Reign of Ash (6 page)

He set his cup aside, eased himself gingerly out of his uniform jacket, and rolled up his sleeve. Although the skin was already healed, the middle of his arm, from a handsbreadth above his elbow to the same distance below the joint, was swollen and purpled. He winced as his fingers brushed the wound, and the arm hurt when bent. Pollard dug in the box for some of the powders the healer had supplied to dull the pain without dulling his wits, and he added an ample dosage to his already-bitter
fet
.

Pollard had just finished the food Kerr had set out for him and drained the last of the pot of
fet
when the others arrived. Each man paused in the door of the tent to make a shallow bow before entering, then took his place at the small portable table.

“Reconnaissance report,” Pollard snapped.

Captain Anton, a dark-haired man in his early thirties, looked up as if he had been expecting the command. “We’ve increased the watch on all roads leading from Glenreith toward Castle Reach and the eastern cities,” Anton reported.

“Why not on all roads, Captain?”

Anton grimaced. “There’s nothing to the west of Glenreith except farmland, least not for quite a ways out. We’ve only got so many men, m’lord. They’re stretched thin as it is.”

“How did McFadden get past your men to reach Mirdalur?” Pollard demanded.

Chagrin flashed across Anton, and then resignation. “They disguised themselves as tinkers, m’lord. We’d not blockaded the roads, merely kept a watch for McFadden. Now that we know he’s willing to move in disguise, we’ll watch more closely.”

He paused. “Your orders had been to patrol but not raise suspicions,” he added, a touch of defensiveness coloring his tone. “Stopping and searching all travelers is bound to raise questions, as well as protest.”

Pollard swore under his breath. “Lord Reese doesn’t want to tip his hand as to the strength of his forces – at least, not yet,” he replied. “Some discretion is necessary, I agree.” His tone hardened. “Yet I am quite certain Lord Reese would prefer to smooth over the ruffled feathers of a few villagers or motley caravans in order to apprehend McFadden and his companions.”

“Noted, sir.”

“Berit,” Pollard said, turning his attention to the next officer at the table.

“Sir.”

“I’d like to know exactly how McFadden and a handful of men managed to outfight your soldiers and get free.”

Berit was a blond man with the manner and look of a dockhand. His hair was cut short for a helm, making his neck appear even thicker than it was. A scar ran across the left side of his face, from the bridge of his nose across one cheek. His right temple was still bruised from the altercation with McFadden’s group, and his eye was blackened.

“It wasn’t just McFadden and his guards, sir,” he replied. “We got attacked by another force of armed men who joined in the middle of the fight.” He paused. “Gods’ truth, m’lord, I think the second group happened upon the battle. We couldn’t make out their uniforms. They were a mangy lot, but they fought like real soldiers, and they were better armed than I’d have expected from their appearance.”

Pollard began to pace. “So you’re telling me, Captain, that you were fighting with McFadden and his guards and a second set of soldiers appeared, out of nowhere, and took up McFadden’s part?”

Berit nodded. “Aye, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“What makes you think they weren’t with McFadden all along?”

“They didn’t hail him or join ranks with his men, sir,” Berit replied after taking a moment to replay the scene in his mind. “They fired on us from a distance and ordered us back. I believe they thought we were brigands attacking a group of peddlers.”

Pollard shook his head. “Amazing. McFadden and his convict friends get rescued by a group of wandering soldiers looking to rid the kingdom of highwaymen?”

Berit looked abashed, but he nodded once more. “I don’t say that it makes sense, m’lord, but then again, few things do these days.”

“So where is McFadden now?”

Berit shifted in his chair. “Our survivors retreated, then we sent back a scout. Once we were gone, the other soldiers moved in and captured McFadden’s men, then marched them all back to their camp.”

“How in the name of the gods did your scouts miss the camp of rogue soldiers?” Pollard thundered.

Berit stiffened his spine. “Like McFadden, they weren’t keeping to the main roads. Their camp was set back, out of sight, and more of a beggars’ village than a proper army encampment. There were more of them than there were of our men, so we fell back to await new orders.”

Pollard ran a hand through his thinning hair. The terror of his encounter with Reese was still fresh in his memory. “Unless you’d like to explain, in person, to Lord Reese how McFadden keeps escaping your men, I suggest you adjust your patrols,” he replied.

Fear and defiance sparked in Berit’s eyes, but the man merely nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Pollard looked to the third man, Nilo Jansen, his second- in-command. Nilo was small and wiry, with dark eyes that missed nothing and hair close-shorn in a soldier’s cut. Inventive, ruthless, and fiercely loyal, Nilo was one of the few people Pollard trusted to have his back.

“What have we heard about Penhallow?” Pollard asked.

Nilo smiled, reminding Pollard of one of the fish he had seen down on the wharves, a monstrous thing with a maw of needle-sharp teeth. “He hasn’t been back to Rodestead House since the Great Fire. It’s empty, badly damaged, and even his mortal servants appear to have left for good. Our
talishte
soldiers burned out one of his crypts and nearly caught McFadden in the process, but we know we injured several of Penhallow’s people and killed more than a few of his brood.”

“Good,” Pollard grunted, “but not quite good enough.”

Nilo nodded in agreement. “We put watchers on places he had been known to go and people he was known to contact. We managed to bottle him up inside Traher Voss’s fortress, along with the mortal who’s been traveling with him, Lord Garnoc’s former assistant.”

Pollard looked up. “So you have him pinned down with Voss?”

Nilo sighed. “No. Voss is a clever bastard. I’ve had reports that Penhallow and his servant and a man my source couldn’t identify have been seen since then. I don’t know how, but they got out.”

The sheer audacity made Pollard smile. “That’s why he was one of the most successful mercenaries Donderath ever fielded.” The smile faded. “What of the siege?”

Nilo shrugged. “Still under way, for all the good it does us.”

Pollard let loose a lengthy stream of curses. Nilo and the others sat motionless, their faces showing no expression until Pollard had vented his frustration. “Lord Reese tires of excuses and failures,” he growled. “Surely one
talishte
cannot outrun this entire army?”

When they said nothing, he felt his temper rise. “I want Penhallow! Do whatever you have to do to bring him down. Kill the servant, but stake Penhallow in the heart and bring him to me. Lord Reese wants to question him.”

Despite the cold outside, the tent had grown warm, or at least, Pollard thought, his anger had raised his own temperature until sweat beaded his brow. “And to the man who brings me Blaine McFadden, a dozen gold pieces. Maybe that will put some incentive into the soldiers if orders and the wrath of Lord Reese aren’t enough.”

“Aye, sir.”

Pollard turned away. “Berit. Anton. Return to your men. Nilo, a word in private.”

They remained silent until the two other men were gone. Pollard sank down into a campaign chair near the brazier and took out a bottle of brandy and two pewter cups. His temper had stirred his heartbeat so that his wounded arm ached afresh. Pollard poured a measure of whiskey into both glasses and held one out to Nilo.

“Have a drink.” It was more an order than an offer, and Nilo walked around the table, pulling up a chair to join Pollard. He accepted the whiskey and eyed Pollard with concern.

“I take it the meeting with Reese went badly.”

Pollard knocked back the whiskey in his glass and poured another. “What do you think?”

“How badly?”

Pollard let his head fall back and studied the ceiling of his tent for a moment before speaking. “Lord Reese does not tolerate continued failure.”

Nilo cursed. “He took blood?”

Pollard drew up his sleeve, and Nilo gave a soft whistle. Nilo leaned forward, swirling the whiskey in his cup. “Mirdalur wasn’t the first place magic was raised. According to my sources, it’s not the only place it can be raised again. Reese didn’t invent this whole story about McFadden being a Lord of the Blood.” He drained his own cup. “It’s true. And if the gods so will it and the stars align, it’s possible he could bring the magic back.”

“If that happens, Reese loses his bid to become the dominant warlord on the Continent,” Pollard replied, eyeing the bottle and deciding there wasn’t enough whiskey in Donderath to make him feel better. “And I lose my chance at the crown.”

Nilo nodded. “All our preparations are for naught if McFadden survives long enough to bring back the magic.”

Pollard let out a long breath. “Reese wants McFadden brought to him alive, so he can drain his knowledge with his blood, know what he knows.”

“It would be better for our plans if McFadden died sooner,” Nilo said quietly. They both knew they were skirting a dangerous topic, and that Reese was not forgiving of disobedience.

“I have no way to give my spies revised orders,” Pollard replied. “If McFadden dies before I can update them – well, such things are unfortunate.” He turned his cup in his hand as he thought. “Without McFadden, Glenreith will have no choice but to accept my offers. And I will finally have my revenge on Ian McFadden.”

“Unless Reese loses,” Nilo said.

Pollard frowned. “If he loses, and we’re really, really lucky, we’ll be dead.”

“G
ive us our weapons back!” Blaine demanded. “If we’re being attacked by
talishte
, then Reese won’t stop until he’s taken us. That’s what he’s after. I don’t know if we can win, but we can damn well give him a good fight.”

Niklas Theilsson nodded and bent to retrieve the weapons his men had confiscated from Blaine and his friends. Blaine paused when he had belted on his sword. “I’m sorry we brought this on you.”

Niklas shot back a roguish smile. “Why apologize? It’s like old times: you, me, and trouble.”

“But do there have to be vampires?” Piran grumbled. “I hate fighting vampires.”

Kestel caught Blaine by the arm as he moved for the doorway. “You’re not going out there, are you? If you die, the magic might be gone for good.”

Blaine met her gaze. “I’m not going to let Niklas or his men get killed on my account. What’s my option? If it’s Reese out there, he’ll find me no matter where I hide. I can’t outrun
talishte
. At least in a fight, I’ve got a chance.”

Piran clapped him on the shoulder. “My thoughts exactly. Let’s go whack off some vampire heads, shall we?”

Niklas had already sprinted from the tent, shouting orders as he rallied his men. Blaine and the others followed, weapons at the ready. Outside, the camp was in chaos. Blaine saw one of Niklas’s soldiers thrown a dozen feet as casually as a child might toss a rag doll. The soldier lay crumpled where he fell. Across the camp, soldiers shouted and cursed as they tried to fight an enemy that moved too quickly for them to see.

Tents appeared to explode, ripped from their moorings and thrown up in the air. Torches were doused with dirt or water, giving the advantage to the
talishte
who did not need light to see.

A few feet away, a soldier screamed as he was lifted a dozen feet into the air, vainly attempting to strike at his attacker with his sword. With a rush of air, the man fell, landing with a thud. A few tent rows to the right, another man rose screaming into the sky, his attacker seeming to be no more than shadow. He, too, fell back to the ground, shouting and flailing.

Blaine and Piran headed one direction, Kestel and Dawe in the other. Verran ran low, keeping to the shadows, scouting for trouble, his knife clutched in his hand.

Blaine caught movement out of the corner of his eye and slashed with his sword, anticipating his attacker’s movement. The blade caught and held for a moment, though Blaine saw only a blur before the sword came free, its edge bloodied.

“You got one!” Piran shouted.

“No good if you don’t take the head or heart,” Blaine grated, glancing around warily.

Something moved, close on the left. “Run!” Blaine shouted, as he and Piran began sprinting toward the center of the camp, where the fighting was heaviest. Around them were the bodies of injured soldiers who lay where they had been thrown from the sky. Tents littered the ground, flung aside as the attackers ripped them from their tethers, or kicked to the side as desperate soldiers fought to free themselves when the canvases dropped like nets from above.

Piran stopped to bend over an injured soldier. “Where are you hurt?”

“Leg’s broken. It twisted when I fell.”

“Were you bitten?”

“Gods, no! I’d know, wouldn’t I? By Esthrane, I’m not going to be turned, am I?” For an instant, fear surpassed his pain.

“You’d know,” Piran said grimly. “I’ll send someone back for you when I can,” he promised, then rose and sprinted to rejoin Blaine.

“If it’s Reese attacking, he’s changed his tactics,” Piran observed. “Compared to the way his people fought the last time, they’re playing nicely. No head-ripping, no throat-gouging.”

Blaine and Piran were fighting back-to-back, barely keeping the swiftly moving attackers at bay. Blaine’s mouth set in a hard line as he swung his sword, and more than once, he managed to strike an attacker on the shoulder or arm despite the
talishte
’s greater speed.

“They don’t have to stop until dawn. But we can’t keep up the fight that long,” Blaine replied through gritted teeth.

Just then, a hoarse scream cut through the night air. Blaine turned to see Dawe in the grip of one of the
talishte
attackers, struggling to get free as his assailant lifted him into the air above the melee. Kestel grabbed Dawe’s fallen crossbow, but there was no way for her to get off a clean shot without striking Dawe, and by the potent curses she screamed, it was clear she realized the standoff. Blaine steeled himself, expecting the
talishte
to drop Dawe as the attackers had let all their victims fall, but this time, the vampire kept rising, disappearing into the night sky with Dawe in his grip.

“They’re looking for us,” Piran said as a trio of
talishte
came at them. “That’s why they took Dawe instead of dropping him.”

From across the commons, Verran gave a sharp cry as he was lifted into the night. “Get out of here!” he shouted, twisting in vain to get loose before he and the
talishte
ascended too high for a safe fall.

Around them, men scrambled to evade the fast-moving
talishte
only to be seized and dropped. Across the vista of flattened tents and ruined wagons, Blaine saw men struggling to rise from where they had fallen or limping away from the thick of battle. Some charged back into the fray despite their injuries. Yet as Blaine surveyed the damage, nowhere did he see heads severed from bodies or throats torn open. In fact, he realized, he saw no corpses at all, just soldiers injured enough to take them out of the fight.

“It’s not Reese,” Blaine said. “These aren’t Reese’s men.”

“How in Raka can you be sure?” Piran shouted above the noise.

Blaine stepped away from Piran and let his sword fall.

“What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” Piran shouted, rushing to interpose himself between Blaine and a
talishte
who was heading their way.

“Nobody needs to get hurt,” Blaine said. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“Reese is messing with your mind, Mick. Get your godsdamned sword!”

The
talishte
stopped just out of reach of Piran’s sword. “We’re here to get your people out safely,” the vampire said. “Geir’s waiting.”

“Geir?” Piran said, lowering his sword just a bit.

“That’s why the soldiers aren’t getting killed,” Blaine replied. “Why they aren’t fighting like Reese’s men. They’re just trying to get us out of here.

“Call off the attack,” he said, turning to the
talishte
. “The soldiers are on our side. We’re not captives.”

“Geir won’t believe it unless you tell him yourself,” Piran said, lowering his sword the rest of the way. “Go. Get Geir to call off his troops, and I’ll find Niklas and get him to have his men stand down.”

“Ready?” the
talishte
asked. But before Blaine could reply, strong hands seized him in a vice grip. They lifted up from the ground so quickly that Blaine felt his stomach lurch, and then the movement made everything around him a dark blur until finally the
talishte
set him down lightly at the edge of a copse of trees not far from the camp. Geir was waiting for him, looking worried. Verran and Dawe were behind him, and from the sound of it, they were already arguing for a cease-fire.

Geir stepped toward Blaine. The
talishte
was tall and slender, dressed in black, with dark hair that fell shoulder-length. He took in Blaine’s appearance with a worried look. “What’s going on? I found shelter for the day when you were hidden in the barn, and when I woke, you were captives. I feared the soldiers belonged to Pollard, so I returned as soon as I could gather enough of Penhallow’s brood in the hope I could free you.”

“Great idea. Much appreciated. Only the soldiers turned out to be good guys. Captain’s an old friend. We need to stop the attack. They’re on our side – or they were, before this,” Blaine replied.

Geir’s eyes took on a distant look, and for a moment, Blaine wondered if the other had heard him. Then the
talishte
roused and returned his gaze to Blaine. He looked skyward as several dark shapes grew closer, then set down near the forest’s edge. “All my men have been recalled.”

Blaine let out a long breath. “Now somehow we’ve got to explain to Niklas that you were trying to save us from him, after his soldiers saved us from Pollard.”

Geir winced. “My apologies, although that is insufficient.”

Blaine shrugged. “You came to a logical conclusion. Under different circumstances, I’d be grateful for the rescue. But we’ve got to patch things up because if Reese and Pollard do attack, it would be helpful if your people and Niklas’s soldiers all know they’re on the same side.” He met Geir’s gaze. “But we’d better get back, or, if I know Niklas, he’ll send a war party after us.”

Within half a candlemark, Blaine and Geir stood within sight of Niklas’s encampment, far enough away to be out of range of archers. They stood side by side, with Verran and Dawe behind them. A line of soldiers stood on guard, and after a moment, Niklas Theilsson stepped out in front. Just behind the line, Blaine spotted Piran and Kestel.

“What’s going on, Blaine? We were trying to protect you.” Niklas looked as angry as Blaine had ever seen him.

Blaine moved forward. “And these particular
talishte
were trying to protect us from you. They knew we’d been taken away from the barn. The last soldiers they’d encountered were Pollard’s.”

Niklas glared at Geir. “I’ve got men who were dropped out of the sky or thrown across the compound, a camp that’s been torn apart, and you’re telling me it was all just a mistake?”

“No one got killed, Niklas. Geir’s
talishte
were being careful. They could have made it a bloodbath,” Blaine said. “If they’d have walked up to the camp and asked nicely, what would your guards have done?”

“Put a quarrel through their chests,” Niklas growled. He eyed Geir and the other
talishte
as if unconvinced of their intentions.

“While we stand out here yelling back and forth, we’re vulnerable to a real attack,” Blaine replied. “Will your men accept a truce? It’s still a long way home, and we’ll be stronger together.”

It was plain from Niklas’s expression that he wasn’t happy with the idea, but after a moment, he turned and shouted orders to his men. It might have been years since Blaine had last seen his friend, but he had not forgotten just how stubborn Niklas could be.

“You have your truce,” Niklas snapped. “But it’s probably best if the
talishte
keep their distance until tempers cool and we get the camp functioning again.”

“Understood.”

Blaine turned back to Geir as Niklas walked away. “Since we’re the cause of the attack, the least my people can do is help them put the camp back together. Tomorrow, perhaps things will have cooled down. I hope to convince Niklas to ally with us.”

“Raising an army?”

“Why not? Pollard and Reese have their own soldiers. And they’ll be back to attack us. Niklas needs a lord to serve now that the king is dead. We could use the help. Better to have them with us than go it alone.”

Geir nodded. “I can’t fault your logic, but I’d feel more sure of our next steps if Penhallow were here.”

“Does your bond give you any idea of where he is?” Blaine watched Geir for a clue to the
talishte
’s thoughts, and as usual, saw nothing.

“Whatever situation had put him in danger, I have the distinct feeling that Penhallow and Connor escaped,” Geir replied. “And an impression that they would rejoin us, after they accomplish… something.”

“No idea what?”

Geir shook his head. “As I’ve mentioned, the
kruvgaldur
is imperfect, especially at a distance. Flashes of strong emotion, brief pictures send much better than actual words.”

Blaine grimaced. “So they’ll show up when they show up,” he said, making no effort to hide his impatience. A sudden thought struck him. “Geir, did your party encounter any scouts?”

Geir frowned. “Two. I used the glamour to put them to sleep. I thought you might want to question them. They’re unconscious and bound just beyond the tree line.” He seemed to see something in Blaine’s expression that made him wary. “Why?”

“One of them may be my brother.” Blaine turned to Verran and Dawe. “Go give Niklas a hand on the cleanup and tell Kestel and Piran what’s going on. I’ll be there as soon as I see whether Carr is among the guards.”

Dawe and Verran strode off toward Niklas’s camp while Blaine accompanied Geir back to the forest. Two men in tattered, dirty uniforms lay bound and gagged on the ground. As Blaine approached, he found that he was holding his breath.

Carr was just a child when I was exiled. Will I even recognize him?
Blaine wondered, feeling his stomach tighten.

He looked at the two unconscious men. One man was pale as moonlight, his face framed by lank hair the color of dried blood. No recognition stirred in Blaine’s mind, and his worry rose. He turned his attention to the other man. The second was tall and lean, and while he was still shy of twenty seasons by several years, his body had been toned and hardened by war. Muddy brown hair fell across one cheek, but even so, Blaine felt his throat tighten at the surge of recognition. “That’s Carr,” he said, his voice tight.