Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (64 page)

Piran grimaced. “That makes no sense. What possible reason would Meroven have to do something like that? And if the magic was already dead, why would Reese and Pollard bother killing the remaining lords?”

“You’re assuming the generals really understood what their mages were doing,” Judith said quietly. “There had been talk, when the war started, that some in Meroven felt that the world had become too corrupt. They wanted to ‘start over’ free of the corruption.” She paused. “We took it to mean that Meroven thought Donderath was corrupt. But what if Meroven’s mages wanted something different from what the generals intended?”

“You mean, what if the mages lied to the generals about what the strike would accomplish?” Piran asked, staring at the map as he thought through the ramifications.

Judith nodded. “It would be a lie of omission, because the generals would see the nobles’ manors as a worthy military target. But suppose the mages—or at least some of the mages—had a different agenda?”

“Why would mages want to destroy magic?” Kestel looked up, clearly troubled by the conversation.

Judith shrugged. “They wouldn’t be the first men to be willing to burn down everything in the service of their cause. Maybe they were willing to give up their magic to ‘purify’ the world. Who knows? It might have only taken one or two mages to pull it off. The others might have never had any idea that they were destroying their own power.”

Blaine nodded slowly. “Glenreith got lucky because you weren’t living in the old manor—hadn’t for a couple of generations. The other lords built onto the old houses instead of replacing them outright.” He paused, thinking. “Connor told us that Pentreath Reese likes the situation as it is, without magic. Magic gave mortals a fighting chance against the vampires. That’s one of the reasons Reese is fighting Penhallow—Penhallow would like to see the magic restored.”

Blaine sighed. “I’m not sure there’s any more we can do than go to Mirdalur and see what happens. At worst, we get the lay
of the land and find out that one Lord of the Blood can’t do a damned thing alone.”

“Speaking of which,” Dawe said, “I’m headed for the forge. With luck, I should be able to make the pieces I need to modify the crossbows. We could be ready to go to Mirdalur tomorrow night if all goes well.” He headed out of the room, and Blaine turned back to the others.

“That gives Kestel and me the rest of the day to study the map and Grimur’s book with the new pendant, in case there’s a clue to what we need to do,” Blaine said. “And it gives me tonight to talk with Geir.”

He looked at his other companions. “Piran and Verran—I’d like you to work with Edward to gather what we need for the trip to Mirdalur. Horses, food, supplies, weapons—whatever he can spare. I wouldn’t mind having a couple more guards if it doesn’t weaken Glenreith’s defenses.”

“We can certainly spare a few guards,” Judith replied. Blaine nodded. “Then it’s set. We go to Mirdalur.”

A
LL WE WANT TO KNOW IS, WHO SENT YOU?”
Piran’s voice was reasonable, but there was a dangerous edge. Their prisoner glowered, but said nothing.

“I’m telling you, he’d have more to say if you’d let me knock him around,” Piran grumbled. Blaine leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the interrogation.

Blaine looked at the spy Piran had brought back from the edge of Glenreith’s holdings. The man had a growing bruise on his cheek, and one eye was partially swollen shut. From the way he held himself, Blaine guessed the spy had at least one broken rib, made more painful by the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. “You roughed him up plenty just bringing him in,” Blaine replied. “You go at him again and break his jaw, he’s not going to tell us anything.”

Piran shrugged. “I guess it depends on what our ‘guest’ would prefer. It’s nearly sundown. After dark, I turn him over to Geir.” Piran leaned closer to the spy and gave an unpleasant smile.

“I may not be your friend, but I’m mortal. Geir’s a vampire. Wakes up hungry. Real hungry,” Piran said, taking his cue
from their prisoner’s discomfort. “If you don’t tell me something useful by the time I go off watch, I walk out of this room and leave you with Geir.” He gave an exaggerated shrug and turned away. “Whatever secrets you’re keeping, he can glamour them out of you. Make you sing like we put you to the rack. Or,” he said with a deliberate touch of ennui, “I imagine he’ll get what he needs from your thoughts when he drains you. No secrets in death, you know.”

The prisoner paled but said nothing, although his eyes moved nervously between Piran and the door as the latch lifted. The door swung open, and Geir stood framed in the doorway. Blaine had no doubt that Geir had heard every word from the corridor. In fact, Geir seemed to be playing to Piran’s threats. He wore a white shirt with no frock coat, heightening the pallor of his skin. His eyeteeth, usually discreetly hidden, were quite prominent. “I thought I smelled dinner,” Geir remarked offhandedly as he walked into the chamber.

Piran spared a quick glance toward the spy. “Oh, well. Time’s up.” He turned to Geir. “Let me know when you’re done.” He looked to Blaine. “Just tell me where you want the body buried.” With that, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Their prisoner looked as if he might faint. His bravado was gone, and he looked to Blaine imploringly. “You’re just going to let the biter have me?”

Blaine shrugged. “Piran warned you.” He gave a cold smile. “Don’t worry—it’s reasonably quick, though not… painless.”

Geir moved toward the prisoner with a slow, gliding grace. The man was shaking, and a whiff told Blaine that the spy had soiled himself. “I was just sent to watch and report back. I don’t know anything,” the spy argued.

“I suspect you know more than you realize.” Geir’s voice was
silky smooth. He was standing in front of the prisoner. The man turned his head, but Geir took his chin firmly in his hand and forced him to make eye contact. The spy closed his eyes tightly, but Geir squeezed his jaw and the man’s eyes flew open as he yelped in pain. “Tell me.”

All resistance drained from the man, and his features, tight with fear, relaxed. “What do you want to know?”

Geir chuckled. “That’s a good man. Now, who sent you?”

“Pollard.”

“And where is Pollard?”

“Don’t know.”

Geir frowned, and the spy twitched uncomfortably as Geir increased the level of compulsion. “Where was he when you received your orders?”

“A candlemark south of Glenreith, not far off the main road.”

Geir shot a glance at Blaine, who nodded. Pollard was watching the main road between Glenreith and Castle Reach. “What about the other roads? Are there watchers?”

The fight had drained out of the captive, and he looked up at Geir with a pathetic eagerness to please. “Pollard has guards on every road around Glenreith. We were to watch for McFadden and report back if he left the manor walls.”

Geir nodded. “Good. You’re doing very well. How large is Pollard’s force?”

The spy frowned, thinking. “Don’t rightly know, because men have been coming in for several days. Several men on each road.”

Blaine cursed silently. The stakes of going to Mirdalur had suddenly gotten much higher.

“Are there encampments, or just watchers?”

“Just watchers.”

“Is Reese with Pollard?”

“I only saw Pollard.”

Geir’s expression shifted from unreadable into a warm smile that was mirrored by the look on the spy’s face. “You’ve been very helpful,” Geir said in a comforting voice. “You’ve done a very good job. In a moment, you’re going to fall into a deep sleep. When you awaken, you won’t remember this conversation. You won’t remember being captured, or seeing any of us. You
will
remember being robbed by highwaymen, who took your wages and knocked you out. You’ll return to Pollard and tell him that you saw no one. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now, sleep.” Geir’s voice was honeyed with compulsion. Immediately, the prisoner slumped against his bonds, and his head drooped forward.

Geir and Blaine left the room and found Piran pacing the hallway. “Well?” Piran asked, looking up.

“We got what we wanted. Pollard’s set traps for us on the main roads,” Blaine reported.

Piran chuckled. “I had a feeling he’d fess up for Geir.”

Geir grimaced. “Next time, you can play the monster in the dark.”

“You didn’t mind when we cooked this scheme up,” Piran reminded him. “And you saved me some bruised knuckles. By the way, how did he taste?”

Geir glowered at him. “Like chicken. What do you mean, ‘how did he taste’? Do you really think I’d feed on that pathetic creature if I had a choice in the matter?”

Piran glanced at Blaine. “You left him alive?”

Blaine shrugged. “His memory’s been altered. I’ll have the guards put him back where you found him, a little worse for
the wear. He’ll report that nothing happened except for a common robbery.”

Piran sighed. “Better, I guess, not to tip our hand to Pollard. But it does raise the question: What does this mean for your plan to go to Mirdalur?”

Geir looked from Piran to Blaine. “I was going to propose that I make a quick trip out there to scout the area, even before you found our ‘guest.’ If I leave right away, I can be back before dawn the day after tomorrow.”

Blaine gave a low whistle. “You’ll be moving pretty fast. It’s a three-day ride one way.”

Geir smiled. “I can move more quickly, but only for short periods. Double speed will have to do.”

“Then we sit tight until you come back,” Blaine said with a shrug. “The rest of us could use the recovery time, and we can get our provisions together. With luck, your reconnaissance will give us an idea of the best way to get to Mirdalur and avoid problems on the way. I’d rather not take on Pollard if we don’t have to, and I certainly don’t want to go up against a large force.”

“At least, not without a large force of our own,” Piran said with a grin that suggested he relished the brawl.

Blaine shook his head. “And where are we going to get a private army? I’ve got no desire to take on Pollard, especially since we don’t know that going to Mirdalur will even work. If it does, we’ve already scored a victory by bringing the magic back. If not, I’d like to get back to Glenreith in one piece to decide what happens next.”

“I’m still troubled by the fact that Penhallow hasn’t joined us,” Geir said. “The connection through the
kruvgaldur
is damnably imperfect. I believe Penhallow’s been detained against
his will. I can sense warning and urgency. I have images of a fortress, but I don’t recognize it. What that means, other than that Penhallow seems to think we’re in danger, I’m not sure.”

“And no idea whether or not Connor is with him,” Blaine replied. He sighed. “Sounds like we’re on our own until Penhallow can get free. And the longer we wait, the more likely that Pollard will decide to bottle us up here.” He looked from Piran to Geir. “We go on with the plan to go to Mirdalur. It’s better than sitting still waiting to be besieged.”

The next morning, Blaine awoke with the sunrise from an unsettled sleep. The day had dawned fair and clear, though with a chill in the air that said winter was coming soon. On impulse, he dressed quickly and grabbed his cloak, then stepped out onto the balcony.

The sunlight carried little warmth. Without needing a marked candle, Blaine knew that the days were growing shorter. He smiled to himself. After Edgeland’s white nights and long dark, Donderath’s seasonal change seemed much gentler than he remembered. He looked out over the rolling hills and the gray blur of the forest’s leafless trees. In the fields, just a few dry stalks remained from the harvest, with haystacks piled at intervals for the coming winter.

Glenreith’s far pastures were empty. Even from his balcony, Blaine could see guards posted at intervals around the manor’s lands, protecting both the workmen who labored to bring in the last of the root crops for winter and the animals that grazed on the near pastures, closer to the walls and easier to protect. To the west would be the ruins of Rhystorp, Carensa’s family home. He swallowed hard and looked away, unwilling to think about that loss, not now, and perhaps not for a long time.

To the east, if they were still standing, would be the miller’s home and mill, and toward the north, Aringarte, home to the family of Lars Theilsson, a prosperous farmer and wealthy landowner. Theilsson had risen far without the benefit of a title or any position at court.

“A copper for your thoughts.”

Blaine startled at Judith’s quiet approach. He gestured toward the rolling hills that spread out to the horizon. “Just wondering how Miller Storr and Lars Theilsson weathered the war.”

“You knew Theilsson’s son, didn’t you?”

Blaine nodded. “Niklas. We were great mates before… well, before.”

Judith gave a faint smile. “I seem to remember you two hunting together.”

Blaine looked off into the distance. “Niklas was the rare friend who enjoyed books as much as hunting—and ale. Once he went into the army and got his officer’s commission, I didn’t see much of him, but when he did come home, it was always as if nothing had changed.” He looked at Judith. “What became of him, with the war?”