War of Shadows (40 page)

Kestel knelt next to him, staring at Carr’s body in silent grief. Piran stood behind Blaine, on guard. Mari leaned against
Dawe, looking as if she might collapse. Niklas was the last to join them.

“By Torven’s horns,” Niklas murmured. “What in Raka happened?”

Edward gestured toward the body. “Inside the burlap, he’s wrapped in one of Rostivan’s battle pennants.”

Blaine felt grief and anger roll through him like a crushing tide, robbing him of breath. “How in the name of the gods did they catch him?”

“Carr was spying,” Niklas replied, his voice rough and choked. “He took off on his own. He’s been missing since the last storm.” He shook his head. “Blaine, you have to believe me. I would never have sent him anywhere near Quintrel or Rostivan. Short of clapping him in irons or locking him in the dungeon, there was no stopping him. I ordered him to stay away from the warlords. We haven’t seen him in a fortnight.”

The front doors slammed open. Blaine and the other fighters were on their feet, weapons at the ready, before they recognized the newcomers. Geir and two of his
talishte
soldiers dropped a bound man on the entranceway floor.

“Here’s the one who dropped off the body,” Geir said, leaning down to jerk the prisoner to his knees. “Tell Lord McFadden what you know,” he commanded.

“Or what?” the prisoner countered. “You’re a hundred years too late to kill me.”

Geir leaned down to whisper in the man’s ear. The smirk on the captive’s face dimmed and vanished.

“And that is how Hemming Lorens existed, in agony, for more than sixty years,” Geir finished, standing. “We can do the same for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the prisoner said, his voice strained.

Blaine walked over to stand in front of the captive
talishte
.
The prisoner had the look of a hungry stray dog, with dirty-brown hair that fell lank across his face, a gaunt face, and a body too thin for its height. “What happened to my brother?” Blaine demanded.

The prisoner licked his lips. “They caught him spying outside Torsford and took him to Vigus Quintrel. Quintrel figured out he was your brother, and offered him a deal. He refused.”

“How did he die?” Blaine asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

The
talishte
licked his lips, a gesture from his mortal days. “Quintrel wanted information. The spy wouldn’t give it to him, so Quintrel used magic to take what he wanted. Quintrel gave him time to reconsider and tell him everything, or a
talishte
would read the rest from his blood.”

“Carr knew what would happen if a
talishte
read his blood,” Niklas said. “He’d seen it happen to the spies we caught. And if he was able to withhold anything of value from Quintrel’s magic, all his secrets would be in the blood. So he made that impossible.”

“What do you want us to do with the prisoner?” Geir asked.

Blaine drew a ragged breath. He could think of a long list of things that he wanted to do to avenge Carr, but none of them would change anything. The room was silent, awaiting his decision.

“Can you read another
talishte
? If so, read him, then execute him. If not, go ahead and kill him,” Blaine said tonelessly. “Just get him out of my sight.”

Geir nodded, then pulled the prisoner to his feet, and the soldiers escorted them out. Blaine swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together.

Kestel moved beside him. “It means that, in the end, he didn’t betray you,” she said. “He chose his fate so he couldn’t be turned by one of Quintrel’s
talishte
, or used as a bargaining chip.”

Judith dried her tears on her sleeve and stood, once more calm and controlled. “We’ll take care of him,” she said with a catch in her voice. Mari left Dawe’s side and slipped up to take Judith’s hand.

“There’s room out by the oak to bury him with the rest of the family,” Judith added. “Near where your mother is buried.”

“The ground is still frozen,” Mari protested.

“Geir and I can take care of it,” Niklas replied. “That’s not a problem.”

Blaine nodded, not trusting himself to speak. So many emotions warred inside him. Grief, for what was lost. Anger, at Carr’s headstrong recklessness. Rage, over Quintrel’s cruelty. He settled on rage, since it was the most productive.

“Quintrel brought him here to goad us into war,” Blaine said finally. “I won’t let Quintrel push us into fighting before we’re ready. But when the time comes…” He did not have to finish his sentence. He saw the same hunger for vengeance in their eyes that he knew they saw in his. “When the time comes,” he repeated quietly, “Quintrel belongs to me.”

After sunset the next day, Blaine led a solemn procession to the burying ground by the large oak. Ian McFadden’s grave was on the far right, set apart. Judith had seen to Ian’s burial after Blaine’s imprisonment, and the distance between the elder McFadden’s grave and those of the rest of the family was a measure of her scorn.

The new grave was on the left, near the lonely stone that marked Blaine’s mother’s grave. Blaine’s grandparents were buried here, and his ancestors long past, back to the first McFaddens who built Glenreith. Behind the McFadden graves were the modest resting places of the servants, some of whose families had served at Glenreith for generations.

Geir and Niklas had made good on their word. Despite the
frozen soil, they had dug a proper grave. Judith and Mari had bathed Carr’s body, dressed him, and wrapped him in a shroud. Edward and Dawe saw to a coffin, a rough pine box.

Blaine, Niklas, Piran, Dawe, Geir, and Edward shouldered the coffin. Kestel, Judith, and Mari followed them, then Rikard and Leiv, and most of Glenreith’s servants, along with a contingent of guards for protection. Judith took the role of Wise Woman, the elder who spoke the final blessing over the dead and consigned the body to rest in the Sea of Souls.

Blaine watched the simple ceremony, numb with shock and loss. Even rage seemed insufficient. As much as he desired Quintrel’s death, Blaine knew from experience that it would not make anything right. He took his turn with the other pallbearers shoveling dirt into the grave, listening to the sound of the clods striking the wooden box, the most final sound in the world. When the grave was filled, Blaine and the men hefted stones to make a cairn. Judith, Kestel, and Mari set out candles, food, and wine as an offering to Esthrane and Torven, the gods who controlled the Sea of Souls and the Unseen Realm.

Blaine paused for a moment as the others headed back to the manor, watching the candles flicker in the wind. Kestel slipped her arm through his. “Come back to the house,” she urged. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

Blaine nodded. “I know.”

Kestel looked up at him earnestly. “Mick, this is not your fault.”

Blaine sighed. “Sometimes I think that when I killed Father, it was like I pushed a big boulder off the top of a mountain, and it tumbles faster and faster, destroying everything in its path.”

Kestel gave him a level look. “You didn’t start the war with Meroven. You didn’t cause the Great Fire, or the Cataclysm. And if you hadn’t been exiled, you’d have died with the others,
and there’s no telling when—or if—the magic could have been restored.”

Blaine shook his head. “No, I’ll grant you that. But it’s caused no end of misery for my family, when all I wanted was to stop their pain.” He gestured toward Carr’s grave. “I thought I was saving Carr and Mari. I didn’t.”

Kestel pulled him around to face her. “For the gods’ sake, Mick! Mari’s done well for herself. She has a fine son, and she’s made a good match with Dawe. Carr chose his path, and for all we know, perhaps he took more after your father’s temperament than you—or Judith—want to admit. I don’t know whether he was taking crazy chances to prove himself, or whether he was looking to get killed, but in the end, he didn’t betray you. He made his choice. He did exactly what you did when you killed Ian, except you got lucky and he didn’t. Let him rest, Mick. There’s work to do.”

Blaine stared at the cairn a moment longer, then nodded and turned, taking Kestel’s hand for the walk back to the manor. He noticed that two of Niklas’s guards waited a discreet distance away, and trailed them as they headed down the path.

They found Verran, Borya, and Desya waiting in the great room, along with the other members of their minstrel-spy team.

“We just got in, Mick,” Verran said, his face still ruddy from the cold. “Dawe told us what happened. I’m so sorry.”

Blaine nodded curtly. “Thank you.” He frowned, and glanced at the group. “You’re back sooner than you expected. Problems?” By his count, no one was missing.

Kestel hugged Verran in greeting. “Have you eaten? Everyone’s been rather distracted. Let me go see what I can find.” She bustled off to rouse the servants.

Verran returned his attention to Blaine. “Forces are moving.
Everything we’ve seen says both Lysander and Rostivan have their armies headed north.”

Blaine nodded. “Zaryae predicted the same. Niklas is rallying the troops, and Voss has men on the way. Geir sent
talishte
messengers to the Solveigs and Verner’s son.”

“Good,” Verran nodded. “Because all the conversation we’ve heard says this is the deciding battle.”

“Folville sent a runner last night,” Niklas said, walking up behind them. “With all that was going on, I didn’t say anything. There’ve been Tingur attacks in the city, but Folville’s men and our guards have handled it. Then all of a sudden, about three days ago, the Tingur disappeared. Folville thinks Lysander plans to use them in a battle elsewhere.”

Blaine swore. “Lovely. But at least we know in advance.”

“It gets worse,” Borya added. “We’ve heard tell that the Tingur have found a way to use magic to bind the magicked monsters to their bidding. They capture the beasts and keep them contained, then loose them on their enemies.” Borya had lost a cousin to the powerful talons of a
gryp
, a leather-winged predator spawned by one of the wild-magic storms.

“Just what we need,” Niklas muttered.

“There’ve been more Tingur problems in the countryside,” Verran said. “It’s gotten pretty bloody. Some of the villages have run them out of town, and there’s been talk that the Tingur hanged some villagers in revenge. We made sure to spread the word that the Tingur support Lysander.”

“That might explain why we’ve had a large number of new recruits in the last few weeks,” Niklas said. “I blamed it on hungry bellies.” It was the point in the spring when the food put by for the winter was growing scarce, and new crops were long in the future. “But maybe the Tingur annoyed enough folks they decided to join up with us.”

“Right about now, I’ll take good news wherever I can find it,” Blaine said. He looked to Verran as Kestel beckoned from the hallway for the newcomers to come and eat. “Go get some food. We’ll find places for everyone to stay. Enjoy it while it lasts; we’ll be heading out to battle in a couple of days.”

Later that evening, Rikard approached Blaine, Kestel, and Niklas in the parlor.

“We believe we’ve worked out a solution to your magic problem,” Rikard said. “Well, not a full solution—that won’t happen until you can alter the anchoring. But a way to help you make it through the next battle without the magic taking as much of a toll. And this time, there’s no one working against us.”

Kestel gave him a narrowed glance. “How sure are you?”

Rikard chuckled, expecting her reaction. “Leiv, Zaryae, Nemus, and I have all attempted use of the item, with no ill effects. And after what happened the last time, I have the pendant in my pocket. I’m not going to let it out of my sight.”

Blaine and Niklas exchanged a look, and then Blaine rose. “All right. Show me.”

“Those artifacts Penhallow secured in the crypts under the castle have proven their worth,” Rikard said as Blaine and the others followed him to the mage’s workroom. “It just took a little digging.”

Zaryae and Leiv were waiting for them. Nemus stayed behind in the workroom. Artan had died of his injuries, and with Lowrey’s treachery, only the four were left. Zaryae looked at Blaine with concern as he entered.

“The magic makes your dreams restless,” she said, scanning him with her gift.

Blaine hesitated, then nodded. “It’s getting worse.”

“One more way it drains you,” Zaryae agreed. “Your tether to the magic never sleeps. At first, your mind could hide that
from you. But as time goes on, it wears you down.” She gave a sad smile. “Like a cistern with a leak. Only a little water leaves at a time, but soon enough, the whole well empties.”

“Show us what you’ve found,” Kestel said. “The sooner we can decide the battle, the sooner Mick can go to Mirdalur and stop the ‘leak.’ ”

“We can’t use a traditional null charm for Lord McFadden because of the effect it might have on anchoring the magic, and on his battle magic,” Rikard said. “Unfortunately, Lowrey destroyed the only dampening charm we’d found when he corrupted it,” he added with a grimace.

“We went through the bags of artifacts that were brought up from the crypt. Dagur left most of them here, since he only wanted the ones that might affect making a new anchor.” He gave a crafty smile. “And we got lucky.”

Rikard held up a round agate circle on a braided leather-and-twine cord. “I know it doesn’t look like much. Magically, it doesn’t feel like much either, until you realize that the magic sort of ‘slides off’ the charm like rain on slate.”

“We thought it deflected magic,” Leiv said, with more enthusiasm than Blaine had seen the quiet mage show over anything. “But that’s not the only thing it does. Watch.”

Rikard slipped the amulet’s cord over his own head, and gave Leiv a nod. Leiv stood back, then raised his hands and sent a streak of light toward Rikard’s chest. It flashed against the amulet and returned to Leiv, stinging him in the shoulder. Leiv shook his arm and rubbed his skin where the light hit, but he was grinning widely.

“Of course, I didn’t use anything like the energy that got bounced around the last time,” Leiv said. “Didn’t want to hurt anyone. But you see what happens—magic slides off and then bounces back to the sender. Handy, don’t you think?”