“Yes,” Penhallow said without hesitation. “They’re all men with seagoing experience who have a strong kruvgaldur bond to me or to our allied Elders. They’re entirely trustworthy.”
Blaine was still learning just what the kruvgaldur meant and how it worked for him. He knew his was not nearly as strong as Connor’s, but no one had bothered to explain the details. “Is their bond strong enough to ensure their loyalty over such a great distance?”
Penhallow nodded. “It should. I chose only men who have a strong kruvgaldur bond.”
“The Nomad was a big ship,” Blaine said. “If you’re going to Edgeland, we’ll send supplies with you. We’ve heard nothing from the colony since we returned. It was hard enough to survive when there were regular supply ships from Donderath and the magic hadn’t gone wild. I don’t want to imagine how hard it’s been for them, without supplies and without reliable magic.”
Edgeland and the people Blaine and the others had left behind there were never far from his thoughts. He still thought of many of the people there as good friends, and prayed to Esthrane for their safety.
“What about on the return trip?” Kestel asked. “The Nomad holds four hundred passengers, in addition to the crew. Can Verran offer to bring back anyone willing to fight? We could use some fresh troops.”
Penhallow nodded. “That can be arranged. I can also add some supplies from our provisions as well.”
“Root vegetables, dried meat, tools, supplies the colonists would have had to rely on Donderath to provide like salt, dried plants that don’t grow up there for making healing potions,” Kestel rattled off. “All of those things would be more precious than gold. Anything we could send them would be much appreciated—and would make Verran a hero.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Geir said. “There’s no hiding a sailing ship coming into Skalgerston Bay, so let’s make sure he gets a hero’s welcome, does some good for the colonists, and has backup if he needs it from friends who are glad to see him.”
“Do you want me to tell Verran and the others before I send them to Westbain, or do you want to do the honors?” Blaine asked.
Penhallow frowned. “I’d rather have as few people as possible know about the Elgin Spike until we have it safely in hand and use it against Thrane. Please tell them, and only them, just what they must know at the last possible moment. With luck, the Spike has slipped out of memory. By the time your people reach Westbain, we’ll have the ship provisioned and ready to go. The fewer chances to compromise the mission, the better.”
Blaine nodded. “Makes sense.” He chuckled. “I don’t envy you Connor’s reaction. He didn’t fancy Edgeland much—and he was only there for a month or so!”
“With all the weird artifacts we pulled out of the catacombs under Quillarth Castle, are you sure there aren’t more things we can use against Thrane and Hennoch and the Meroven scum?” Piran asked. “I’m the last person to like relying on magic, but damn—if we can blow them up or burn them down from a distance with a little hocus-pocus, it saves a lot of lives.”
That brought a smile to Penhallow. “Nidhud and the Knights of Esthrane have been working with all of the artifacts we recovered with that same goal in mind.” He paused. “Although I suspect he might take exception to your wording.”
“Edward said Cosmin is looking for me,” Blaine replied with a sigh. “I figure he and his mages have either found something really useful or they’ve done a lot of damage and want to let me know it’s all for naught.” Since magic had been brought back under mortal control, the mages had a huge and dangerous task determining how the changes affected objects of power, and which pieces could still be safely used.
“I’ve got to admit that my mind is still back on Thrane and his rogue Elders,” Kestel said. “Are they really so blind that they think they’ll be able to slaughter mortals and people won’t fight back?”
“Thrane and Reese plan to put Vedran Pollard on the throne as their puppet.” Penhallow’s matter-of-fact observation left them in stunned silence. The chill Blaine had felt grew deeper. Vedran Pollard was one of Ian McFadden’s peers, and the bad blood between Pollard and Blaine’s father had been legendary at court. To Blaine’s mind, Pollard was Ian’s equal for sheer spite and vindictiveness.
Piran spat out a string of curses. “Pollard? King?”
“I remember Vedran Pollard from court,” Kestel said with disdain. “He was vain and cruel. Spending time with Reese and Thrane couldn’t have improved him. He would be a disaster as a king.”
“The only real alternative is for Blaine to be willing to accept the crown himself.” Penhallow’s voice was quiet, but it seemed to echo from the walls. For a moment, no one moved. Blaine caught his breath, thinking of a million reasons why the suggestion was preposterous.
“I’ve been thinking that for a while now,” Piran said, without any hint of humor. “Who else?”
Blaine found his voice. “I never even cared about being a lord, let alone a warlord,” he said. “King?”
Piran looked at Blaine with a sad smile. “In a way, the fact that you don’t want it makes you the best person for the job, Mick.”
“It’s crossed my mind, since the last big battle,” Kestel admitted. “The other warlords defer to you. You’ve earned the trust of the villagers and the people in Castle Reach. And Piran’s right—who else could do it? Verner just wants to go home and farm his land. He’s a decent general, but I don’t think he’s got the skills to be king.”
“The people would never accept either of the Solveigs,” Piran added. “Even if Rinka and Tormod were interested, and I don’t get the feeling their ambitions run in that direction.”
“Folville certainly isn’t cut out to be king, and Voss isn’t the type to want a crown,” Kestel continued. “Who else is there? Niklas couldn’t wait to leave Quillarth Castle when he was rebuilding it and get back out on the battlefield. The people won’t accept a talishte king.” She met Blaine’s gaze. “Face it, Mick—it’s got to be you. We’ve worked too hard, lost too many people fighting this war, to let it all fall apart when we win.”
“King?” Blaine repeated, stunned. The idea would be laughable if he was not certain that they were entirely serious.
“When I go back to Westbain, I’ll be gathering the allied Elders against Thrane,” Penhallow said levelly. “They will want to know what is to become of Donderath, once Thrane and the Meroven threat are defeated. We’re asking them and their broods to involve themselves in mortal affairs far more than talishte have done openly for centuries,” Penhallow continued. “They could easily leave, and let the mortals sort it out for themselves, on their own.” He looked dour. “I don’t think you would find that a satisfactory outcome.”
“And since you’re asking them to stick their necks out, they have an interest in what happens after the fighting is over,” Piran replied.
“Exactly,” Penhallow agreed. “Of all the players since the Cataclysm, only Blaine could win the support of the allied Elders.” He grimaced. “Of that, I’m quite sure.”
“I would agree, from what I’ve seen,” Geir said. “The allied Elders want to know that the next king of Donderath won’t turn on the talishte and hunt us. You’ve won points with them by naming Nidhud and Penhallow as new Lords of the Blood. You promised Dolan that the Knights will have a seat at the table as the kingdom rebuilds. You’re tied by the kruvgaldur to Penhallow. Connor—and the Wraith Lord—speak well of you.” He gave a bittersweet smile. “There is no one else with credentials that compare.”
Kestel laid a hand on Blaine’s arm. “Could you really just walk away and let it all fall apart?” she asked quietly. “If you see another alternative, now’s the time to say something.”
Kestel knows there isn’t anyone else, Blaine thought. And she’s right—we’ve fought so hard to put things back together after the Cataclysm, I can’t just let it all fall to pieces again. That’s what will happen without a strong king. So help me Charrot, I�
�d hand this off in a second if I could. But still, king?
“Can I give the allied Elders assurance that you’ll accept the crown, assuming we win the war?” Penhallow prompted, rousing Blaine from his thoughts.
Kestel gave his arm an encouraging squeeze, and Piran nodded soberly. “Yes,” Blaine said, although his voice sounded distant and strange to him, as if it belonged to someone else. “I’ll do it. You have my word—if we all live to see the end of this war.”
CHAPTER SIX
IN WESTBAIN’S TATTERED PARLOR, LANYON PENHALLOW paced, hands clasped behind his back. “There’s no other way,” he said.
“Surely, there are alternatives.” Aldwin Carlisle, talishte lord and formerly the Gold-masked member of the Elder Council, frowned worriedly. “It seems… extreme.”
The Wraith Lord was present only as a disembodied spirit, but his outline was clear and recognizable. Kierken Vandholt had existed for over one thousand years as man, mage, talishte, and wraith. Connor could remember few circumstances when the Wraith Lord looked so concerned.
“Thrane is a menace,” the Wraith Lord said. “A powerful menace. And with the assistance of some of the Elders—as well as the sizable broods he and Reese and the others created—we need to take drastic steps.”
“I don’t like it.” Garrick Dalton, the Brown Elder, shook his head. “The Elgin Spike was best forgotten, or better yet, destroyed. We risk all our safety by bringing it to light.”
“Thrane and Reese are already risking the safety of all talishte,” Penhallow said sharply. “The situation in Donderath is fluid. What happens now determines the fate of the kingdom for decades to come. If the mortals experience the full horror and devastation of a talishte war, something that has been half-forgotten as history or legend, we will see massive efforts to wipe out our kind. Thrane cannot win, but all of us can lose.”
Bevin Connor, the only mortal in the room, listened in silence. He was assistant and liegeman to Lanyon Penhallow, bound by the kruvgaldur blood bond as well as by honor and an odd friendship. And as a powerful medium, he was the ofttimes vessel for cloaking the Wraith Lord in a human body. That meant he was frequently privy to conversations and events about which other mortals remained blissfully, comfortably ignorant.
“Our numbers are hardly sufficient to do damage anywhere near the scale easily inflicted by mortal warfare,” Carlisle argued.
“Mortals will forgive the excesses of other mortals,” Penhallow replied. “They believe, rightfully or not, that armed equally, they could either hold their own or do the same. But they can never be armed equally to talishte. Open war between talishte will remind them that our kind can be true monsters. And they will, understandably, band together by the hundreds and thousands in daylight to destroy all of us.”
“I gave up faith in magical objects’ ability to change the world long ago,” Carlisle said. “The Spike is a symbol, a shortcut to something we can do by other means.” He paused. “You don’t even know if it still works after the Cataclysm. For all we know, Thrane could be immune to its power, or it might be tainted—or inert.”
The Wraith Lord’s scowl deepened. “Perhaps. And we are developing alternatives in case the Spike fails. But the Elgin Spike has potent magic, and its use would solve our problem. Other means would require vastly more effort, take much more time, and come at a far greater cost.”
Connor watched the play of wills while trying to remain unnoticed. Although he had gained strength and other benefits from his kruvgaldur bond with Penhallow and his connection to the Wraith Lord, he was under no illusion that he was in any way in the company of equals. The last time he had seen Carlisle and Dalton, they had been masked and robed in the circle of the Elder Council, a group of the oldest and most powerful talishte who until recently held the power of destruction over all talishte in Donderath. He was, quite possibly, the only mortal to have witnessed the gathering and lived. And while before the Cataclysm, his role as aide to the late Lord Garnoc had brought him to court in the presence of kings and nobles, their power, and their potential for large-scale destruction, did not compare with the power of the talishte in this room.
“We have tried to solve the problem with more limited means,” the Wraith Lord replied. Over the year of playing host body to the Wraith Lord’s spirit, Connor had become highly attuned to the ancient talishte’s moods. Now, he realized how hard the Wraith Lord was trying to rein in his impatience and court the agreement of the recalcitrant former Elders.
“Penhallow and I testified to the Elders about the danger of Reese’s desire for power. We committed our troops and our broods, as well as our own blades, to fight against Reese and his mercenaries,” the Wraith Lord recounted.
“What of the Knights of Esthrane?” Malin Jarett asked. She was the only woman in the room, thin, beautiful, and imperious, and a former Elder who had hidden her features behind a Silver mask. As she spoke, she turned to look pointedly at General Dolan, who stood at rest just inside the doors to the parlor.
“My Knights have already played a sizable role in this conflict,” Dolan replied with a faint tone of disapproval. “More so than we have played in a mortal conflict for quite some time. At the behest of the Wraith Lord, we provided safe passage to Blaine McFadden from Valshoa, when he attempted to bind the magic there. The Knights fought in the Battle of Valshoa, on McFadden’s side. We have just returned from playing an equally large role in the Battle of the Northern Plains, and in McFadden’s successful re-anchoring of the magic at Mirdalur. Yet we are few in number. There are limits to our ability to directly change the course of events.”
“It worries me that Thrane returns now, after being gone so long from Donderath.” Dag Marlief had been the Elder known as Onyx. “We have only rumors about what he did in those decades, who sheltered him, what alliances he might have built.”
Penhallow nodded. “Those questions worry me as well, and I fear we’re about to discover those answers. I don’t think we will like what we find out.”
“Do you really believe that Thrane has built himself a secret army?” Jarett asked.
Penhallow turned to meet her blue eyes. “Thrane’s never ‘built’ anything himself. But do I think it’s likely that he has co-opted, conscripted, borrowed, or stolen an army by promising mountains of spoils? I would say that’s in character—most likely with allies in Meroven, where we believe he spent much of his exile.”
“I concur.” The Wraith Lord’s voice commanded attention, even though he was incorporeal. “Thrane has never played fair, even by talishte terms. He will do whatever it takes to win. And since he has announced himself in the game by his return, I think we need to take him seriously as a threat. Without Thrane, Reese had been defeated. Thrane’s return changes everything.”
“What would you have us do?” Dalton asked.
“Summon your broods,” Penhallow replied. “Brace them for war. Rally them to the cause against Thrane, or compel those who will not rally to stand down and give no aid to Thrane’s forces.”
“You expect us to go to battle?” Carlisle replied, raising an eyebrow.
“I expect that the next major conflict will be a human battle masking a talishte civil war,” the Wraith Lord rumbled. “The winner will decide the fate of the Ascendant Kingdoms for generations, perhaps centuries.” He turned his gaze over the group in turn, and even the oldest of the Elders shrank back from his intensity.
“Don’t fool yourself that neutrality is possible,” the Wraith Lord warned. “Thrane will keep score, and he has shown himself to be particularly unforgiving. And don’t believe that Thrane’s vision of a kingdom where we rule openly and brutally is preferable, or even possible. Thrane’s vision leads to a few, short years of carnage and madness, followed by extinction.”
Something in the weight of the Wraith Lord’s words gave Connor to suspect that over the course of a millennium, Kierken Vandholt had experienced those consequences. And although the Wraith Lord was quite good at hiding his thoughts
away from Connor whenever he possessed Connor’s body as his proxy, Connor had gleaned bits of memories, shadows of experiences that gave him glimmers of insight into Vandholt’s history. Connor shivered. The purge Vandholt warned about was something he had survived personally, something he had seen destroy his brood and everything he cared about. Although the memory was a borrowed one, and incomplete, Connor felt its terror. The Wraith Lord was right. Devastation was imminent, and there was nothing that Connor could do about it.
“You think that Thrane can be defeated simply by besting him in a war?” Jarett asked incredulously. “Nothing short of the final death will dissuade him. Many powerful talishte have tried to pass that judgment. None have succeeded.”
“That’s why you want the Elgin Spike,” Dalton said. “To make sure that Thrane and all his brood are destroyed, once and for all.”
Penhallow crossed the room to where a large, yellowed map of Donderath and the rest of the Continent hung on the wall. Before the war, the combined crowns of the Continent had dared to call themselves the Ascendant Kingdoms, as if they had reached the pinnacle of achievement. Meroven and Donderath took up most of the land mass as the Greater Kingdoms. A handful of smaller states toward the south were the Lesser Kingdoms. On the other side of the Ecardine Sea were the Cross-Sea Kingdoms, once prosperous trading partners. No one had heard from those lands since the Cataclysm. To the far north lay Edgeland, a colony of convicts, and Velant Prison, now a ruin.
“Thrane and Pollard control Solsiden,” Penhallow said, pointing to a small knife stabbed into a location to Westbain’s north. “Hennoch’s army has the surrounding territory, to the Meroven border. Our spies confirm that he’s taken in survivors from the defeated lords, and any of Quintrel’s mages who didn’t burn.
“Voss has the territory south of Westbain, and the Wraith Lord’s protections extend around Lundmyhre. McFadden’s army and allies hold Castle Reach and Quillarth Castle,” Penhallow said, indicating an arc to the west. “Birgen Verner’s army holds from Mirdalur to the Riven Mountains, and the Solveigs have the western end of the kingdom, stretching as far as they care to exert control.” He paused. “The Gray Elder, Bayard, has gone to rally the Plainsmen, and with luck, ally them to Blaine McFadden and the Solveigs. That should free more troops to deal with the Meroven raiders.”
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