War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga

by Gail Z. Martin

  The roof had been replaced. Glass was hard to find, so wooden shutters covered the windows. The brick was marred by scorch marks and soot, stained by years of use, but the tavern’s walls stood straight and strong. And by the look of it, the Rooster and Pig was open for business once more.

  “Keep a sharp eye out. Make sure we don’t get any surprises.” Blaine instructed the two soldiers who had accompanied them.

  “I’ve got your back,” Kestel murmured. “Just be your charming self.”

  Inside the Rooster and Pig, it was clear that the revived pub was only a shadow of its former glory. From the sharp smell of raw liquor, Blaine guessed that the distilling skills of the new owner were still being developed.

  Kestel wrinkled her nose. “Smells like the rotgut we used to brew in Edgeland.”

  The fireplace blazed, adding the scent of burning wood to the smell of unwashed bodies and candle smoke. The pub was busy, and serving wenches brought out trenchers of stew and plates of baked fish that looked passingly edible.

  “There’s our man,” Blaine said with a nod.

  William Folville sat at a table in the far corner of the pub. He was a lean man with a sharp, rodent-like face, and long, skinny arms. Folville was likely the same age as Blaine, just a few years shy of thirty. If so, he had already lived unusually long for someone who was the leader of one of the city’s most notorious—and successful—gangs of thieves.

  “Lord McFadden,” Folville said with a lopsided smile that showed a row of crooked, blackened teeth. “Welcome to my parlor.” He eyed Kestel as if trying to figure out why a woman was wearing not just a man’s tunic and trews but a soldier’s cuirass and a bandolier of knives.

  “M’lady,” Folville said. “Please, have a seat. I understand we have business to discuss.”

  “I’ll stand,” Kestel said, taking up a position behind Blaine that mirrored the stance of the two strongmen who stood behind Folville. For a moment, Folville looked as if he meant to make a jest, but something in Kestel’s gaze made him reconsider.

  “You asked for a meeting,” Folville said, turning his attention to Blaine. “Why?”

  “We’ve been gathering the mages who’ve finally come out of hiding,” Blaine replied. “Our far-seers predict a series of powerful storms heading across the ocean for Castle Reach. The garrison is telling everyone in the city to either move to higher ground or head inland as soon as they can.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Folville replied, meeting Blaine’s gaze levelly. “If the people from my ward want to go, we won’t get in their way. But I’m not going to run.”

  “If the seers are right, and Castle Reach gets hit with a surge tide that reaches up to Quillarth Castle, the whole lower half of the city will be under water,” Blaine said. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

  “If the seers are right,” Folville repeated. “But what if they’re wrong? Look, Lord McFadden, we’ve kept our part of the bargain. We’ve pushed back against the Badger Group and the Red Blades to keep the city from having one battle after another over territory. And right now, my followers control three-quarters of Castle Reach, including the waterfront.”

  He shook his head. “We pull back, storm or no, and it won’t just be the sea rushing in. The Badgers and the Blades will snap up that territory, kill anyone loyal to me—and to you—and we’ll have to retake it square by bloody square.”

  “What’s your plan, then?” Blaine asked. “If the storms were coming down from the mountains instead of in from the sea, we could get people into the tunnels. But that high a tide together with winds and heavy rain will flood the tunnels.”

  Folville’s dark eyes glinted with the challenge. “My men have been reinforcing the upper levels of the tallest buildings that survived the war. They don’t look like much on the outside, but inside, we’ve shored up the supports, strengthened the floors, replaced beams in the roofs.”

  “You expected storms?” Blaine asked.

  Folville laughed, and the two bodyguards chuckled. “Hardly. We figured them for towers that could give us command of key streets and plazas, plus a view so we could see who might be coming our way.”

  “You’re preparing for war,” Kestel said.

  Folville looked at her as if trying to figure out her place. He nodded. “Yeah. The Badgers have gotten pushy. They’ve been brewing whiskey and trying to sell it in our areas, and I’ve had a couple of my men turn up dead near Badger territory. Personally, I think someone’s helping them.”

  “Who?” Blaine asked.

  Folville shrugged. “If I knew that, I’d have already killed them.”

  “No suspicions?” Kestel probed.

  Once again, Folville studied her features. “I know who you are. You’re Falke, the assassin.”

  “Right you are,” Kestel replied. Blaine saw Folville’s two bodyguards startle, as if it had not occurred to them before this that Kestel’s presence was not for show.

  “You did time in Velant,” Folville added. “For murder.”

  “Only the one they knew about,” Kestel said brightly. She met Folville’s gaze. “There were lots they didn’t.”

  The implied threat did not seem to rattle Folville, but his bodyguards looked wary, if a little surprised. They each outweigh Kestel a couple of times over, but I’d bet on her in a fight any day, Blaine thought, suppressing a chuckle.

  “How many buildings do your people control?” Blaine asked. “Could you shelter people on the upper floors?”

  Folville hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Not the whole city, but a lot of people. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but if it gets as bad as your mages say, they won’t drown.”

  “The far-seers think it’s going to be a series of storms,” Kestel said. “It’s payback for what the king’s mages used to do to keep bad storms away from the kingdom. Now nature’s straightening itself out, and we’re in for it until things get sorted.”

  “We’ve got supplies laid in,” Folville replied. “That’s one way I make sure the people in my ward stay loyal when the other gangs come around trying to push into my streets. My people don’t go hungry. They work for me and stay loyal, and I’ll make sure they have clothes on their backs, shoes on their feet, and food in their bellies.”

  “Will your supplies get flooded?” Blaine pressed. “If the storms hit like we’re expecting, it’s going to be a while before you’ll be able to get new provisions.”

  Folville shrugged. “Some might. If we’ve got a day or two, my men can move most of what might be in danger. Most of what we’ve got should be safe.”

  Outside the Rooster and Pig, Blaine could hear the wind howl. A loose shutter banged against the wooden walls. Above the wind, Blaine heard the sound of chanting, and what sounded like a large crowd singing. Some of the patrons in the Rooster and Pig shifted to see out the pub’s windows. Folville gestured to one of his bodyguards, and the man took a few steps to look out the window. He returned a moment later, scowling.

  “It’s those damn Torven troublemakers,” the burly man growled. “Got a big crowd down by the water.”

  Folville looked up at the bodyguard. “Go get some of the other men. Run those bastards out of my territory.”

  The bodyguard nodded. “We’ll get it done,” he promised, and shouldered his way out of the crowded pub.

  “What do you know about them?” Blaine asked Folville.

  Folville cursed. “Very little, and even that’s too much. They showed up a couple of weeks ago, around Torven’s main shrine. Pretty soon, there were more of them, and then even more. Next thing I know, they’re causing problems.”

  “What kind of problems?” Kestel asked.

  Folville spat on the floor. “We caught a couple of them trying to break into one of our storehouses. They’ve been causing disturbances, making prophecies. We don’t need that. My men roughed them up plenty good. Maybe the others will get the message.”

  “Anything else?” Blaine asked.

  Folvi
lle muttered a few more curses under his breath. “Nothing I can prove, but every time there’s trouble, those damn Tingur have just left. Had a warehouse catch on fire. One of my men saw two of those robed men nearby just before the flames caught. We’ve been having more problems than usual with the Badgers and the Blades, and I can’t shake the feeling that the Tingur have something to do with it.”

  “Rumor has it Karstan Lysander might be using the Tingur, giving them aid,” Blaine said.

  “What in Raka does Lysander have to do with a bunch of loonies?” Folville asked.

  “We think Lysander’s using them to find the weak points,” Blaine replied.

  Folville let loose a string of curses. “I knew it! I figured those blighters for trouble. My men run them out of my ward whenever they show up, but they keep coming back. I always thought they were planning something.”

  Just then, a tremendous crash shook the Rooster and Pig. The floor shook hard enough to send tankards tumbling and beer sloshing. Women screamed and men got to their feet in startled alarm. Kestel drew her sword, as did Folville’s bodyguard. Blaine and Folville were on their feet, expecting an attack.

  They followed the crowd to the door. “Damned if the old shipworks didn’t collapse,” one man said as the tavern’s patrons shoved to get a better look.

  Blaine was tall enough to see over most of the people in front of him. He remembered the old Donderath shipworks, a large building that before the Cataclysm had been the pride of the kingdom, turning out the majestic sailing vessels that made up Donderath’s cargo fleet and navy. Since the Great Fire, the building stood empty and abandoned, hunched on the edge of the waterline.

  Now the old shipworks was a pile of rubble, with dust still rising from its sagging walls and splintered beams.

  Just in the time they had been inside the Rooster and Pig, the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray. The wind had been brisk on their trip into Castle Reach. Now it lashed the waves into whitecaps and swept down the cobblestone streets, driving leaves and debris in front of it. The waves pounded against the new seawall, splashing nearly to its rim. Rain fell, and from the look of the sky just a little farther out to sea, the isolated drops were likely to become a torrent very soon.

  “I think the mages were right about the storm—and wrong about the timing,” Kestel murmured. “I don’t like the look of those waves.”

  Blaine shook his head. “I spent too long out on the boats in Edgeland. That’s a storm sea.” He looked to Folville. “We need to start getting people to shelter.”

  Folville stared out at the angry sea. “I think you’re right.” He climbed on one of the benches and clapped his hands loudly.

  “There’s a storm coming,” he shouted. “A bad one. Get inland, or up high. Don’t wait.”

  The Rooster and Pig’s patrons gave Folville an incredulous look. “I’m not afraid of a little rain,” a man said, lifting his tankard. “And besides, where better to sit out a gale than with plenty of ale?”

  Most of the others chuckled at his joke, but Blaine heard the nervousness beneath the laughter. A few of the pub’s customers headed out the door, fighting against gusts of wind to make their way up the street.

  Folville turned to Blaine. “Whether you planned to or not, you won’t be going back to Quillarth Castle tonight. You wanted to warn us. Well, m’lord, we’re warned. And I’d be much obliged if you and your men can help me save my people.”

  “Get inside! Go now!” Blaine shouted to be heard above the howling wind. His voice was raw and he was soaked to the skin. Kestel stood near the door to the tall brick building, encouraging dazed city dwellers to move more quickly.

  “How many more can you fit in there?” Blaine shouted.

  “A few dozen more, not a lot,” Folville replied. “This is our last building. Anyone who doesn’t make it in here is going to need to head farther north, to the warehouses.”

  Folville was drenched, hair clinging to his thin face, his cloak a sodden mass of wool. Captain Hemmington and his men were farther down the plaza, helping a stream of miserable men, women, and children make their way through the high winds and sleeting rain toward shelter. A thin scrim of ice coated everything, making footing treacherous.

  Blaine eyed the warehouse. It was an old building, sturdy enough to have escaped the Great Fire largely intact. A soldier jogged up through the rain to where Blaine stood. “Captain Hemmington sent me to tell you that the water is getting higher, m’lord. We’ve evacuated people from the lowest streets.”

  Blaine nodded. “We’re going to have to get to shelter ourselves soon.”

  “Aye, m’lord. I’ll let him know.” The soldier headed back toward Hemmington’s position, nearly losing his footing several times on the slick pavers of the plaza.

  Blaine eyed the stragglers. Over the course of several candlemarks, Folville’s people, along with Hemmington’s troops and Larson’s garrison, had urged thousands of residents to get to safety. Blaine was unsure that the high winds might not drive the storm surge high enough to pose a danger even to those on the second floor of buildings within sight of the sea.

  “The third floor is full,” Kestel reported. Her hooded cloak had kept her relatively dry, but Blaine could see that her lips were tinged blue with cold. “Fourth floor still has some room.”

  Kestel eyed the people still trying to make their way across the plaza.

  “I think they’ll be the last,” Blaine said, following her gaze. “I suspect everyone else has found somewhere to batten down.” Blaine glanced at the sky. “Not any too soon, I wager. We haven’t seen the worst of this yet.”

  An intrepid bell ringer had stayed at his post. As the last of the bells tolled the candlemark, Captain Hemmington and his exhausted soldiers herded the final stragglers into the building. Larson had sent word that he and his soldiers would hole up in one of Folville’s other shelters.

  “It’s getting hard to stand against the wind,” Hemmington said as he sent his men on ahead of him into the warehouse. He shook the sleet from his cloak like a wet dog. “Too bad we can’t use the first floor, too, but it’s sure to flood.”

  Once, the structure had been a warehouse, before the Great Fire. Then it sat damaged and abandoned before Folville’s men took it for their own, replacing or boarding up broken windows, shoring up its supporting beams and patching its ruined roof. They would be high enough to escape the storm surge, Blaine thought, but he wondered whether the building would hold against the winds, which seemed to grow stronger minute by minute.

  Men and women, entire families, old and young, crowded into the shelter. They had felt the storm warning in their bones and brought only what they could carry. Some clutched wailing infants and terrified small children. A few hung tenaciously on to dogs they refused to leave behind. Most came only with the clothes on their backs or a small bag of hastily gathered belongings.

  Blaine struggled to close the door against the wind. The downstairs shutters had been secured, but they banged against the sill. Rain struck like small pebbles being tossed against the siding.

  “Let’s find a place upstairs where we can see what’s going on in the city,” Blaine said.

  They climbed the steep, narrow steps, stopping at each landing to look in on the people sheltered on that floor. Some milled about, or spoke quietly in small groups. Others huddled over crying children or tried to calm disoriented elders. Though it was cold outside and growing colder, the press of bodies warmed even the large, open room.

  “You have provisions?” Blaine asked.

  Folville nodded. “I’ve got men on each floor to make sure the provisions are rationed evenly. With luck, we won’t be here long enough to need them.”

  Blaine eyed the refugees. Most had a bleak, hopeless look, as if this last round of hardship, on the heels of the Great Fire and the Cataclysm, was nearly too much to bear. A few sobbed quietly. The third floor was as crowded as the second. Despite the large number of people, it was strangely silent, quiet eno
ugh to hear the wind battering the building. From time to time, something crashed against the brick or shattered against the wooden shutters, hurled by the wild winds outside. Those nearest the windows flinched, but others, lost in their misery, did not react at all.

  Blaine and Kestel worked their way over to the fourth-floor windows facing the sea, but darkness and driving rain made it impossible to see out. “How long do you think it’ll be until the storm gives out?” Kestel asked, slipping up beside Blaine.

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. If we’re lucky, maybe it will be over by daybreak.”

  The question, of course, was what would be left after the storm passed. People had just begun to rebuild. Devastating storms could undo all that. If the storms continued, residents would abandon Castle Reach, leaving the former seaport deserted.

  Blaine and Kestel returned to the first floor, where they found Hemmington and his soldiers, as well as Folville. One of the soldiers peered through a broken shutter. “I pity anyone who’s out there. The wind is driving a lot of garbage around. Looks like it’s ripping the tile off some of the roofs.”

  “Hopefully, not ours,” Folville said. The old building creaked and wind whistled through gaps, as if the entire structure was moaning. Lanterns cast a dim glow over the large rooms. The air smelled of smoke and lamp oil.

  Hemmington posted two soldiers on watch by the door. “I’m less worried about people breaking in than water seeping under the door,” he said. “You see a leak, I want to know about it.”

  Time passed, and no more bells tolled. Without the bells, it was impossible to gauge how long the storm raged. “We’ve got water coming in,” the watchman shouted in the middle of the night. Blaine climbed to his feet and saw water pouring in under the door from the flooded street.

  “Get upstairs,” Blaine ordered.

  “Water’s still rising,” the guard said. “I’m betting the seawall didn’t hold.”

  Blaine and Kestel made their way back up to the fourth floor. The building had been used for storage, and with the sudden storm, casks and boxes were pushed up against the walls to make room for all the people. Old lumber leaned against the wall, along with boards and a battered door that had seen better days. Cartons of provisions lay stacked against one wall, covered by tarpaulins.