“Without the full council, it would be a shadow of our former control,” Gold replied. “Perhaps too little to matter amid such chaos.”
“Maybe not,” Silver challenged. “A boulder can change the course of a mighty river. Onyx still holds Reese prisoner, which alone could change the outcome.”
“I agree with Brown,” the Wraith Lord said. “We are not many, but our edicts control the allegiance and actions of hundreds of talishte. Just a handful of talishte can affect the course of a battle. We can still present an impact out of proportion to the size of our forces. It could well be enough to determine who becomes the next mortal king of Donderath.”
“The remaking of the Continent will be like weighing beans on a scale,” Onyx said. “At some point, one more bean throws the scales out of balance, but no one knows until it happens which bean will make the difference. Our small factions are like those beans, and sooner or later, one of us will tip the balance.”
“Then we are agreed,” the Wraith Lord said. “We may not be the Council of Elders, but we will remain a council of equals, and where we can lend our influence to restore a stable kingdom, we will seek alliance to do so.”
“Agreed,” replied Onyx. “And I shall do everything in my power to keep Reese imprisoned, according to his sentence.”
“Yes,” Silver said. “But more than that, we’ve let Penhallow’s brood bear the brunt of the fighting thus far. If we expect to restrain Reese and Thrane, we’d best be willing to bring our own soldiers to the fray.”
“We are agreed,” replied Brown, after a murmured consultation with Gold. “Both against Thrane and with stepping into the fight with our own broods. We have remained on the sidelines too long.”
“I don’t know what game Thrane is playing, but I’m happy to be on the other side,” Gray said. “Agreed to both propositions.”
The Wraith Lord nodded. “Very well. Your broods become a thousand spies. If you have something of significance to report, summon the rest of us.”
“Do you think Thrane will raise Reese’s get to come against us?” Brown asked.
The Wraith Lord and Onyx both nodded. “I think it’s entirely likely,” Onyx replied.
Onyx gave the Wraith Lord an appraising look. “This McFadden you’ve allied with. He brought back the magic, and anchored it. But can he lead an army?”
“His forces did just fine at Valshoa, and again at the Battle of the North,” the Wraith Lord replied. “If there’s anyone who can unite a shattered kingdom, Blaine McFadden is our best chance.”
“I never would have figured you for a kingmaker, Kierken,” Onyx replied.
“I don’t like the other options,” the Wraith Lord replied with a shrug. “Penhallow and I have seen this kind of thing happen too often before, done nothing, and we found that we didn’t care for the results. So this time, I’m not leaving it up to chance.”
“That’s a dangerous game,” Gold warned.
“I don’t think there are any other kinds left in Donderath,” the Wraith Lord replied. “But I am quite certain that our fates hang on the outcome.”
Later that evening, at Solsiden, Vedran Pollard looked up in annoyance as Kerr stood in the doorway to the study, a look of fear and chagrin on his face. “My lord,” he said. “You have a guest.”
“Who in Raka would be out on a night like this?” Pollard demanded. He rose to his feet, sword drawn.
A dark-haired man with shrewd black eyes strode into the room. He had the powerful build of a brawler and the pallor of a talishte. “Who in Raka, indeed,” the stranger said. “I’m Lord Thrane, your new master. Most call me Hemlock, like the poison.”
Thrane peeled off his still-dripping cloak and handed it without a backward glance to Kerr. The doors closed behind Kerr, leaving Pollard alone with Thrane, who had already taken a seat in the best wing chair and stretched out, looking deceptively vulnerable. Pollard did not rise to the bait.
“There are a couple of dead men you’ll need to bury when the storm is over,” Thrane added. “The others obligingly got out of my way.”
“We had talishte at the doors,” Pollard snapped. “They were supposed to stop unwanted guests.”
“ ‘Unwanted’?” Thrane mused with a dangerous casualness. “You don’t even know why I’m here.”
“I’m not in need of a new master,” Pollard replied. “I serve Lord Reese.”
Thrane gave an eloquent shrug. “Ah well, there’s been a problem with that. He’s indisposed. But as the stake pierced his heart, I heard him scream through the kruvgaldur. And I came.”
Pollard felt a cold dread that had nothing to do with the storm that howled outside. “That’s impossible,” he snapped.
An unpleasant, mocking smile touched the corners of Thrane’s lips. “Oh, I assure you, it happened just that way.” He eyed Pollard like a predator sizing up its prey. “I’m his maker, and I’m here to clean up his mistakes,” Thrane added as the charm in his voice turned to steel.
“Can you prove it?”
Thrane gave an icy chuckle. “I could—but you would not appreciate it.” He met Pollard’s gaze. “You know what I’m saying to be true. You can feel it, through the bond.”
“Reese told me about you,” Pollard said, remaining where he stood. He sheathed his sword, knowing that it would be of little use against a talishte of Thrane’s age and strength. “If you’re who you claim to be.”
Thrane gave him a leisurely glance that held an undertone of malice. “You know who I am. Reese was my get, and through him, you are mine.”
Much as Pollard wished he could deny it, Thrane was right. The kruvgaldur conveyed a sense of knowing. The proof was indeed in the blood. “Reese told me he hadn’t heard from you, hadn’t seen you in nearly a century,” Pollard challenged. “Why come back now?”
Thrane chuckled. “Because now is the perfect time. The Continent is ripe for the taking, even if Reese couldn’t quite handle the task.” He shrugged. “Never send a soldier to do a general’s job.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks always to my readers, those who are just discovering my books and those who keep coming back for continued adventures. Because you read, I write.
Thanks also to my agent, Ethan Ellenberg, and his team. You’ve got my back, and I appreciate all that you do.
And thank you to my editor, Susan Barnes, and the whole Orbit crew, including Laura Fitzgerald, Ellen Wright, Anna Jackson, and Gemma Conley-Smith, and all the other folks who work hard to make my books happen and get them where they need to go.
Plenty of thanks as well to the wonderful folks at Arisia, Illogicon, Shevacon, Mysticon, Awesomecon, Capclave, Lunacon, Chattacon, Libertycon, Ravencon, Balticon, ConCarolinas, ConGregate, Dragon*Con, Atomacon, Philcon, Contraflow, Confluence, and the Arizona and Carolinas Renaissance Festivals, who have welcomed me as a guest author for so long—as well as the new conventions I have yet to experience. I truly appreciate the warm welcome fandom offers and the chance to participate in convention programming to meet wonderful people and give back to a community I love.
Thanks as well to my Thrifty Author Publishing Success Network Meetup group, for being an awesome group of writers. I have a blast working with you, and together we have all come so far.
Thank you to all of my author, artist, musician, performer, and reader convention friends and Renaissance Festival regulars who help me survive life on the road, to the fantastic bookstore owners and managers who carry on a valiant fight on the front lines of this crazy publishing industry, and to my social-media friends and followers, who are always up for some online mayhem.
And most of all, thanks to my husband, Larry Martin, who plays a huge part in bringing all the books and short stories to life. He’s my best first editor, brainstorming accomplice, proofreader extraordinaire, and in 2015, he’ll become official coauthor of our new Steampunk series. It wouldn’t happen without him, and I’m grateful for his help. Thanks also to my children, who are usually patient with the demands of the
writing life, and for my dogs, Kipp and Flynn, who are experts at dispelling writer’s block. It takes a village to write a book, and I treasure every one of you.
extras
meet the author
Donna Jernigan
GAIL Z. MARTIN is the author of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga: Ice Forged, Reign of Ash, War of Shadows, and Shadow and Flame (2015), and the Deadly Curiosities urban fantasy series, set in Charleston, South Carolina, as well the Chronicles of the Necromancer series (The Summoner, The Blood King, Dark Haven, and Dark Lady’s Chosen), and the Fallen Kings Cycle (The Sworn and The Dread). She writes two series of e-book short stories: The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures and the Deadly Curiosities Adventures. A new Steampunk series, Iron and Blood: The Jake Desmet Adventures, coauthored by Gail and her husband, Larry N. Martin, debuts in 2015.
Gail’s short stories have been featured in numerous anthologies, including Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs. Aliens; Athena’s Daughters; Dreams of Steel 5; The Big Bad 2; Dance Like a Monkey; Icarus: A Graphic Novel, Heroes, Realms of Imagination, Unexpected Journeys, and With Great Power. Other US/UK anthologies include Magic: The Esoteric and Arcane, The Bitten Word, Rum & Runestones, Spells & Swashbucklers, and The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women.
Find her at www.AscendantKingdoms.com, on Twitter @GailZMartin, on Facebook.com/WinterKingdoms, at DisquietingVisions.com blog and GhostInTheMachinePodcast.com. She leads monthly conversations on Goodreads (www.goodreads.com/GailZMartin) and posts free excerpts of her work and the occasional free novella on Wattpad (http://wattpad.com/GailZMartin).
introducing
If you enjoyed
WAR OF SHADOWS
look out for
SHADOW AND FLAME
Book Four of The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga
by Gail Z. Martin
“From now on, I am your lord. You are nothing aside from what you achieve for me, and if that ever becomes less valuable, you have no existence at all.”
Thrane, the ancient renegade talishte better known as Hemlock, pressed a bloody gash on his wrist against his prisoner’s mouth. “Drink, or I will drain your son dry while you watch me do it.”
General Larska Hennoch’s eyes flashed in anger, then his gaze flickered to the pale young man who stood between two guards on the other side of the room. Eljas, his son, strained for valor, though he looked as if he might throw up from sheer panic. Hennoch let out a defeated breath, and parted his lips, allowing the cold, black blood into his mouth.
“It’s not that bad,” Thrane said in a voice meant to be triumphant instead of reassuring. “You’ll heal faster, move quicker, live longer. Just like Lord Pollard. He’s been Pentreath Reese’s vassal for years.”
Hennoch’s expression made his revulsion clear as he struggled not to gag. Eljas turned and retched, shaking and heaving as if he might pass out. Both of the guards looked equally sickened.
Vedran Pollard watched the spectacle from his place to the right of the ornate wooden chair Thrane used when he held his ‘court.’ Thrane, the talishte who brought across Pentreath Reese, had shown up out of nowhere and taken over, claiming Pollard’s stronghold at Solsiden for his own and supplanting Pollard in any substantive decision making.
Pollard winced as Thrane made public his closely held shame, and he knew that shaming him was intentional. Until now, only two trusted confidants had known Reese regularly ‘read’ Pollard’s blood, forcibly taking the information he wanted from a feeding meant to be as painful and demeaning as possible to remind Pollard of his place. Then again, Pollard thought, Thrane relied on such tactics so often and openly that his own secret was unlikely to have remained hidden.
Thrane released his prisoner’s arm, and the large man dropped to the floor like a stone. Two deep, bloody puncture wounds marked Larska Hennoch’s left forearm. All his military prowess, his thousands of soldiers, his valor in battle did Hennoch no good now, on his knees before a dark nightmare returned from exile.
“Remember this,” Thrane warned, as Hennoch clasped his wounded arm with his other hand to staunch the bleeding. “I can read every memory, every action, every thought from your blood whenever I please. The kruvgaldur bond lies between us now, unbreakable except by your death. We are bound together. Your fears, your victories, your dreams—I will know. And if you show bad faith, I will also know, and I will drain your precious son of every drop and turn him to serve me forever. Are we clear?”
Hennoch nodded, though it was clear from every line of his posture that he fought the servitude. “Clear,” he muttered.
“So good to hear it,” Thrane replied, walking over to where Eljas stood. Pollard had taken the young man captive months before, as a surety for Hennoch’s loyalty. Thrane had raised the stakes.
Eljas was sixteen summers old, no longer a boy and not yet a man. Pollard grudgingly gave the boy credit for having comported himself with dignity during his captivity. For Eljas’s compliance, and his father’s allegiance, Pollard had favored the boy with better treatment, contingent on obedience. Thrane did not believe in leaving anything to chance.
Thrane clapped a hand on Eljas’s shoulder, and the young man winced. Eljas tried to be strong, but his fear was evident in his face and manner. Pollard knew that Thrane relished that fear. “I thought you might want to know I’ve taken your son under my wing, made him my personal servant,” Thrane said, watching Hennoch’s reaction.
“It’s quite an honor,” Thrane continued, enjoying the discomfort he was causing both father and son. “I’m never without his presence. He has served me well.” He ran his hand down Eljas’s arm, turning the pale flesh of his soft forearm upward. “I may extend his service,” Thrane said, deliberately baiting Hennoch, his eyes watching for any reaction. “Create the kruvgaldur with him, too. Like father, like son.”
The room was silent, waiting for Hennoch’s reply. “As you wish, m’lord,” Hennoch spat out through clenched teeth.
Thrane smiled, having bent the two men to his will. “Very well. We have an understanding.” He looked to Hennoch. “Go back to your army. There will be more survivors straggling in from what remained of Rostivan’s and Lysander’s armies. I’ve sent messengers to the north to gather additional soldiers. When the time comes to fight Blaine McFadden’s army again, you must be ready to shatter his defenses and annihilate his troops. I do not hold to half measures.”
“Yes, m’lord.” The words were grudging, but Hennoch knew his duty. He rose to his feet, his hand still pressed against the wound that had been inflicted with intentional, and unnecessary, cruelty. Hennoch glanced to Eljas, and gave a curt nod. The young man gathered what dignity remained and replied in kind. Then Hennoch turned and left the room, followed by the guards.
“Sit,” Thrane said to Eljas, and the young man took up his spot on the floor at the left side of Thrane’s chair like a favored pet. Much as Pollard hated to admit it to himself, there was not so much distance between his own situation and that of the lad.
“I think that went well, don’t you?” Thrane asked, taking his seat once more.
“Quite effective,” Pollard agreed tonelessly.
Thrane held court in the room Pollard had previously claimed for his own office and war room. Solsiden was a stronghold, occupied because Pollard’s family manor home had been destroyed in the Great Fire. Even so, the Cataclysm had not gone easy on Solsiden, badly damaging much of the upper floors. With Thrane claiming the only respectable room as his own, it left Pollard seeing to his tasks out of a small room that had once been a pantry. Thrane made sure everyone around him knew their place.
“Show in my next guests.”
The guards brought in two men Pollard did not know, but he was certain they were talishte by the look of them. Both men looked down-at-the-heels, but then again, in post-Cataclysm Donderath, even the nobility could not muster a better showing than that. One of the men carried himself with the unconscious entitlement of someone of noble blood, while the other moved with the furtive gr
ace of a predator.
“You’re not of my brood, but you both might be useful to me,” Thrane said without preamble. “I intend to raise a puppet mortal government that will never subject our kind to purges again, never drive us into the wilderness, never burn us to quell their own fear. I am assembling an army. This is your opportunity to join me. What say you?”
The aristocrat looked to have been turned in his early thirties, and by his manner, Pollard guessed the man was already well on his way to being a wastrel when his miserable life was cut short. He possessed the bland good looks of a Donderath blue blood, with the horsey face that came from too much noble inbreeding.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked, regarding Thrane with an acquisitive look.
Thrane moved more quickly than Pollard’s mortal sight could track. And apparently, far faster than the much younger talishte could respond. In less than the blink of Pollard’s eye, Thrane left his chair, tore off the young aristocrat’s head with a casual jerk of his right hand, pushed his other hand through the man’s chest, removing the wastrel’s heart, and then returned to his chair, blood-spattered but unruffled, before the body could crumple to the floor.
Thrane turned his attention to the furtive one with the clothing of a noble and the manner of a pickpocket. “Now,” Thrane continued calmly, still holding the bloody heart in his hand, “as I was saying. You have an opportunity to join me. What say you?”
The pickpocket talishte licked his lips, an old mortal habit, and the look in his eyes was sly and calculating. “Sure thing, guv. You can count on me. My fledges, too. Just say the word. We’re your men.”
“Glad to hear it,” Thrane said with a flat, cold tone that said he was already thinking about the next action to be taken. “I will let you know when I have need of you.”
The pickpocket turned to go.
“Oh, and remember,” Thrane said, with a glance toward the body that lay in a pool of its own black ichor on the floor. “I take promises very seriously. Don’t disappoint me.”
War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga Page 56