War of Shadows (8 page)

Larson’s men hurried to carry out his orders. Larson cast a glance toward the sky. “How long did your mages say we had to prepare?”

Blaine followed his gaze. Clouds were rolling in, and the air had grown colder. The wind had picked up, and there was an undeniable bite in the air. “A day, if we’re lucky.”

Larson gave him a skeptical glance. “You sure about that, m’lord? The sky’s grown much darker just since this morning.”

Blaine felt a prickle of foreboding as he stared at the gray clouds. He had spent three years in Edgeland aboard the herring boats, and in the dangerous northern seas, being able to read the weather was the difference between making it back to shore alive and being lost at sea. And right now, if he had been aboard one of the herring boats, Blaine would have been ready to head for home.

He drew Larson over to the side, where they could speak without their voices carrying. “Tell me; how long have the Torven worshippers been gathering like that?”

Larson glanced over toward where the group began another chant and knelt in supplication. “They’ve been filing in now for a little over a week. We’re not sure what it means, or whether it’s just how some folks are dealing with everything that’s been going on.”

Blaine briefed Larson on what they knew about the Tingur. “Don’t assume they’re friendly.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Larson said, then rallied his men and headed out to begin evacuating the city.

“Lord McFadden.” One of the soldiers who had accompanied Blaine and Kestel approached. “We’ve made contact with William Folville of the… guild. You asked us to let you know,” the soldier said. Kestel barely hid a snicker at the polite term.

“And?”

“A meeting has been arranged a candlemark from now at the old Rooster and Pig. Folville said he was certain you would know where that was.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” Kestel asked.

Blaine shrugged. “Right now, he’s got more to gain by working with us than against us. It’s an arrangement of necessity. He and his gang are the best of a bad lot. But we don’t have enough soldiers to enforce the law. Folville’s got enough of a following to be able to keep worse elements at bay.”

Kestel nodded. “Where will he stand, I wonder, if Lysander or one of the other warlords attacks?”

Blaine chuckled. “With his own interests. And I intend to make sure he sees that his interests are closely aligned with ours.”

It should have taken only half a candlemark to cross Castle Reach and get to the Rooster and Pig. But with the dock road under water and the other roadways still littered with fallen rocks and debris, nearly a full candlemark had passed before Blaine and his party reached the old shipyard where the remains of the tavern stood.

Kestel gave a sad smile. “The Rooster and Pig had the best bitterbeer in all of Donderath,” she sighed. “And the best illicit gambling parlor in Castle Reach.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Kestel chuckled. “You knew Engraham, the tavern’s owner, before he and Connor washed ashore in Edgeland?’

Blaine nodded. “Like everyone else, if I had business in
Castle Reach, I did my best to stop for bitterbeer at the Rooster and Pig. I never joined in the wagering, although I’d heard rumors that it went on.”

The group rounded a corner, and what remained of the Rooster and Pig came into view. “It looks a little better than the last time we were here,” Kestel observed.

Before the Great Fire, the Rooster and Pig had been a prosperous tavern. The front of the house drew city dwellers of all types, from the sailors who were in port with the merchant ships, to the dockhands on the wharves, to farmers in town to sell wares at market. In the back, the wastrel sons of the nobility gambled away their fortunes, cheered on by their courtesans and hangers-on.

The Rooster and Pig’s red roof had always been visible from halfway across the city, and its bright-blue shutters always made Blaine think of it as a garishly made-up strumpet. It was too loud, too crowded, too smoke-filled—and just right. Before the Cataclysm, Engraham held court at the bar, serving up drinks and platters of fresh fish with a never-ending supply of good conversation and wit.

“Sorry, but I never had the opportunity to be one of those debauched young noblemen,” Blaine replied. “I didn’t get into Castle Reach that often, and I truly came for the bitterbeer.”

Kestel chuckled. “Believe me when I tell you, the company in the back room was overrated.” She paused. “I wonder how Engraham is doing up in Edgeland?”

“If he’s selling bitterbeer, he’s probably a wealthy man by now,” Blaine replied, only partly in jest.

When Blaine and his friends arrived on the ship from Edgeland, they had come directly to the ruins of the Rooster and Pig. Engraham had given Connor directions to a small stash of
weapons and valuables stored in one of the tunnels beneath the pub, and they had needed the supplies after their journey.

Then, the Rooster and Pig was a tumbledown heap of burned beams and scorched brick, its windows shattered, its roof a pile of wreckage. As Blaine and the others rode closer, it was obvious that someone had attempted to rebuild.

The roof had been replaced. Glass was hard to find, so wooden shutters covered the windows. The brick was marred by scorch marks and soot, stained by years of use, but the tavern’s walls stood straight and strong. And by the look of it, the Rooster and Pig was open for business once more.

“Keep a sharp eye out. Make sure we don’t get any surprises.” Blaine instructed the two soldiers who had accompanied them.

“I’ve got your back,” Kestel murmured. “Just be your charming self.”

Inside the Rooster and Pig, it was clear that the revived pub was only a shadow of its former glory. From the sharp smell of raw liquor, Blaine guessed that the distilling skills of the new owner were still being developed.

Kestel wrinkled her nose. “Smells like the rotgut we used to brew in Edgeland.”

The fireplace blazed, adding the scent of burning wood to the smell of unwashed bodies and candle smoke. The pub was busy, and serving wenches brought out trenchers of stew and plates of baked fish that looked passingly edible.

“There’s our man,” Blaine said with a nod.

William Folville sat at a table in the far corner of the pub. He was a lean man with a sharp, rodent-like face, and long, skinny arms. Folville was likely the same age as Blaine, just a few years shy of thirty. If so, he had already lived unusually long for someone who was the leader of one of the city’s most notorious—and successful—gangs of thieves.

“Lord McFadden,” Folville said with a lopsided smile that showed a row of crooked, blackened teeth. “Welcome to my parlor.” He eyed Kestel as if trying to figure out why a woman was wearing not just a man’s tunic and trews but a soldier’s cuirass and a bandolier of knives.

“M’lady,” Folville said. “Please, have a seat. I understand we have business to discuss.”

“I’ll stand,” Kestel said, taking up a position behind Blaine that mirrored the stance of the two strongmen who stood behind Folville. For a moment, Folville looked as if he meant to make a jest, but something in Kestel’s gaze made him reconsider.

“You asked for a meeting,” Folville said, turning his attention to Blaine. “Why?”

“We’ve been gathering the mages who’ve finally come out of hiding,” Blaine replied. “Our far-seers predict a series of powerful storms heading across the ocean for Castle Reach. The garrison is telling everyone in the city to either move to higher ground or head inland as soon as they can.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Folville replied, meeting Blaine’s gaze levelly. “If the people from my ward want to go, we won’t get in their way. But I’m not going to run.”

“If the seers are right, and Castle Reach gets hit with a surge tide that reaches up to Quillarth Castle, the whole lower half of the city will be under water,” Blaine said. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

“
If
the seers are right,” Folville repeated. “But what if they’re wrong? Look, Lord McFadden, we’ve kept our part of the bargain. We’ve pushed back against the Badger Group and the Red Blades to keep the city from having one battle after another over territory. And right now, my followers control three-quarters of Castle Reach, including the waterfront.”

He shook his head. “We pull back, storm or no, and it won’t
just be the sea rushing in. The Badgers and the Blades will snap up that territory, kill anyone loyal to me—and to you—and we’ll have to retake it square by bloody square.”

“What’s your plan, then?” Blaine asked. “If the storms were coming down from the mountains instead of in from the sea, we could get people into the tunnels. But that high a tide together with winds and heavy rain will flood the tunnels.”

Folville’s dark eyes glinted with the challenge. “My men have been reinforcing the upper levels of the tallest buildings that survived the war. They don’t look like much on the outside, but inside, we’ve shored up the supports, strengthened the floors, replaced beams in the roofs.”

“You expected storms?” Blaine asked.

Folville laughed, and the two bodyguards chuckled. “Hardly. We figured them for towers that could give us command of key streets and plazas, plus a view so we could see who might be coming our way.”

“You’re preparing for war,” Kestel said.

Folville looked at her as if trying to figure out her place. He nodded. “Yeah. The Badgers have gotten pushy. They’ve been brewing whiskey and trying to sell it in our areas, and I’ve had a couple of my men turn up dead near Badger territory. Personally, I think someone’s helping them.”

“Who?” Blaine asked.

Folville shrugged. “If I knew that, I’d have already killed them.”

“No suspicions?” Kestel probed.

Once again, Folville studied her features. “I know who you are. You’re Falke, the assassin.”

“Right you are,” Kestel replied. Blaine saw Folville’s two bodyguards startle, as if it had not occurred to them before this that Kestel’s presence was not for show.

“You did time in Velant,” Folville added. “For murder.”

“Only the one they knew about,” Kestel said brightly. She met Folville’s gaze. “There were lots they didn’t.”

The implied threat did not seem to rattle Folville, but his bodyguards looked wary, if a little surprised.
They each outweigh Kestel a couple of times over, but I’d bet on her in a fight any day
, Blaine thought, suppressing a chuckle.

“How many buildings do your people control?” Blaine asked. “Could you shelter people on the upper floors?”

Folville hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Not the whole city, but a lot of people. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but if it gets as bad as your mages say, they won’t drown.”

“The far-seers think it’s going to be a series of storms,” Kestel said. “It’s payback for what the king’s mages used to do to keep bad storms away from the kingdom. Now nature’s straightening itself out, and we’re in for it until things get sorted.”

“We’ve got supplies laid in,” Folville replied. “That’s one way I make sure the people in my ward stay loyal when the other gangs come around trying to push into my streets. My people don’t go hungry. They work for me and stay loyal, and I’ll make sure they have clothes on their backs, shoes on their feet, and food in their bellies.”

“Will your supplies get flooded?” Blaine pressed. “If the storms hit like we’re expecting, it’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to get new provisions.”

Folville shrugged. “Some might. If we’ve got a day or two, my men can move most of what might be in danger. Most of what we’ve got should be safe.”

Outside the Rooster and Pig, Blaine could hear the wind howl. A loose shutter banged against the wooden walls. Above the wind, Blaine heard the sound of chanting, and what sounded like a large crowd singing. Some of the patrons in the
Rooster and Pig shifted to see out the pub’s windows. Folville gestured to one of his bodyguards, and the man took a few steps to look out the window. He returned a moment later, scowling.

“It’s those damn Torven troublemakers,” the burly man growled. “Got a big crowd down by the water.”

Folville looked up at the bodyguard. “Go get some of the other men. Run those bastards out of my territory.”

The bodyguard nodded. “We’ll get it done,” he promised, and shouldered his way out of the crowded pub.

“What do you know about them?” Blaine asked Folville.

Folville cursed. “Very little, and even that’s too much. They showed up a couple of weeks ago, around Torven’s main shrine. Pretty soon, there were more of them, and then even more. Next thing I know, they’re causing problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Kestel asked.

Folville spat on the floor. “We caught a couple of them trying to break into one of our storehouses. They’ve been causing disturbances, making prophecies. We don’t need that. My men roughed them up plenty good. Maybe the others will get the message.”

“Anything else?” Blaine asked.

Folville muttered a few more curses under his breath. “Nothing I can prove, but every time there’s trouble, those damn Tingur have just left. Had a warehouse catch on fire. One of my men saw two of those robed men nearby just before the flames caught. We’ve been having more problems than usual with the Badgers and the Blades, and I can’t shake the feeling that the Tingur have something to do with it.”

“Rumor has it Karstan Lysander might be using the Tingur, giving them aid,” Blaine said.

“What in Raka does Lysander have to do with a bunch of loonies?” Folville asked.

“We think Lysander’s using them to find the weak points,” Blaine replied.

Folville let loose a string of curses. “I knew it! I figured those blighters for trouble. My men run them out of my ward whenever they show up, but they keep coming back. I always thought they were planning something.”

Just then, a tremendous crash shook the Rooster and Pig. The floor shook hard enough to send tankards tumbling and beer sloshing. Women screamed and men got to their feet in startled alarm. Kestel drew her sword, as did Folville’s bodyguard. Blaine and Folville were on their feet, expecting an attack.

They followed the crowd to the door. “Damned if the old shipworks didn’t collapse,” one man said as the tavern’s patrons shoved to get a better look.