Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (63 page)

“For now,” Kestel added, leaning forward, intent on the conversation. She gave Judith an encouraging smile. “At least, despite everything, you’ve managed to keep quite a few of your retainers.”

Judith nodded. “And for that, I’m grateful. The servants who stayed after the Great Fire had been with us for many years, or came from families that have been in our employ for a long time. And, in truth, there’s nowhere else for most of them to go. The other noble homes, I hear, are in worse straits than we are. The countryside is lawless, and the city is worse. Here, they’re protected and fed. When you’ve lost as much as Donderath has, survival is a simple equation.”

“And I’ve brought you more mouths to feed,” Blaine said, feeling a pang of guilt.

Judith made a dismissive gesture. “You routed Pollard’s men,
which gives our people a chance to forage and gather until he can post replacements. And you’re our best bet for bringing back the magic.” She favored him with a tired smile. “This is your home. It’s where you belong.”

“And we’re more than willing to earn our keep,” Verran spoke up, finishing his last mouthful of food. “Dawe does smithing. Kestel’s a right good cook, don’t let her fool you. Geir and Piran beat up people you don’t like. And I fix those sticky locks that you just can’t open,” he said with a grin. “Speaking of which—”

Judith chuckled. “I saw your eyes light up the moment I mentioned Ian’s trunk. I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long without bursting.” She glanced up and down the table. “If you’re finished, we can go see what he thought was so important that it needed to stay locked up all these years.”

They followed Judith upstairs to Ian McFadden’s bedroom. At the door, Blaine felt a twinge of the old fear. His father’s room had always been strictly off-limits, and neither Blaine nor his siblings would have ever dared a beating to try to enter. The most he had ever seen was a glimpse from the hallway.

Blaine walked into the room, expecting it to look as he remembered. But unlike his own room, Ian McFadden’s room had been completely emptied of personal items. The large, four-poster bed had been stripped of its linens and bed curtains, the writing desk had been cleaned of ink and parchment, and the wardrobe stood with its doors wide open, empty of clothing. No books or trinkets were on any of the shelves. All that remained was the furniture and a large, black iron-bound trunk.

Verran’s face lit up at the sight of the trunk, and he gave a soft moan of anticipation. “Oh, you little beauty,” he murmured, flexing his fingers. “Come to Papa.”

The others watched in silence as Verran walked slowly around the chest. He knelt beside it and ran his hands lightly over the top and sides.

“You’re supposed to open the bloody thing, not make love to it,” Piran grumbled.

“Savage,” Verran replied without taking his eyes off the chest. He touched the lock gently with his fingertips and bent to study it.

“It’s Vellanese workmanship,” he said. “Very old. Seen a bit of wear. From the dents on the bindings, I’d say someone tried to take an ax to it, and someone also tried to pry it open at the lips.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Piran muttered.

“When Ian died, we looked for a key,” Judith said. “When we didn’t find one, I had the blacksmith try to break in as gently as possible. Since we didn’t know what was inside, we were limited, because I didn’t want to smash the contents getting it open.”

Verran nodded, only half listening. “Whatever was in here mattered enough for someone to put holding spells on it,” he said. “If you tried to open it before the magic died, that had as much to do with why you failed as the strength of the bindings. The magic is gone now, but I feel the residue. Whoever put the hocus on this box had power. Even now, it… tingles.”

“Can you break in?” Judith asked.

Verran grinned. “Oh, yes. Without the hocus, it’s just a pretty box.” He reached into his pocket for the tools Dawe made for him, and selected the right piece with a surgeon’s precision. Bending closer so that his ear was level with the lock, Verran delicately inserted the tool and began to coax the thin metal into the workings. A click broadened his smile. “That’s one down,” he said.

“One? How many locks are there?” Judith asked.

“At least three,” Verran replied. “Possibly one underneath—I haven’t looked yet. Someone really wanted whatever’s in this trunk to stay safe.”

The others waited in silence as Verran worked. Blaine found that he was holding his breath. Finally, after nearly a candlemark had passed, Verran tilted the chest up on one end and felt carefully beneath it. He nodded, muttering to himself.

“What did you find?” Kestel asked.

“The master lock is on the bottom,” Verran said. “It’s not only got multiple locks, but there’s an order to how they’re supposed to open, or the whole thing jams. It’s called a Tollerby mechanism. I’ve heard about them, but I hadn’t worked one before.” He looked up. “Piran, be a good fellow and come hold this, will you?”

Piran glared at him, but came over and kept the chest tilted. “Why not just lay it on its side?”

Verran shook his head without looking at him. “Some of these Tollerby boxes have levels in them. Turn them over, rough them up, and there’s a whole second internal locking mechanism that slides into place until the levels reset.”

After another long silence, Verran let out a deep breath and straightened, indicating that Piran could set the chest back down. “I think I’ve gotten all the locks,” Verran said, eyeing the trunk as if it might bite him. “But before I open it, I’d advise you all to move to the side of the room.”

“Why?” Blaine asked.

Verran shrugged. “Old Victor, the man who taught me my craft, was the only person I knew who ever cracked one of these—or even saw one. He told me all about it; moment of glory and all. But he carried a nasty scar on his shoulder until his dying day, and he said it was because Tollerby boxes have a surprise inside. If you’re directly in front of them when they’re
opened, they shoot out a small quarrel. Just in case the wrong person is doing the opening. He was lucky it caught him in the shoulder instead of square in the chest.”

Blaine and the others needed no further urging, and moved to the sides of the room. Verran slipped around to the back of the trunk and put a hand on either side of its heavy lid. “Here we go,” he murmured, gripping the lid with his fingertips and pulling it open.

As soon as Verran opened the box, a small metal spike launched with deadly speed from the lip of the trunk, speeding across the room and embedding itself with a thunk in the doorpost. Verran let out his breath and grinned broadly.

“We’re in!”

Blaine and the others crowded around the trunk. “Aunt Judith? Do you want to do the honors?” Blaine asked.

“Go ahead,” Judith said. “You may recognize things I wouldn’t.”

Blaine knelt next to the open trunk and realized that his heart was pounding. He bent closer, tensed for another potentially lethal surprise. When nothing happened, he relaxed and looked inside the box.

The trunk was mostly empty. Its interior was lined in old velvet, once red but now muted and discolored with time. Blaine could see that there were just a few small items within the chest, but they, too, were wrapped in velvet, tied with silken cords. Verran took out the first velvet-shrouded item and held it up for Blaine.

It was heavy in his hand, and Blaine unwrapped it gingerly, alert for traps. But the velvet fell back without incident, revealing a round crystal sphere.

“That’s a focus crystal,” Verran said in an awed voice. “Those with a bit of magic can use it, so they say, to strengthen their
power. Some even claim to scry with it.” He frowned. “Did your father have any magic?”

Blaine nodded distractedly. “Some. Battle magic, like mine.” He handed the sphere to Judith, who laid it aside on a table.

Carefully, Blaine reached into the chest and withdrew a thin velvet pouch. He shook the contents out into his palm.

“Well, would you look at that,” Kestel murmured. “Where have we seen one of those before?”

In his palm lay a pendant like the one Lanyon Penhallow had given to Connor.

“The design is different,” Blaine said. “The slits to read the map are in different places.”

Kestel nodded. “The markings on the pendant are different, too,” she said, tracing the elaborate etchings on the new pendant with her finger.

“If Ian McFadden had a pendant, did each of the Lords of the Blood?” Piran asked. “Because we’ve only got two of them, if that’s the case. How many do we need?”

Blaine shrugged. “Who knows? But we’ve only got one Lord of the Blood—me. So would it matter if we had all thirteen of the other pendants? There’s no one to stand for them.”

“Penhallow didn’t say where he got that pendant, did he?” Verran asked. “As a thief, I know that where you got something makes it as valuable as what it’s made of. So which of the lords did the first disk belong to?”

“Mick’s got a point—if he’s the only Lord of the Blood, maybe the other disks don’t even matter,” Dawe said.

“Or maybe Pollard wants what’s his,” Verran challenged. “Sure,
we
know he can’t use it to bring back the magic because he’s a bastard. But does
he
know that?”

“I’m pretty sure he knows he’s a bastard,” Piran grumbled, and Judith stifled a chuckle.

Verran glared at Piran. “I mean, does Pollard know that the disk won’t work for him because he isn’t a true Lord of the Blood? Maybe he’s been chasing Penhallow, and us, because he wants to control the magic himself.”

Blaine considered Verran’s words and shrugged. “Could be. That would be just like the Pollard I remember. I saw him get into a row with my father once at a dinner party. I thought then that he was the only one I’d ever met who was as nasty a son of a bitch as my father. Only, where father wanted control over the people around him, I got the feeling Pollard had bigger plans.”

“Vedran Pollard lusted after influence the way some men lust after women,” Kestel said. “He was constantly trying to bully or ingratiate himself with people he believed could maneuver him into positions of power. Merrill didn’t particularly care for Pollard, as I heard it, but it was whispered that even the king recognized the danger in Pollard’s naked ambition, and as a result, Pollard did get several plum positions at court.”

“The better for the king to keep an eye on him,” Judith said.

“Court intrigue doesn’t really matter, since there isn’t a court anymore,” Dawe said. “Question is—what’s Pollard after now? We’re making a pretty big guess that he’s after the pendant, or even knows that there
is
a pendant. Maybe he’s trying to grab Glenreith for the land, and his fight with Penhallow is completely separate. He might be after Blaine just because he thinks that will complicate him being able to grab Glenreith unopposed.”

Blaine sighed. “There’s no way of guessing what Pollard knows or doesn’t know. I’m not sure it matters. Geir told me that he intends to check out the area to make sure Pollard doesn’t have his men guarding the place,” Blaine said. “I know what
I
need to do, and that means going to Mirdalur and seeing
if I can raise the magic. And if I can’t—for whatever reason—then Pollard’s schemes may not matter much, because with the magic storms increasing, we won’t be around to care.”

“I’d like to see what your father’s pendant makes of Ifrem’s map,” Dawe said. “And I wish Connor were here with his map and pendant. Maybe each pendant was designed to get a different part of a message from the words it revealed.”

“We can check the pendant against the book Grimur gave us,” Kestel said. “And at least we’ve still got Ifrem’s map, and the drawing I made.”

Blaine looked at Verran. “Is there anything else in the chest?”

“There’s this,” he said, holding up another velvet-wrapped item. “It feels like a scroll. It was rolled up tightly and tucked into a corner.” Verran carefully felt along the bottom of the chest and unfolded the velvet to make sure that no small treasures had gone overlooked. “That’s it.”

Blaine slipped the contents from the velvet to reveal a piece of goatskin parchment, tightly rolled and tied with a yellowed bit of silk. He carried the parchment to the desk and gently unrolled it. On it was a drawing of what appeared to be two very uneven concentric circles.

“Thirteen points on the inner circle,” Dawe observed. “Thirteen Lords of the Blood.”

“There’s a name beside each point,” Blaine said, squinting at the small, cramped writing. “And something that looks like a symbol.” He drew the parchment closer to see it better, and moved into the sunlight near the window. “There’s the name ‘McFadden.’ And there’s ‘Pollard,’ he said, noting two of the points. “It’s not much, but at least with this, I’ll know where to stand when we get to Mirdalur.”

“What about the symbol? Does it match what’s on the pendant?” Verran asked.

Blaine squinted again at the parchment. “Not that I can tell. Maybe there’s something at Mirdalur that will match it.”

Kestel returned after a few moments, bearing Grimur’s book and Ifrem’s map. Bunched in one hand was the gossamer shawl on which she had traced the location of the places of power and the null spaces. “Got them!” she said brightly.

They gathered around the desk, positioning themselves to take advantage of the light that streamed in from the window. Kestel carefully laid out the map, and Blaine held up Ian’s pendant.

“I don’t know how long it took someone to create the writing on the maps and in that book so that each pendant deciphered something different,” Blaine muttered.

“They had magic to help them,” Verran reminded him. “That’s the whole point of this.”

“If I had to guess,” Dawe said, “I’d say that Valtyr wanted to record the process but also wanted to make sure that no single lord had all of the information.”

“For what purpose?” Kestel asked. “If the magic had already been created, what was Valtyr afraid of?”

Blaine frowned. “Maybe Valtyr knew that magic that was created could also be destroyed. Meroven managed to wipe out the magic by accident—we think. What if it wasn’t a coincidence that they struck the noble houses first?” Another thought occurred to him. “Maybe there’s more than one hand in this. If Pollard sent an assassin after me, did he and Reese also assassinate any of the Lords of the Blood that didn’t die in the war or the Great Fire?”