of our worries,” Penhallow said. “But Thrane—Hemlock—is another matter. The fact that there are rumors that he’s returned are worrisome, especially given how fragile the consensus of the Elders is right now.”

“Returned from where?” Connor leaned forward.

“We don’t know. That’s the problem. Thrane disappeared nearly seventy years ago, without a trace,” Penhallow replied. “He was not the type to avoid attention, so his absence—while not minded—was frequently remarked upon.”

“And now he’s back? Why?” Connor asked.

“That, m’lad, is the problem,” the Wraith Lord said. “There have been rumors that Thrane has stepped in to take advantage of the opportunities now that Lysander, Quintrel, and Rostivan
have been killed.” He paused. “It’s also likely that he’ll try to enable Reese to escape. Reese has been a valuable servant.”

“Can he do that? Reese, I mean. Can he get loose?”

Penhallow shrugged. “You were in the oubliette with Lorens. Despite the most stringent mortal precautions, Lorens managed to slip his bonds. Few of our kind supported Lorens. I suspect that Reese’s support is somewhat broader, though many would hesitate to speak of it aloud.”

“What does Thrane want from the Elders?” Connor asked.

“Knowing Thrane, he’s got a long list of demands,” Penhallow observed drily. “But I’m sure he will insist that Reese be released. He’ll try to get sanctions against the Wraith Lord and me for having brought Reese to the Elders’ attention.”

“Would the Elders support him?”

“Doubtful,” the Wraith Lord replied. “But if you recall, in the last vote among the Elders they were hardly united. Out of thirteen Elders, five voted to merely punish Reese and not require the final death, while three would have freed him without sanction and punished Penhallow and me for having brought the matter up.” His spectral figure shook its head. “That’s a thin margin.”

“Are any of the Elders on our side?” Connor asked.

Penhallow chuckled. “On our side? Only Kierken here that we’re sure of,” he replied. “The others vote primarily for their own self-interest.”

“But aren’t the Elders supposed to rule for what’s best for
talishte
as a group?” Connor asked. Yet he remembered the often-contentious debates within the King’s Council, when nobles fought over petty issues when they, too, were supposed to be responsible for the welfare of the kingdom as a whole.

Penhallow looked resigned. “When the kings of Donderath
ruled, the Elders had a purpose. Under mortal rule, we needed a governing body of our own to enforce a code of conduct designed to avoid the kind of slaughter that happened when the Knights of Esthrane were banished, or when Lorens went on a rampage.”

He shook his head. “Now there’s no single mortal ruler. No recognized authority. The threat of organized extermination is not imminent. And some among our kind are thinking that it would be good if that situation remained permanent.”

“It can’t,” the Wraith Lord replied. “Mortals outnumber us by too large a number. We will always be vulnerable. But there are fools who forget those constraints and dream of a world without rules.”

Penhallow raised an eyebrow. “Any man who rails against the need for government bears watching very closely. Honest men appreciate the constables. Only those who wish to do something they should not be doing fear and hate the rule of law.”

“So why are we going before the Elders again?” Connor asked.

“We’re going before the Elders because someone has to stand against Thrane,” Penhallow replied.

“We do have allies,” the Wraith Lord said. “Silver, Onyx, and Gold all voted for death. They’re the least likely to change their vote.”

“It’s the ones who voted for punishment we need to watch,” Penhallow added. “Had Merrill still been on the throne and the kingdom been as it was, I am certain that several—maybe all—of those votes would have changed to ‘death.’ ”

“And if Thrane gets his way, he’ll try to change enough of those votes to get Reese released,” Connor said. “Won’t he?”

Penhallow and the Wraith Lord nodded. “And if he does, that means Reese will be out for revenge,” Penhallow said.

Lundmyhre, the estate of the Wraith Lord, was a two-candlemark ride from Westbain. Connor rode alongside Penhallow, too preoccupied with his thoughts for conversation. Several
talishte
bodyguards followed them. The Wraith Lord had gone on ahead, unencumbered by the need for transportation.

I’m tired of nearly dying or being killed every other day
, Connor grumbled to himself.
I just came back from battle, and then the ritual and Mirdalur, and here we go, riding into a confrontation with ancient
talishte,
who could squash me like a bug
.

The Wraith Lord’s men were waiting for them when they reached Lundmyhre’s boundaries. “My soldiers and I will wait for you here,” Penhallow said. “And if we’re needed, Kierken will be able to summon us.”

The Wraith Lord materialized next to them. “The others will be here in a few moments,” he said. “Connor—I fear this may go badly. That’s why Lanyon has his soldiers present, and why I need your help.”

Connor nodded. “If it keeps Reese locked up, count me in.”

Connor gave his reins over to the
talishte
soldiers. He opened himself to the Wraith Lord’s spirit, no longer surprised that the possession did not tax his energy as quickly as before his strengthened bond with Penhallow.

How will they know I’m you?
Connor fretted as he walked on foot along the narrow path to the circle of standing stones where the Elders would convene their session.

Kierken Vandholt chuckled.
Ask your friends sometime whether they can tell the difference between us. I may share your body, but our mannerisms are quite different
.

The standing stones were large hand-hewn monoliths that
had been raised in their circle in a time long forgotten, even by
talishte
. Their builders were a matter of legend and argument. Mages, astronomers, and scholars debated their origin, but the common folk went out of their way to avoid the circles.

One by one the Elders assembled, each masked and robed figure standing in front of one of the thirteen standing stones. Connor watched as they took their places. Behind their jewel-toned masks, it was impossible to see the faces or expressions. Their masks made them even more intimidating, and far less human.

“Who summoned us?” Emerald was the first to speak.

“I did.” A broad-shouldered man Connor had never seen before strode into the circle. He had dark hair and coarse features, with black eyes that missed no advantage. The man had a powerful chest and muscular arms, but he looked more like one of the ruffians hired to keep the peace in a disreputable tavern. “I am Thrane, but perhaps you know me better as Hemlock.”

None of the masked figures spoke, but from their stance, Connor could see that the names were known to them. Some turned toward Thrane, eager to hear what he might say. Others leaned back, wary. Still more crossed their arms or turned away.

“Why have you asked for this convocation?” the Wraith Lord asked.

Thrane eyed Connor as if trying to figure out what to make of him. “What right does a mortal have to be here, let alone know my reasons?” Thrane retorted.

“He is my servant, my spirit-bearer, and it is my right to know,” the Wraith Lord replied in a tone that made his anger at Thrane’s lack of respect clear.

Thrane had the good sense to make a low bow in concession. “My apologies, Lord Vandholt. I did not recognize you.”

“You have not answered my question,” the Wraith Lord replied, sweeping aside the apology.

Thrane stood to his full height, and his chin rose. “You’ve imprisoned my blood son, Pentreath Reese,” Thrane said, turning to take in the masked figures who encircled him. “I ask you to reconsider, and free him.”

“Are you aware that it is a penalty worthy of death to convene the Elders without cause?” Onyx asked.

Thrane made a low bow. “Yes, m’lords. And I am quite fond of my neck. I do not risk it lightly. Yet here I am.”

“We have already considered the evidence against Pentreath Reese and determined his fate.” This time, it was Silver who spoke.

“We do not reconsider our judgments lightly,” Gold added. “And we have rarely reversed our rulings. Why should we now?”

For someone whose fate hung on the forbearance of a group of immortal
talishte
, Thrane looked very much at ease. Connor watched Thrane, sizing him up as he paced back and forth in the center of the circle. The arrogance in Thrane’s mannerisms reminded Connor of many nobles he had met when he was in Lord Garnoc’s employ.

“Because times have changed, m’lords,” Thrane said. “The Elders were gathered to protect
talishte
against powerful mortals.” He turned in a circle, one hand out, palm up, as if to gesture toward the world itself. “Behold. There are no more powerful mortals. The kings of the Continent are dead, and there are no heirs. Much of the nobility is dead, and what remains is impoverished and disorganized. If the threat for which the Elders were gathered no longer exists, why are we bound by rules from a time that is no more and never will be again?”

As much as Connor disliked Thrane, he had to admit that
the man’s natural charisma made it impossible to ignore him. He wondered if Thrane’s charm might be a form of magic.

“Reese attacked me on my lands, and Penhallow in his crypt,” the Wraith Lord countered. “Those actions alone are punishable by death.”

“Yet we are so few now, aren’t we?” Thrane asked, hands clasped in front of him like a barrister making a plea to the court. “So many of our number lost in the Great Fire, and before that, to mortals who hated and feared us. So many of our broods unable to sustain themselves after the Cataclysm. We’re not as numerous as we once were—and we were never many. Can we afford to destroy our own kind?”

Thrane was eloquent, and his arguments came across as reasoned and sincere, yet Connor’s intuition tolled a warning that grew more frantic with every word Thrane spoke.

“We have not ruled to destroy Reese, although many of our number believed he earned such a penalty,” Silver replied. “If all is forgiven when centuries have passed, then what is a few decades’ imprisonment? Merely a chance to reflect upon one’s missteps and find resolve to do better, is it not?”

Connor could not see Silver’s expression, but from the Elder’s tone, he could have sworn Silver was enjoying baiting Thrane.

Is it possible that some of the Elders know Thrane?
Connor asked the Wraith Lord silently.

Almost certain
, the Wraith Lord replied.

Does Thrane know—or guess—that he has allies among the Elders? Aren’t their identities supposed to be secret?

Connor heard the Wraith Lord’s silent chuckle.
Immortality doesn’t change human nature. All of the games, the intrigue, the petty competition that went on at court go on among
talishte—
only they play out over centuries, and at a much higher cost
.

“I did not vote for punishment, or death.” Aubergine
spoke up. There was a tone in the Elder’s voice that presumed vindication.