Reign of Ash (52 page)

Kestel seemed to be purposefully keeping her distance and avoiding his gaze.
I let go of Carensa years ago
–
or thought I had. I never expected to see her again. But to have her show up, here of all places, like a ghost from the grave
–
it’s a shock. Life’s changed us both. It’s easier to let someone go when she’s dead and buried, or half a world away.

Doors at the back of the room opened, and three figures entered. Blaine recognized Carensa immediately. One of the men wore a tunic with the symbol of the Knights of Esthrane. He was broad-shouldered with cropped dark hair and piercing black eyes, and by his pale coloring, Blaine guessed he was
talishte
.

The third man held Blaine’s attention. He was in his middle years, and his bald head reflected the glow of the torches that lit the walls. Wire spectacles were perched on his nose. He had the undeniable look of a scholar about him.

“Welcome,” the bald man said. “I’m Vigus Quintrel.” He looked at the group and smiled when he saw Lowrey. “Treven. I’m pleased to see that you survived.” He sought out Connor at the back of the group, where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a mistrustful expression on his face. “Bevin Connor,” Quintrel said. “My intrepid messenger.”

“Conscript is more like it,” Connor muttered with a glare. His fists were balled.

Quintrel’s gaze came to rest on Blaine. “Lord Blaine McFadden,” he said. “I’m pleased that you responded to my invitation.” He paused. “When I left clues for Penhallow, I wasn’t sure who the survivors would be – or whether there would be any at all. For this, at least, your exile was most fortuitous.”

“That wouldn’t be the word I’d have chosen,” Blaine replied. “You went to a great deal of trouble to leave a trail of bread crumbs to your door. Now that we’re here, and the solstice is tomorrow, the question is: Can the magic be restored?”

Quintrel lost his jovial mien. “I chose Penhallow because he’s a man of honor, and as a
talishte
, he would be most likely to survive the Cataclysm. Whether or not any of the Lords of the Blood would survive, I had no way to know. I don’t know whether the magic can be restored,” he said, “but if there’s any chance of using the disks as has been done the last two times the magic was raised, you’re the one to do it.”

Quintrel waved them toward the chairs. “Have a seat. You’ve come a long way. We have much to discuss.”

“This is Lady Carensa of Rhystorp,” he said with a nod toward Carensa. “She was one of my best pupils before the Cataclysm. As you’ve guessed, I brought as many of my top mages and most talented scholars with me when I sensed danger, as well as all the books and materials we could salvage.

“And this is General Dolan of the Knights of Esthrane,” Quintrel said, glancing toward the tall man in the gray tunic. “Our benefactor.”

“The healer requested my help speeding your friend’s recovery,” Dolan said. “Since you were attacked while carrying a passage token from the Knights, I will do what I can for him.” With a nod, he moved to where Desya lay. They watched in silence as he carefully drew back the bindings on the wound then spat into his palm and pressed his hand against the torn flesh. He replaced the dressing and stood. “He should be quite improved by morning,” Dolan said. “He is in no danger.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said. He and the others returned their attention to Quintrel. “You’ve been planning all this,” he said with a gesture to indicate Valshoa.

“For a while,” Piran said, an edge in his voice. “But you didn’t bother to warn everyone else?”

Quintrel looked pained. “As the gods are my witnesses, I tried. King Merrill didn’t want to hear me. The court mages saw me as a threat to their power. The army had no use for mages who didn’t want to follow their orders. When I saw that I couldn’t stop a magic strike, I did the only thing in my power: I saved a remnant and retreated to a place where we might survive.”

“Why did you send your messages with me?” Connor’s voice was sharp and Blaine could hear an edge of resentment. “All those months, because you blacked out my memory, I feared I had betrayed my master.”

Quintrel grimaced. “I chose you because you served both Penhallow and Garnoc. I knew you had access to court, which Penhallow did not. And I had to flee the outside world to stay out of Reese’s grasp sooner than I had intended. It was the only way I could think of to leave a message behind so that, when the time was right, the right people would know where to come. And you did brilliantly!”

Connor did not look pleased. “You made me think I’d lost my mind.”

“And yet, clearly you have not,” Quintrel replied, sweeping his arm in a circle to acknowledge their location.

From the look on Connor’s face, Blaine guessed that the argument was not settled, but Connor said nothing more.

“What I want to know is, how did you find Valshoa in the first place?” Piran asked.

Quintrel drew a deep breath. “I followed the clues left by my ancestor, Archus. He’s the one who stole Valtyr’s maps – and the one who hid them. If it’s any consolation, the first time I made the trip was before magic failed, so there was another level of protection you didn’t have to deal with.”

“And you just walked up to the front door and knocked?” Piran challenged.

Quintrel shrugged. “Something like that,” he said, and a look passed between Quintrel and Dolan that gave Blaine to suspect it had not been quite so easy. “I made my case to the Knights. While they owed no allegiance to King Merrill because of his grandfather’s betrayal, their loyalty to Donderath is still quite strong. I convinced them of the imminent danger, and they allowed me sanctuary for my Remnant.”

“And you brought all your mages and scholars back and forth through the Guardians?” Piran pressed.

“How I got them here is no concern,” Quintrel replied, growing impatient with Piran’s questions. “What matters is that I succeeded in safeguarding their knowledge.”

“What’s required to work the ceremony?” Blaine asked. “And what must I do?” He laid out the twelve disks on the large table in the center of the room. “We have all of the disks but one.”

“Wonderful!” Quintrel grinned and withdrew the thirteenth disk from beneath the folds of his robe. “I kept this disk to assure that the trail would lead you here.”

“We nearly died at Mirdalur because your clues left a lot to interpretation,” Blaine said.

Quintrel frowned. “I didn’t expect that. I visited Mirdalur and hoped that you found the journal I left behind. To the best of my ability to determine, its power was scattered, harmless.”

“‘Harmless’ doesn’t do it justice,” Piran muttered.

Quintrel gave a sigh. “It was possible, at least, in theory, that you might have been able to raise the power somewhere other than Valshoa. Also unlikely. It requires a place of especially strong power, and few of those spots exist.” He nodded toward the maps Kestel had placed on the table.

“My ancestor, Archus Quintrel, spent years trying to understand how magic works. He searched for Valtyr’s maps, believing, as Valtyr did, that the null and power places played a crucial role. But even Valtyr didn’t recognize how widely the power varied or how it waxes and wanes over time. Only a few places have the conditions necessary to raise the power at any given time, and even with the right physical conditions, the only way we know to raise the magic still requires a Lord of the Blood,” Quintrel said.

“Why didn’t the Great Fire destroy Valshoa, if it was so powerful?” Dawe asked skeptically.

“Valshoa was not one of the places that the Meroven mages targeted.” Carensa met Dawe’s gaze levelly. “And it had protections in place – both physical and magical – that kept it reasonably secure until the magic failed. Even so, the damage was considerable. When you see the valley in daytime, you’ll be able to tell how much destruction was done by the Cataclysm.”

Blaine rubbed his temples. He’d had a pounding headache since just before sundown, and a growing feeling of uneasiness. Unbidden, he thought of Penhallow and had a blurred image of steel and blood. The moment passed, and he looked at Connor. They met each other’s gaze, and Connor nodded solemnly.
More than my imagination
, Blaine thought.
Is that the
kruvgaldur
? Just a glimpse, but I’d guess Niklas and Penhallow are under attack.
He looked back to Connor, wondering what he had seen.

“What has to happen tomorrow?” Blaine asked, knowing that if the images were from Penhallow, it was a warning. “We left an armed force outside the mountain pass, but if my suspicions are correct, they’re under attack from Reese’s soldiers. If they can’t hold the pass, we could have company.”

Quintrel gave a cold smile. “The Guardians have protected the pass for a long time. The Knights of Esthrane also protect it. That should be sufficient for us to work the ritual tomorrow evening. If you’re successful, our magic will prevent Reese from reaching Valshoa, even if he breaches the valley’s protections.”

“Those are our friends out there,” Piran snapped. “They’re putting themselves in danger to buy time for Blaine to raise the magic. They’re not disposable.”

“I didn’t mean to imply they were,” Quintrel replied, “merely that we’re unlikely to be interrupted with our effort.” Piran glowered at Quintrel, unconvinced, but remained silent.

“What about the disks?” Kestel pressed. “Blaine had just one of the disks at Mirdalur, and the ritual failed. We’ve got all thirteen now, but still just one Lord of the Blood. Will it make a difference?”

“Technically, two Lords of the Blood, although only one with a body of his own,” Zaryae remarked. “Connor carries a bond to the Wraith Lord.”

Quintrel looked at Connor and his eyes gleamed. “Now that’s something I did not expect. You can speak with the Wraith Lord?”

Connor looked uncomfortable. “At times. He possesses me when he sees fit. But he’s already said that without blood, the ritual won’t recognize him. He’s more of an adviser than a participant.”

“We’ll see,” Quintrel said, deep in thought. He roused himself and turned back to Kestel. “The disks? They were focal points, designed to draw – and trap – the wild magic so it could be harnessed.”

“So you mean that the bloody disks we’ve been lugging all over the kingdom actually attract wild magic?” Piran asked, agape. “And here I thought we just had rotten luck with all the magic storms. Might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on our camp.”

Quintrel looked up quickly. “If you’ve been dogged by magic storms, that’s a good sign. The disks have retained their ability.”

“A good sign?” Piran repeated incredulously. “He says it’s a good sign that we’ve nearly been torn limb from limb.”

“I’m curious,” Connor said, eyeing Quintrel warily. “Penhallow and I gathered more of the disks than Blaine did, but we weren’t hit by an unusual number of storms.”

Quintrel nodded. “Neither of you is a Lord of the Blood.” He looked at Connor over his spectacles. “We have no idea how the presence of the Wraith Lord may affect the disks. No way to tell until we do the working.”

Blaine’s headache had dulled, and he gathered his thoughts. “The disks attract the wild magic. This place had more power than usual, so using the disks here will draw even more magic. But there were also symbols for each family of the Lords of the Blood. We saw them at Mirdalur. What of them?”

Quintrel looked as if he were about to begin a lecture to one of his classes at the university. “Over the centuries, people who had the ability to act as conduits for magic were drawn to the power and found workings to harness it – temporarily. At Mirdalur – and before then, at other places of power like Valshoa – mages layered working upon working to bind the magic permanently. The disks, the ritual, the symbols, and the blood of someone with a particular sensitivity to magic: Layer them together in a place of power at a time when magic is strongest. And the mages found a way to harness the magic for long periods of time.

“There are meridians, invisible lines of power that cross the world. The wells of power are places where the meridians intersect. The last time magic was harnessed, it drew upon the meridians that intersected at Mirdalur and anchored the magic at the manors of each of the Lords of the Blood – manors that were built on thirteen separate meridians.”

“But binding the magic isn’t really permanent, is it?” Kestel said, fingering one of the obsidian disks. “What’s done can be undone.” She met Quintrel’s gaze. “So the ritual tomorrow, if it works, can still be broken. What’s the new anchor?”

Quintrel sighed. “This valley is another place where meridians cross. Spots where thirteen lines intersect are quite rare, at least on any particular continent. This is one of the few on this continent.”

“So if we can raise the magic – and that’s not certain,” Blaine said, “it’s going to be more fragile than it was before, because it doesn’t have as many anchors.”

“A necessary risk.” Everyone turned as General Dolan spoke. The Knight’s voice was deep and resonant. “Given the unrest, it was impossible to find a better site. Prior to Mirdalur, magic had been unbound for a hundred years. There was time to build the manors on lines of power, making it possible to link them together. I doubt anyone would care to prolong the current situation while thirteen fortresses are rebuilt.”

“So I’m the catalyst,” Blaine said. “Without me, you could try to find a new group of promising ‘conduits,’ as you called them, but it would be trial and error.”

“Yes.”

And all the while, the misery goes on, thousands die needlessly, and civilization slips further beyond our grasp.
“Tell me what I need to do,” Blaine said. “And let’s hope by all the great and little gods that it works.”

Quintrel nodded. “Very well. Sundown on the solstice is the most powerful time to do the working. The Valshoans built a large shrine on the nexus of power with the ritual chamber belowground. Its upper building was leveled in the Old Destruction, before Mirdalur. The Great Fire scorched the ruins and opened the ritual chamber to the sky. We’ve removed the rubble, preparing for this opportunity.”

“And?” Piran asked. “Mick just walks over there and hopes the magic doesn’t kill him?”