Reign of Ash (15 page)

Penhallow looked up. “Magic is a funny thing,” he said quietly. “So precise. Blaine McFadden is the last
living
Lord of the Blood. But not the last such lord in existence.”

Lowrey leveled a skeptical look at Penhallow. “Surely, Lanyon, you don’t believe those rumors about Vandholt, do you?”

“What rumors?” Connor asked.

“The story of the Wraith Lord,” Penhallow answered. “And I don’t think it’s mere rumor.”

“Wraith Lord?” Connor’s eyes widened.

Penhallow looked at Lowrey for a moment, as if debating how to answer. “Kierken Vandholt was a six-hundred year-old
talishte-
mage when he used his magic to save the life of King Hougen, at the cost of his own soul. It happened not long after the magic was raised at Mirdalur. He exchanged his soul for that of the king at the instant of Reaping, cheating Etelscurion, the Taker of Souls, who is master of the Sea of Souls. Etelscurion was so enraged that she refused to allow Vandholt’s soul rest in the Sea of Souls. Esthrane took pity and permitted him sanctuary in the Unseen Realm. Hougen was grateful. But much later, King Merrill’s grandfather was afraid when he saw that Vandholt’s magic had the power to cheat death,” Penhallow continued. “It was one of the things, ironically, that turned him against the
talishte
and the Knights of Esthrane. When Merrill’s grandfather betrayed the Knights, he also had Vandholt’s descendents murdered for good measure.”

“How did he become a wraith?” Connor asked.

“It’s said that Esthrane could not fully negate Etelscurion’s curse,” Penhallow replied, “so Vandholt is not truly living, dead, or undead, as we
talishte
are. He remains a shadow, sentient, wandering, forever separate.”

“Could he be a Lord of the Blood if he was a wraith?” Connor asked.

Lowrey shook his head. “Doubtful. Wraiths don’t have blood – they don’t even have bodies.”

Penhallow nodded. “Vandholt was one of the Lords of the Blood who raised the magic long ago, and then again at Mirdalur, before he became a wraith. Remember, magic has risen and fallen many times. Before magic was reclaimed at Mirdalur, the Continent had been without it for a hundred years.”

Lowrey rubbed his hands together, warming to the tale. “When King Merrill’s grandfather betrayed the Knights of Esthrane and the surviving Knights fled for their lives, they embraced the story of the Wraith Lord for obvious reasons. Like Vandholt, they had been betrayed by their monarch and forced into a half-life existence.”

“Vandholt had been a patron and supporter of the Knights before he became a wraith,” Penhallow said. “His sacrifice on behalf of the king would have gained him further esteem among the Order, especially when he – like they – was betrayed by the monarch for whom he had suffered so much.”

Lowrey grinned. “There’s a legend that the Knights who survived the purge escaped to a hidden place in the mountains.” He paused. “The lost city of Valshoa. Find it, and you’ll probably find the surviving Knights of Esthrane.”

“If it were easy to find the Knights, don’t you think the king’s grandfather would have done it?” Connor challenged.

Lowrey shrugged. “King Merrill’s grandfather got what he wanted. He broke the power of the knights and destroyed many of them. He may not have thought it necessary to pursue them.” He smiled. “It does raise intriguing possibilities, doesn’t it?”

Lowrey went on. “Legend has it that Valshoa was once protected by spells that kept unwanted visitors away, along with physical traps that assured only the most hardy – or foolish – seekers would reach their goal. The Knights were both mages and
talishte
. I’m sure they fortified the approach to keep out intruders, but all the magical protections would have failed the night of the Great Fire.”

“Which leaves the Knights themselves to protect the city, and whatever physical traps they’ve maintained over the years to keep out intruders,” Penhallow mused.

“Makes you wonder how Quintrel got in,” Connor muttered.

“Vigus Quintrel loved a challenge,” Lowrey replied. “The scholars in his family were obsessed with the legend of Valshoa. It would be like Quintrel to find a back way in or figure out how to best the traps.” He chuckled. “He’s a rather singular fellow.”

Penhallow tented his fingers as he thought. He cleared his throat to bring the conversation back on track. “Can you follow Merrill’s line? Is it unbroken and legitimate?”

Lowrey chuckled. “A little late to be digging up scandal, isn’t it, Lanyon?”

Penhallow shook his head. “It’s not scandal I’m after. If Merrill came from an unbroken, legitimate line, then he must have possessed a disk. The next logical question is, if the Lords of the Blood and their original fortresses were anchors for the
hasithara
, then are the disks themselves important, and could they… I don’t know… stand in for the other lords if Blaine has another chance to restore the magic?”

“I can answer part of that question.” Connor and Lowrey startled at the voice and turned to see Lynge in the doorway. “Please don’t think that I meant to eavesdrop. Geddy’s readying your supper, and I came down to see if you required anything more than food.” Lynge paused. “I heard your question about whether or not the king possessed a disk. Is this what you’re looking for?”

Lynge slipped his hand into his waistcoat and produced a small linen bag closed with a drawstring. He opened the bag and pulled out an obsidian disk on a leather cord. At Penhallow’s nod, Connor withdrew the pendant he carried on a lanyard around his neck. “The disks are identical, save for their markings,” Connor murmured, looking closely at the disk in Lynge’s hand.

“How did you come to have the king’s disk?” Penhallow asked.

Lynge sighed. “As you’ve probably guessed, the role of seneschal is as much that of a secret-keeper as it is of an administrator. One of the secrets King Merrill entrusted to me was about the disk. He may not have fully understood its use, but he knew it was significant to the kingdom. He kept it locked up with the ceremonial crown, and I was under strict instructions that, should anything ever befall His Majesty, I should safeguard it and deliver it to his heir. He feared that should something happen to the disk, a calamity would befall the kingdom.”

Lynge looked down. “Unfortunately, the king’s heir died in the Great Fire. I can’t imagine a greater calamity than what has already happened, but I dared not take a chance. I removed the disk from the safe room the night the king died, and I have carried it with me ever since.”

“May I see it?” Penhallow asked. When Lynge nodded, Penhallow stood and walked to where the others crowded in the lamplight. Penhallow took the disk and turned it in the light. The obsidian disk had been polished to a high gloss, save for the strange, unreadable markings and thin slits carved into its surface.

The markings they knew to be a very old magic code, and the slits, Connor had discovered, enabled the bearer to read some of the coded markings on Valtyr’s maps that showed the places where magic had been at its strongest and weakest. Two of the maps were still known to exist; one of them was carried in a box beneath Connor’s cloak. Blaine and his friends had a second map. Two more maps were rumored to have been created by Valtyr, but they had been stolen long ago, and whether or not they still existed was a matter of legend.

“We’ll need to see what this disk reveals on your map, and Blaine’s,” Penhallow said. “But for the moment, let’s focus on the task at hand.” He reached down and picked up the snippet of blue ribbon that had marked Connor’s book.

“It’s something of a leap to believe that Quintrel left the ribbon,” Penhallow admitted. “Let’s indulge it. If so, then he thought the bloodlines to be important. Four lines died out long before the war – Arvo, Hougen, Corrender, and Edenfarr. One more line ended with the Wraith Lord. Merrill’s line also ended when his heir was killed. And we know that Blaine McFadden is the last living Lord of the Blood. Pollard was illegitimate, so that line also died out as far as the magic is concerned. That’s eight of the Lords of the Blood. But what of the other six?”

Connor flipped ahead a few pages. “There’s a list of names here,” he said. “And the word ‘Mirdalur.’” He paused to count. “Thirteen names exactly.” He held it up. “I’d say this accounts for your ‘missing’ names.”

Penhallow looked to Lynge. “Do you know the fates of the old Donderan nobility?”

Lynge sighed. “I know what befell quite a few. Many died in battle, and others were killed when the Great Fire struck. Read me the names, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Connor read down through the cramped, handwritten lines. “Lord Radenou.”

Lynge met his eyes. Together, they had found Lord Radenou’s body the night Meroven’s mages sent their deadly onslaught. “Dead. His heirs died in the Great Fire as well.”

“Lord Alarian.”

“Died of the pox,” Treven Lowrey said quietly. “He only had daughters, so his line also had died out. Vedran Pollard murdered Alarian’s widow. That’s the disk Connor has.”

“Lord Rhystorp.”

“Died after the Cataclysm. He had no sons.”

“Lord Taneral.”

“Beheaded in the Battle of Asera-shan. His eldest son died of blood poisoning from a wound gone bad.”

“Lord Lorens.”

“The last Lord Lorens was
talishte
,” Penhallow said, his expression thoughtful. “He went mad and made a habit of slaughtering mortals.” He paused. “King Merrill’s grandfather used Lorens as another reason to step up his oppression of the
talishte
. Lorens had a very public trial, and the king condemned him to starve to death.”

“Then it’s certainly possible that Blaine McFadden is indeed the last living Lord of the Blood,” Lynge mused.

“What of the disks that belonged to the dead lords?” Connor asked. “The Great Fire was sent by the Meroven mages against the palace and the holdings of the nobles, to wipe out the kingdom’s leadership. Knowing the fates of the lords is only half the issue. What became of their disks?”

“If the disks weren’t buried or burned when the manors were destroyed, then they’ve most likely been looted by now,” Lynge replied. “Things are bad enough in Castle Reach without the King’s Law and the guards to keep order. I’ve heard that it is even worse in the countryside, where the Great Fire and the magic storms have left people to survive by their wits.”

Connor looked to Penhallow. “Do you think Reese or Pollard have the disks?”

Penhallow thought for a moment. “Impossible to know for certain.”

“Pollard and Reese became very interested in the research I had done on the old lords,” Lowrey said, chagrin clear in his face. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for bringing it to their attention, although I never thought my research was of the slightest importance to anyone outside the university.” He sighed. “They followed me to Kaskinnen, Lady Alarian’s manor. But she had already entrusted the disk to me, and the servant who escaped swore she died without telling Pollard anything.” Lowrey’s voice hardened. “I still owe that Son of the Damned One for what he did to her.”

“Pollard was descended from the old lords, so might he have heard the legend of the disks from his father,” Lynge said.

Penhallow nodded. “Certainly possible, although the real question is, when did it occur to Reese and Pollard that the disks might be part of the way to restore the magic? After all, Reese didn’t know that magic would be destroyed.”

“Pollard sent an assassin to Edgeland to kill Blaine,” Connor said. “But the assassin didn’t come after him until it was clear that the Donderath was going to lose the war. Blaine said that King Merrill had made a note on his record forbidding the Velant commander from killing him.” He paused, thinking about the timing. “And even so, the assassin didn’t seek out Blaine until after I was shipwrecked there, and the colonists found the ghost ship to take them home to Donderath.”

“So it might not have been about the magic,” Penhallow replied. “Pollard could have sent the assassin because he wanted the McFadden land holdings, or because he truly hated Blaine’s family. There had been no ships from Donderath to Velant in several months before the Great Fire. That makes it unlikely that Reese somehow foresaw the collapse of magic.”

Lowrey drummed his fingers as he thought. “Thirteen lords, and only one bloodline remains unbroken.” He looked toward the shelves and stacks of manuscripts. “If the Knights knew about the importance of the Lords of the Blood, and four of the bloodlines had died out by their time,” he mused, looking from Connor to Penhallow, “then might they have secured the disks from those four noble houses for safekeeping?”

Penhallow nodded. “If so, then the disk might have already been removed from Pollard’s family’s keeping before he learned of it. That idea favors us, because if it was your research, Treven, that brought the old lords to Pollard’s and Reese’s attention, we might still be a step or two ahead of them.”

Lowrey smiled. “I think Connor had a good idea. Let’s see if we can find any more bits of blue ribbon. If Quintrel’s left us a trail, then we’ll make the best use of time trying to pick up his scent.”

This time, even Lynge and Geddy joined in the search. Each man took a section of shelves or a stack of crates and carefully checked each item for the telltale blue ribbon.

“I’ve got one,” Lowrey crowed. “There’s a ribbon in this old journal.”

“Set it aside,” Penhallow instructed. “We’ll go through everything once we’ve finished the search.”

“I’ve found another one,” Connor said, gingerly handling a rolled parchment tied with a blue ribbon.

They searched in silence for a few candlemarks. Geddy had taken on the crates, and suddenly he let out a whoop of exultation. “Look what I found!” He held up an ornate old key with a blue ribbon tied in one of its looping bows.

Lynge frowned. “If I’m not mistaken, that is a key no one has seen in many years.”

“What does it unlock?” Connor asked.

“Someplace no living man has entered in many years,” Lynge replied. “The crypt of the Knights of Esthrane.”

B
laine McFadden stood on the roof of Glenreith with a spyglass, peering at the stars. The winter wind whipped his cloak around him and stung his face. By Donderath standards, the night was bitter cold. But six years in Edgeland had given Blaine an entirely new appreciation for truly frigid weather. Despite the light snow that fell and the brisk wind, the night’s temperature likely rivaled that of one of the warmest days on Edgeland.

Blaine looked up at the stars, then sank to his knees, studying the map he had secured with four rocks. The shuttered lantern flickered in the wind, only partially protected by the crenellations that rimmed the catwalk around the sloping peaks of the roof.

“What in the name of the gods are you doing up here?” Kestel’s voice barely carried above the wind. A cloak blanketed her against the wind, but she, too, had grown accustomed to Edgeland’s arctic winters.

“Stargazing,” Blaine replied, with a nod toward the map.

Kestel frowned and knelt to have a better look. “What’s the connection between the stars and the map?” she asked.

Blaine had turned away to get another sighting with the spyglass. “This would be so much easier with a real telescope,” he muttered before turning back toward her. “Remember when we realized that Connor’s map of the Continent not only showed the places of strong magic and no magic, but that the old noble houses were aligned in a way that traced the major constellations?”

Kestel nodded. “I remember. Is there a reason you chose to stargaze from up here, when you could be looking out the window in your nice, warm study?”

Blaine chuckled. “For one thing, I can see the full sky. And since I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, I had hoped to avoid questions until I came up with something convincing.”

“If you don’t want questions, don’t disappear after dinner. The map was gone, you were gone, and so was your cloak. I took it as a challenge and came looking for you.”

“Just as well, I could use a fresh perspective,” Blaine said, and his breath clouded in the cold air. “Take a look at what I’ve marked on the map.”

Kestel knelt next to the map, brushing away a few flakes of snow, and settling herself into the folds of her voluminous cloak. “I see you’ve made do with a standard map of the kingdom,” she noted.

Blaine grimaced. “It should serve the purpose. I’ve marked the approximate position of the oldest manor houses, the ones that would have belonged to the original Lords of the Blood, and the other key points I could remember from Connor’s map.”

“Including Mirdalur,” Kestel noted.

“And I’ve done my best to mark the groupings that corresponded to the constellations,” Blaine said, still turning his spyglass on the night sky.

Kestel shifted, looking up to follow Blaine’s focus on the stars above. “So far, it’s all information we already knew. Why bother?”

Blaine turned from the sky and knelt down, marking the map with a piece of graphite. “Because there are other points that correspond with the constellations that don’t match up with the original manors.”

He turned to Kestel. “What if… there were null places and places of power in addition to the manors, places that the mages used for themselves, or even hidden places that they didn’t want other people to know about?” He sighed. “They’re likely marked on Connor’s map, but you wouldn’t have had a reason to mark them on the copy you made, since you were looking for the major houses.”

She looked at the map in the flickering glow of the lantern. “You’re gambling that the relationship works in reverse, that you can predict where those spots would be by the constellations, instead of just drawing lines between sites that already existed and creating a connection to the stars.”

Blaine nodded. “We know the stars are sacred to the gods, and that the constellations have power. That’s how astrologers read the will of the gods and predict the future. And all the stories of the gods begin with ‘As above, so below.’ What if that wasn’t just a poetic flourish?” he asked, excitement bringing a flush to his cheeks despite the chill.

Kestel traced the patterns with her finger gliding just above the surface of the map. “If you’re right… And you’re making some big guesses here —”

“I know.”

“Then if this is us, here at Glenreith, and this is Mirdalur, there should be another place of power here,” she said, letting her finger hover above the mark Blaine had just made.

He nodded. “That would be the closest spot, and the easiest to verify. There could be other places of power here, and here,” he said, pointing to two other marks. “Maybe more.” He paused.

“Up till now, we’ve been so focused on bringing back the magic that we’ve only looked at the places of power,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. “But Connor said that when the Great Fire struck, he thought Penhallow had gone to a null place, somewhere he thought the magic might not be able to strike as hard.” He looked up, meeting her gaze excitedly.

“Connor and Penhallow thought that Vigus Quintrel was important.” A smile crept over Blaine’s face as he saw Kestel catching on. “Now Quintrel’s gone missing. What if he’s gone to one of the null places?”

Kestel shivered as the wind rippled her cloak. “The problem is, there could be dozens of places of power and null places spread across entire kingdoms, maybe the whole Continent. We could spend a lifetime trying to find them all.”

Blaine nodded. “And like the spot we found on Edgeland, most of them are probably just shrines if they focus power, or areas people go out of their way to avoid if they’re the null places. But what if the places aren’t all equal? What if some are stronger than others? I figure there was a reason the old lords chose Mirdalur for the working that raised the magic. Maybe it was one of the especially strong places.”

Kestel studied the map carefully. “Mirdalur also was struck particularly hard when the Meroven mages sent the Great Fire. If there are places where the power is stronger, they may also have been damaged worse by the Cataclysm.”

Blaine sighed. He retracted the spyglass and tucked it into a pouch on his belt, then reached past Kestel to roll up the map and put it safely beneath his cloak. Blaine helped Kestel to her feet and then bent down to retrieve the lantern. “We came back for a purpose, and sitting here at Glenreith won’t bring back the magic. You’re right – we could go out to these spots and find nothing. But without knowing where to find Vigus Quintrel, and without Penhallow or Connor to give us direction, it’s the best guess I can make, given what we’ve got to go on.”

Kestel’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll need a search party, one that is small enough to slip through Pollard’s net, but able to defend itself. Count me in.”

Blaine chuckled. “I had a feeling you’d want to come. I was thinking Piran and Verran should also go with us.”

“What about the others?”

Blaine held the door to the access stairs that wound from the roof down the servants’ staircase to the lower floors of the manor house. He let Kestel step inside first. His lantern illuminated the narrow, twisting stairs. “Dawe’s been busy in the forge. He wants to create some new weapons for us. I have the feeling we’re going to need them, so I’d like to give him the chance to make progress.”

“Won’t Niklas think we should have a regiment of soldiers with us?” Kestel teased, but Blaine could hear the concern beneath her tone.

“He’d probably prefer we take extra guards, but I’m not sure having more people with us made us any safer when we went to Mirdalur,” Blaine replied. “If anything, it slowed us down, made us more noticeable. I’m hoping Geir can scout for us and join us after dark. If we’re lucky, we might even find an inn or a tavern where we can get shelter. A couple of these spots will require more travel than we can finish in one day.”

They reached the landing for the main floor, and Kestel opened the door to let them into the parlor at the end of the corridor. Blaine thought how quiet Glenreith had become. When he was growing up, it seemed the house was bustling with servants night and day. Now, the house seemed strangely empty.

“Niklas is going to have his hands full getting his men back on their feet and trying to provision them,” Blaine said, pulling himself out of his memories. “If this does turn out to be for naught, I’ll feel a little better if we haven’t wasted his time as well as ours.”

“What about your brother?” Kestel asked. She had thrown back the hood of her cloak, and her red hair spilled over her shoulders. As she shrugged out of the heavy coat, Blaine saw that her gown was another of Mari’s everyday dresses, a tan, woolen dress without ornamentation, not meant for social occasions. Still, it flattered her.

“Niklas can handle Carr,” Blaine replied, a touch of bitterness coloring his voice.

Kestel studied his face. “I’m sorry your reunion with Carr didn’t go well.”

Blaine sighed. “At least Mari and Judith are happy to see me.” He looked away. “I’m sorry Carr was rude to you. His comments were unforgivable.”

Kestel set aside her cloak. “It was sweet of you to defend me. But I’m accustomed to the fact that Carr’s opinion is that of the nobility, including my former patrons.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not my opinion,” Blaine replied. Kestel’s face was flushed from being outside, and her eyes were alight. As simple as the borrowed dress was, it looked good on her. Despite having just returned from the cold, Blaine felt uncomfortably warm, acutely aware that Kestel was standing close enough to touch.

How did leaving Edgeland change everything?
he wondered.
Kestel’s one of my best friends. If she were interested in being more, she certainly would know how to indicate it. I don’t want to spoil what we’ve already got. And besides
, Blaine thought,
I’m bad luck. The last two women I loved ended up dead. I’m a penniless, outcast lord with powerful enemies. Kestel could do much better than me.

Blaine turned away and crossed the room to pour them both glasses of brandy. He brought one to Kestel. “Have some. It’ll warm you up.” She accepted the glass, and he took a sip from his drink. “I swore that nothing would ever seem cold again after Edgeland. I guess it doesn’t work like that.”

Kestel chuckled and sank into one of the armchairs. “So, when do we leave to test your theory?”

“Tomorrow,” Blaine replied, leaning against the mantel of the fireplace. “We’ll be heading away from Castle Reach and away from where Geir spotted Pollard’s troops. After all, they’ve got no reason to think we’d head for a village at the foothills of the mountains. We’ll ride out, have a look around, and come home.”

Kestel toyed with the rim of her glass. “Without magic, how will we be able to sense whether the place is null or strong?”

Blaine grimaced. “That’s where it’s an imperfect theory. I’m hoping we’ll turn up some kind of evidence one way or the other. The question is, if Vigus Quintrel expected something like the Great Fire to happen, would he go to a place of power and hope the magic was strong enough to protect him, or hide in a null place?” He shrugged. “Let’s try going to a null place and put the theory to the test. Maybe someone there will know something about Quintrel or about the magic.”

“On the other hand,” Kestel replied, with a pause as she sipped the brandy, “Mirdalur was a place of power. If there’s another way to bring back the magic, then odds are it will be at another place of power. Quintrel might have thought the same. Or he might have taken refuge at a null place until after the Great Fire and moved his exiles to a place of power later.”

Blaine nodded. “And it’s a good bet that all places of power were hit during the Meroven attack. So I wonder, if there was another ritual space we can still access, has it been completely destroyed?”

Kestel withdrew a small book from a pouch beneath her cloak. “I’ve been reading that book Arin Grimur gave us, back in Edgeland.”

“Did you find anything useful?” Blaine asked.

Kestel rifled through the pages. “I swear, mages seem incapable of saying anything straight out. Everything is in rhymes and riddles, and some pages can’t be read at all without knowing their secret code. But from what I can make out, the mages spent a good bit of their time and energy on rituals to thank the gods for the magic.” She looked up at Blaine. “Suppose those rituals weren’t really for the gods. Could they have been shoring up the magic, even before the war with Meroven?”

“It’s possible,” Blaine conceded. “And if they had been doing those rituals for long enough, they might not understand the real reason.”

Kestel fluffed her skirt as she shifted in her chair. “What if the magic really is gone for good, Mick?” She met his gaze, and her green eyes were worried. “I mean, what if it can’t be restored?”

Blaine sighed. “Penhallow and Grimur have lived for centuries, and they both believe it can be restored. And if Pentreath Reese didn’t think we had a shot at bringing the magic back, why would he send Pollard after me?”

Kestel looked away, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. “What if you can’t do it? Can we survive?”

Blaine walked away from the fireplace to sit in a wing chair across from Kestel. For a moment, he watched the flames in silence. “Without the small magics, I imagine we could learn to get along. It would be harder.” He frowned as he thought.