“Where’s Verran?” Blaine asked as he set his sack to the side and sat down at the rough-hewn table. Piran followed suit.
Kestel was ladling out generous portions of the stew into wooden bowls. She placed the bowls on the table in front of Blaine and Piran, followed by a hunk of bread. Dawe brought them each a wooden tankard full of home-brewed ale. “Verran’s been playing his music in some of the taverns in Skalgerston Bay. He’ll stay a few nights each week, and come home with coins in his pocket and some wine or ale for the house.” She sighed and pulled up a chair on the other side of the table. “The money he’s bringing in bought some new sheep and it’s gone a ways toward making sure we’ve got food enough put up for the winter.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him,” Piran said, breaking off a hunk of the bread.
Kestel snorted. “I’ve got no desire to go back to the courtesan business, especially with the likes of what wanders into a Bay-town tavern.”
Blaine and Piran exchanged mock-offended glances. “I think we’ve just been insulted,” Blaine said.
“Of course you have,” Dawe replied from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Did you forget how our Sour Rose loves to whittle you down to size?”
Blaine swallowed his stew. “It’s Kestel’s other profession I was thinking of, when Piran suggested going into the Bay. Hard to be much of a spy out here in the wilderness.”
Kestel grinned. “Spying always paid far more than being a courtesan. And for that matter, who says I haven’t been to town? It’s just that Bay-town is a small place. I hear more when I wait a little while between visits. That way, my friends have a chance to miss me, and they can’t wait to catch me up on the news,” she said with a wink.
Blaine finished his food and leaned back in his chair. “And what news have you heard since we’ve been out to sea?”
“Plenty,” Kestel said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “And I want to hear what you learned out on the boats. Nothing like cards and grog to loosen men’s tongues. I’m hoping you’ve got some tales to tell of your own.”
“You first,” Blaine said with a grin.
Kestel’s green eyes glittered as she looked from Blaine to Piran. “Word has it that Prokief’s warden-mages aren’t doing quite the job they used to do. According to my sources, there was an escape a few weeks back. Man went over the stockade and it took them a day to realize he was gone.”
Blaine frowned. “That’s unusual. The mages made it their business to know who sneezed.”
“Prokief was plenty mad about it. But I always thought he was scared of his own mages. Hard to do much to someone who can magick you with boils or snap your bones with a thought.”
“Anything else?”
Kestel nodded. “The supply ships from Donderath still haven’t come.”
Piran shrugged. “So? They’re always late.”
Kestel shook her head. “This time, it’s over three months. One of the merchants was beside himself about it. After all, without goods to sell from Donderath, the shopkeepers in Bay-town have little to offer that people can’t make themselves.”
“Had he heard anything about why the ships are late?” Piran asked.
“Everyone’s got ideas. But in one of the taverns, I turned the head of Prokief’s supply sergeant.” She lifted her shoulder and batted her eyes. “The barkeeper kept the ale flowing and the sergeant was so thrilled to have my full attention that he had to show off how much he knew.”
“And?” Blaine prodded.
“One of Prokief’s lieutenants told him there was a letter on the last ship from General Olvarth. Donderath can’t spare supply ships on the schedule they’d been coming. Said we might see three or four a year, instead of one each month.”
“Why so few?” Piran asked, frowning in alarm. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Kestel shrugged. “That sergeant didn’t know. But one of the guards I danced with at another tavern told me he’d heard the war with Meroven was going badly.”
Blaine and Piran exchanged glances. “Oh?” Blaine leaned forward.
“The war’s pulled in the other two kingdoms, and from what I hear, it’s a bloodbath no one knows how to end,” Dawe said, kicking away from the wall. “I overheard a couple of soldiers down at the tavern. Said they’re almost glad they’re here in Velant, because they didn’t like the look of things back home.” His gaze was thoughtful as he looked away, trying to remember the conversation. “Food shortages. Conscription is so bad, there weren’t enough men to work the last harvest.” He shrugged. “That was the news they got with the last convict delivery and supply ship three months ago. Could be worse by now.”
Blaine frowned and sat back, crossing his arms. “All because Meroven made a grab for some of Donderath’s borderlands.”
“So the ‘official’ story goes,” Dawe replied. “Word has it that Meroven is equally convinced that King Merrill made a grab for their borderlands. But from what I’ve heard, Edgar of Meroven is insane; I’d put my money on him having made the first move. The two countries have been fighting over some of the same godsforsaken land for generations. Of course, the real reasons for the war aren’t likely to trickle down to any of Prokief’s foot soldiers.”
“Anything else?” Piran asked.
Kestel shook her head. “Just one soldier’s observation that the men were never very fond of Prokief, and if food and pay began to run short…”
“No one’s going to mutiny as long as Prokief has his warden-mages,” Piran said with a snort.
“We might get more news soon,” Kestel said. “I heard there are some convicts earning their Tickets. They might have heard something from the newest prisoners about what’s happening back home.” She grimaced. “I’ll go down to the camp gates with some of the other Ticketed women. We’ll help the lasses find their footing. A proper brothel for the ones who want to resume business and a sponsor and a job for the ones who don’t.” Her tone had grown bitter. “Sad, but it’s better than some of them had before they were sent to Velant.”
Kestel’s voice had lost its bantering tone. It didn’t take much for Blaine to guess the reason for her anger. Prokief’s guards enjoyed bragging to the male convicts about the liberties they’d taken with every new group of female prisoners. Prokief and his guards used each new group of female prisoners as their own private bordello until a shipment with fresh victims arrived. For some of the women, the mistreatment was not far different from what they had experienced back in Donderath. For others, those sent away for minor crimes and petty infractions, the abuse was enough to drive them to hang themselves within a few weeks of arriving at Velant. And for the male convicts, who were likely to settle down with those women, the memory lingered as a constant reminder of Prokief’s power over their lives.
Kestel’s last announcement dimmed the high spirits of the homecoming, and the group scattered to their tasks. Blaine and Piran went to put their sacks away in the room they shared with Dawe and Verran, while Kestel cleaned up what was left of the meal.
Blaine put his few personal possessions away and headed outside to store the barrels of fish in the shed behind the cabin. When he finished, he pulled his cloak more tightly around him and headed down a path toward a stand of pine trees on a ridge behind the cabin. The snow crunched under his boots and as he climbed, the wind grew stronger, so that he raised his hood and had to hold its edge with both hands to keep the wind from blowing it off his head.
He followed the path to where it ended by a mound in the snow. Beneath the mound was a stone cairn, built two springs before. From the foot of the cairn, Blaine could see in one direction out over a wide expanse of pristine ice that stretched to the horizon. In the other direction, he looked down over the slope that led to Skalgerston Bay to the sea. But from this spot, Velant’s prison stockade was not visible. It was why Blaine had chosen the place, and one of the reasons why it had always given him a measure of comfort.
Blain
e reached into a small pouch at his belt and withdrew a small piece of wood carved in the shape of a bird, no larger than his index finger. He bent over to lay the carving atop the cairn. “Brought you something, Selane,” he murmured.
Blaine sighed, and his breath clouded around his face. “Ship just got in last night. Bad run of it with the weather. Just as well you couldn’t worry. With the long dark coming, the fleet may not go out again before winter. I wouldn’t mind that.” He paused. “I know you can’t hear me, but it was so much better coming home when you were here.” His throat grew tight, and for a moment, he stood in silence.
Behind him, he heard the crunch of footsteps and turned. Kestel was making her way up, struggling in the snow, her cloak drawn around her, its edges fluttering in the wind. She finally made it to the top and stood beside him. He could see that the wind stung her eyes and reddened her cheeks. “I thought I’d find you up here.”
Blaine shrugged but said nothing.
“I miss her too, Mick. We all do.” She laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I should be happy for her. She’s free. If the stories the Temple Guardians told about the Valley of the Gods have any truth, she’s in a place where she won’t be cold or hungry or imprisoned ever again. No damn fever to hurt her.” He shook his head. He’d finally accepted the fact that he would never go back to Donderath, never see Carensa again. Selane had made it bearable. Together, they had something that Velant and Prokief couldn’t take. Then the fever took her.
“I’m sorry, Mick.”
Blaine turned to look at Kestel. “I don’t think you followed me up here to rehash the past. Not in this cold.”
Kestel used the edge of her hood to shield her face against the wind so that it was easier to breathe. “You and I are the only ones in Velant who knew the court of King Merrill. What do you really think about the news from the tavern? Do you think Merrill will lose the war with Meroven?”
“Do you?”
Blaine watched Kestel intently. While it was true that before running afoul of Donderath’s law, both of them had access to the king’s court, Blaine had not known Kestel. She, however, had recognized him on sight, and knew the court gossip that surrounded his banishment. It had counted for something that Kestel claimed that many in the court secretly sympathized with Blaine, and that his father’s reputation had not gone completely unnoticed.
“Merrill’s not a bad king,” Kestel said, thinking as she chose her words. “He can be clever, and the generals respect him.”
“Just how well did you know him?”
Kestel smiled enigmatically. “Personally? Not at all. However, for a time I was Lord Janoron’s courtesan and I had the pleasure of attending balls and private dinners in the presence of His Majesty. To him, I’m sure I was invisible. I prefer that. When I’m invisible, I can observe better.”
“My father spent more time with the king than I did,” Blaine replied. “They enjoyed the hunt, and father had done Merrill great service in the war against the Cerroden Rebellion. On the few occasions father insisted I accompany him to court, I was rarely included in any meetings with the king. Other than when he banished me, I can only remember being in private company with Merrill twice. But I agree: From what little I saw of him as a man, Merrill seemed even-tempered and fair.” Blaine’s voice took on a bitter edge. “Even when he banished me, he let me know that he understood—and possibly sympathized—with my reasons.”
“But he had to make an example.”
“It would have set a dangerous precedent not to.” Blaine looked down the slope toward the sea. “What worries me about the news isn’t that Donderath and Meroven are at war, but that whatever’s happened is bad enough that it affects something as minor as the supply ships to Velant. Under normal circumstances, what they send on a ship for the colony is trivial compared to the rubies they take back. A war with Meroven shouldn’t disrupt sea trade. If it’s true that Merrill can’t send more ships, then I’m afraid something has gone horribly wrong.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Kestel met his eyes. “Without shipments of food and money to pay the soldiers, I don’t know how long Prokief can hold the camp, even with the mages. He relies on the ships to send him fresh guards, and he holds the hope of earning a spot on a ship back to Donderath over the heads of the others. If Donderath were to suddenly withdraw its support, Prokief might face a rebellion by his own men.”
“If anyone but the boys in the cabin were to hear us talking like this—” Blaine said in a warning tone.
Kestel’s eyes took on a serious glint. “That’s why we’re talking up here. If Prokief is afraid, he’s going to be more dangerous than ever before. The warden-mages will clamp down. That’s a situation ripe for a coup—”
“Or for a slaughter,” Blaine replied. “Be careful. The news that reaches us here is part rumor and part wishful thinking. If the prisoners were to rise against Prokief and Velant isn’t cut off from Donderath—”
“There’ll be troop ships headed this way to put down the rebellion within a month or two and we all hang.”
“We’ve got to be careful, Kestel. Until we know, we don’t dare make a move in either direction.” Blaine sighed. “Since we’re having this little exercise in treason, here’s another thought.
“Suppose that for some reason, Velant is cut off from Donderath. How long would that last? Suppose that Prokief mucks it up completely with his soldiers and they riot. Gods, the soldiers assigned up here had a choice of Velant or the noose. They’re not the best of the lot. Sooner or later, Donderath will remember we exist. They’ll miss the rubies or the copper or the fish. They’ll get around to sending new ships. It’s one thing if the soldiers have rebelled. But if the convicts revolt, they’ll pin the whole sorry mess on us and crush us.” He shook his head.
“It won’t work. I hate Prokief as much as anyone, but there’s no way to cut ourselves free of him—”
“Unless Donderath itself falls.” Kestel met Blaine’s gaze and for a moment no one spoke.
“And if that happens, it’ll be the freedom of the damned,” Blaine said quietly. “Because without ships from Donderath, I’m not sure that Edgeland can survive.”
CHAPTER THREE
THIS WAR IS MADNESS.” LORD GARNOC THUMPED the tip of his walking stick against the wooden floor for emphasis.
“Perhaps,” replied King Merrill. Donderath’s War Council met in an upstairs chamber of Quillarth Castle, in a room as somber as its purpose. “But it seems unavoidable.” The king’s voice was weary. “Meroven shows no sign of backing down, no matter how many troops we send against them. Vellanaj has thrown in their lot with Meroven. I’ve just received envoys from Tarrant with word that their king will honor his alliance with Donderath against Meroven.” King Merrill shook his head. “Mad it may be, but we have no choice except to stand against Meroven, unless we want to be ruled by Edgar.”
Bevin Connor stood in the shadows against the wall behind his master, Lord Garnoc. He had been there long enough that his knees ached and his back cramped, but he kept his post in silence and resisted the urge to stretch. He brushed a lock of dark blond hair back from where it had strayed.
At twenty-two, he had been in the employ of Lord Garnoc for nearly ten years, since his fostering. His responsibilities had steadily increased as he grew older and as Garnoc’s age took a toll on the old man’s mobility. Connor was grateful for the position, since as the youngest son, he had no inheritance possibilities other than the possession of an old and middlingly well-known noble name. “Middling” was a word Connor thought suited him in many ways: average height and build, unremarkable features, and eyes that couldn’t decide whether they were blue or green. Garnoc said that Connor was a perfect spy because he was good-looking enough to be welcome anywhere and unremarkable enough to be easily forgotten.
Now, Connor’s alarm at the king’s latest news was enough to drive all wish for sleep from his mind. By the faces of Charrot! What except destruction can come from
a war that engages all four of the Continent’s great powers?
Connor had been a silent and largely invisible witness to the debates of Donderath’s War Council since the first skirmishes along Donderath’s border almost three years before. Each time the Council convened, he hoped for better news from the front lines. Donderath had a long and successful history navigating the Continent’s politics, and an equally illustrious record during the skirmishes and wars that had occurred when the major and minor powers had clashed. He had expected the conflict with Meroven to be quickly met and done, a bit of battlefield politics. For it to have burgeoned into a war set to consume all of the Continent’s four major powers was as frightening as it was previously unthinkable.
“You’re certain that Tarrant is sincere?” Lord Radenou’s scratchy voice reminded Connor of the sound of a chair scraping along the floor. “Perhaps they mean for us to overextend ourselves. They have a long history of trade with Meroven. Why should they favor us now?”
“By the gods, man! Think of what you say,” Lord Corrender exploded. “If Tarrant is against us, that would put us three against one. Meroven’s victory would be assured. Be grateful for such an ally—Meroven, I think, does worse. We should be glad it is Tarrant that wishes to fight on our behalf and not Vellanaj.” Corrender, like Lord Garnoc, was a former military man, though more than a generation separated the two. Corrender’s hair was still full and dark, though it was gray at the temples. He had lost half a leg in battle, and Merrill had requested that he serve in Council rather than on the field.
Garnoc, too, had once been known for his valor in battle, though it had been in the service of the father of Donderath’s present king. As the men at the Council table glowered at each other, Connor took advantage of the pause to step forward and fill Garnoc’s cup with the watered wine his master preferred when in company with the king. Garnoc gave him a nod of thanks and Connor withdrew once more to the shadows.
Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) Page 4