Reign of Ash (53 page)

“My people will ready the site. We will arrange the disks and symbols along the meridians. When Blaine takes his place, the power should be drawn to him. My people will speak the word of binding in that moment, and the magic will be harnessed once again,” Quintrel said, clearly anticipating the event.

“Assuming everything goes as planned,” Kestel said. “And Mick doesn’t die.”

“I don’t like it.” A candlemark later, Blaine and the others were together in the large room where they would spend the night. Kestel paced, too concerned to eat any of the meal that Quintrel’s people had brought for them. “Mick’s the one with all the risk, while Quintrel and the Knights sit back and watch.”

“Not completely,” Zaryae said. “Wild magic is unstable. There’s some risk to those who are preparing the ritual space, since the disks and the symbols, in a place of great power, could trigger an unexpected reaction.”

“All this risk, and if the magic is harnessed, it still won’t be the way it was before,” Dawe observed.

Verran sat with his chair tipped back against one wall, playing his flute. Piran and Borya played cards near the couch were Desya slept, and from the sounds coming from the game, Piran had met his match at sleight of hand. Zaryae, Kestel, and Dawe had been debating the merits and risks of the venture since dinner. Lowrey had left them before dinner with a mumbled comment about finding some of his former colleagues from the university. Connor stood at the other end of the room, staring out a window into the dark, empty streets. Blaine found that his thoughts were too jumbled to join the conversation, and so he drifted toward the windows.

“You feel it, too?” he asked quietly when he was beside Connor. “Penhallow?”

Connor nodded. “Probably more than you do, since the bond’s been in place for longer. I remember when I first began serving Penhallow. The images were very faint, and I thought for a while I was imagining things. Over time, the bond grew stronger. The images became clearer, but still often chaotic.” He sighed. “It’s an imperfect way to communicate, that’s for certain.

“Penhallow’s worried,” Connor said. “We’d best be about our business quickly, in case they can’t hold out.”

Blaine’s expression hardened. “Quintrel didn’t seem worried about Reese getting in, but I don’t like how casually he dismissed the possibility.” He paused. “Do you trust Quintrel?”

Connor gave a harsh laugh. “As much as I trust anyone who kidnaps me, plants memories in my brain without my permission, and then leaves big blank holes to worry me. In other words, no. But I don’t see an alternative.”

Blaine sighed. “I don’t trust him, either. But I agree – he appears to be our best bet. Gods know, trying it without him didn’t go well.”

Blaine thought about Carr, taken by madness, and of Kata, killed by the gryps, and Illarion, lost to the Guardians. He remembered the ruined farms and deserted homesteads they had ridden past as they crossed Donderath, and the desolation that had claimed his homeland.
If I can bring back the magic, even if it’s not what it used to be, even if it doesn’t last hundreds of years
–
what choice do I have?

The door burst open from the corridor, and Lowrey stood in the doorway. He scanned the room and brightened as he saw Blaine. “There you are. The scholars would like a word with you. Come with me.”

With a sigh, Blaine let Lowrey lead him out of the room and down a long corridor. As they walked, Blaine got a better look at the Valshoan building. Built of blocks of stone that had been cut out of the canyon, the building was solid. The floor was tiled with smooth stones, and along the walls, empty niches and nooks undoubtedly once housed statues or decorations. Blaine had thought that Quillarth Castle and the lyceum seemed old, but the millennia weighed heavily on this building. The floors showed the wear of centuries, and the marble thresholds were marked by the footsteps of countless passersby. Valshoa had survived the Great Fire as well as magic storms and the cataclysms of old, but each had left scars that did not fade with time.

“Look around you!” Lowrey enthused. “Have you ever seen a more perfect example of early Donderan construction?” He did not wait for Blaine to answer before hurrying on. “There simply are no comparable sites that haven’t gone to total ruin.”

Lowrey rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Quintrel tells me that although the Knights have been here for quite some time, the original Valshoans died out long ago, and the scholars have had little time for studying the site. The only histories that exist are legends and stories passed down among the Valshoans’ scattered descendants,” he said. “Which means I could be the first to do a comprehensive history of the Valshoan civilization. Think of it!”

“But the university in Castle Reach is gone,” Blaine protested. “Where would you share your findings – assuming we get out of here alive?”

“Get out of here? Who’s planning to leave?” Lowrey snorted. “Vigus Quintrel assembled the best scholars and mages of our generation in the Remnant he saved. And he’s invited me to stay as a part of their community!” Lowrey’s pleasure at the compliment was so great, Blaine did not have the heart to suggest that the invitation was a pleasant form of captivity to assure the valley remained hidden.

Lowrey may have a reason to stay, but the rest of us intend to go home
–
if we survive
, Blaine thought.
Let’s hope Quintrel and the Knights don’t have other plans.

Lowrey ushered Blaine into a room where a dozen gray-robed scholars awaited them. They eyed Blaine as if he were a particularly interesting specimen to be studied. Blaine guessed this was the Quorum the guards had mentioned.

“May I present Lord Blaine McFadden, the last Lord of the Blood,” Lowrey announced with proprietary pride.

One of the scholars, a man who looked a decade or more Lowrey’s senior, looked over Blaine from head to toe. “Can’t say I’m overly confident that the future of the kingdom rests on a McFadden,” he said gruffly.

“I can’t say I blame you,” Blaine replied. If the scholar expected him to bristle at the slight against his family, he would be disappointed, Blaine thought. “My father certainly didn’t inspire trust. I keep my word.”

Another scholar eyed Blaine, a thin man whose face was so haggard it was difficult to determine age. “And a convict, no less. What was Quintrel thinking?”

“Quintrel had no idea who would survive the Cataclysm,” Blaine replied, growing less patient. “It’s just your lucky day that I’m the only Lord of the Blood still breathing, so you’ll have to make do with what you’ve got.”

“We’ve only got your word for that,” replied a stocky man who looked as if he liked his ale and supper as much as his books. “Vigus brought most of us here before the so-called Great Fire. I’m quite happy out of the intrigue of the palace city, but it’s difficult to believe things are as bad as Vigus says.”

Blaine’s temper started a slow burn. “If you doubt the kingdom is in ruins, you’re welcome to leave with us when the ritual is over. Of course, if you don’t like what you see and you want to come back, you’re on your own.”

“It would be like Vigus to stretch the truth a bit if it served his purposes,” the stocky man said. “I think he rather fancies having a captive audience here.”

“Is that what you are? Captives?” Blaine asked, wondering if he and the others would find it difficult to leave the valley.

The stocky man shrugged. “Maybe. Haven’t tried to leave, so I can’t say for certain. Not sure I want to.”

Blaine decided to take the offensive. “Quintrel chose you as his Remnant. Why? What’s so special about you compared to all the scholars and mages who died?”

The older man turned his attention back to Blaine with a glint in his eyes that said he was reevaluating him. “In part, we were his loyal friends and supporters at the university and elsewhere. Maybe this is a surprise to you, but not everyone liked Vigus’s opinions, or his tactics.” The others chuckled, giving Blaine to know there was a long story behind the comments.

“And the fact is, we’re good scholars and were good mages,” the thin man added. “Maybe we weren’t the best in the kingdom, but we were good enough to be able to train a new generation so the learning and the magic – if it returns – won’t be entirely lost.”

And if you weren’t the best in the kingdom before the Great Fire, you are now, by virtue of the fact that you’re still alive
, Blaine thought.

“Why Valshoa?” Blaine asked. “I’ve seen Valtyr’s map. There were many places of power – maybe some just as strong. You could have hidden in a null space and not worried about the Great Fire or the magic storms. Why here?”

The older mage-scholar looked at Blaine for a moment and blinked, resembling an ancient tortoise. “Treven tells me you were acquainted with Quillarth Castle and with the Lyceum of Tobar. Is that correct?” he asked in a gravelly voice. Blaine nodded.

“Both were built on places of great power, and both had powerful wards and protections built into their very foundations, added layer upon layer over many years. The protections are older here, stronger. The Valshoans survived their own version of the Cataclysm, as well as the destruction of magic before it was raised at Mirdalur – and who knows what else. Vigus believed we would be safest here, even if the worst happened. And it did.”

“What happens after we work the ritual tomorrow night?” Blaine asked. “Assuming we survive. Are we free to leave?”

The stout man chuckled. “We’re not the ones to ask, and honestly, I don’t think Vigus is either.” He leveled a glance at Blaine. “The ones who have the biggest stake in keeping this valley a secret are the Knights of Esthrane. Whether or not you leave will be up to them.”

For the next candlemark, the scholars asked Blaine about the devastation he had witnessed, both in Donderath and in Edgeland. He recounted what he had seen at the lyceum and in Castle Reach and gave an account of the fall of Velant. They quizzed him about Valtyr’s maps and the disks and were especially interested in Connor, both as the pawn in Quintrel’s game of clues and as the unwilling host to the Wraith Lord. Blaine answered cautiously, aware that he had no assurance either the mages or Quintrel was truly his ally.

The door to the chamber opened to reveal another gray-robed visitor carrying a lantern. “Vigus asked me to bring Lord McFadden to him,” Carensa said, focusing her gaze on Lowrey and the older mage and completely avoiding Blaine’s eyes.

“Forgive us,” the older man said. “We’ve monopolized our guest. We’re always hungry for news.” He gave Blaine a smile that did not completely reach his eyes. “Thank you for your information. I wish you success with the ritual, for all our sakes.”

Carensa turned and led Blaine from the room without a word or a backward glance. The corridors were deserted, although Blaine guessed that it had as much to do with the sparse population as the late hour. He was unsure whether to speak and what to say, and so he followed in silence for a while. Carensa turned down an unfamiliar corridor and stopped in front of one of the rooms.

Carensa’s lantern barely illuminated the chamber, but Blaine could see it was a sparsely furnished sitting room. The fireplace at one end was dark, and the rough furnishings looked as if they had been salvaged or built from scraps.

All the years in Velant and Edgeland, I thought I knew what I would say if I ever saw Carensa again, and now I’m tongue-tied
, Blaine thought.
Where do I even begin?

“I lied about Vigus wanting to see you,” Carensa said. “But I needed an excuse to rescue you from the Quorum.” They were both silent for a few awkward moments. “I’m glad you’re alive,” Carensa said, breaking the silence. She kept the distance between them one might keep with a casual acquaintance, neither expecting nor inviting an embrace. “I feared the worst.”

Blaine drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled, hoping his voice would not convey his nervousness. “I heard nothing from you or Judith all those years, and now I know that you both wrote to me, but Prokief confiscated the letters,” he said. “As time went on, I hoped you built a life for yourself and that you were happy.”

Carensa turned so he could not meet her gaze. “I survived. Father finally arranged a marriage for me, to a man who was decent and kind, but love was never part of the bargain. I gave him a son, and I loved our son, but I buried them both after the Great Fire.”

“I asked after you when I came back. Judith told me that you were presumed dead,” Blaine said.

Carensa let out a long breath. “I had a chance to leave behind all of the grief and memories – of you, of the years after you went away, of my son. I took it.”

“I came back from exile, and you went into it,” Blaine observed with a mirthless chuckle.

Carensa nodded. “Perhaps. Father despaired of me after you were sent away. He feared I would waste away, and I guess I hoped I would. To draw me out, he hired tutors. When I proved to be a good pupil, he was so happy to see me care about something that he brought a parade of scholars to the manor, never dreaming I would want to become one myself.”

“Judith said he forbade you to go to the university.”

Carensa sighed. “He felt that private instruction more befitted a lady. But the tutors told Quintrel about me, and when I advanced, he became my tutor. I confided in him, and after the Great Fire, I went looking for anyone who might be able to find him.”

She shrugged. “Word reached him, and he sent for me.” Carensa looked down. “I stole Father’s disk. I don’t think Father even knew what it was. It was the only thing Vigus asked of me, and so I brought it with me when I ran away.” She raised her head and gave Blaine a defiant glare as if she expected him to disapprove. “I’ve been here ever since.”

“Are you happy?” Blaine was surprised how much the answer mattered, even after all this time.

“Yes, I guess so.” She met his gaze with a sad smile. “Perhaps not as I would have been if we’d married, or if my husband and son had lived, but it’s enough.”

They fell silent for a moment. Finally, she looked to Blaine. “What about you?”

Blaine looked away. “Velant was as bad as its reputation. I survived by sheer luck, and the fact that Merrill put a note in my file forbidding Prokief to kill me. When I earned my Ticket of Leave, my friends and I built a homestead. I made a handfasting with a girl who’d been sent away for thieving. We were happy enough, but then the fever took her.”