Lowrey led them out of the pantry and down the corridor, which was lit with lanterns that hung at intervals from hooks on the walls. “In here,” he said, nudging the door open with his foot.
Connor moved around the room, lighting the lamps. It was a very comfortable library, one that reminded Connor of the king’s library in Quillarth Castle. Shelves of books covered the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling. The fireplace was dark, but near it were two comfortable chairs and a leather-covered bench. Lowrey appropriated one of the chairs, motioning for Penhallow to take the other. Connor found a seat on the bench, and Lowrey pulled a small table between them for their repast. He spread out their bounty, along with the goblets he had foisted on Connor to carry from the pantry. Lowrey did not settle back into his chair until he had poured a goblet of blood for Penhallow and filled his own goblet and Connor’s with wine. Then he withdrew the cakes from his pockets and took a bite.
“Why would anyone want to kidnap you?” Penhallow asked.
Lowrey dabbed a few crumbs from his lips and shook out his napkin. “I couldn’t figure it out at the time, but now I’m sure it was because of the magic.”
Penhallow and Connor exchanged glances. “Magic?” Penhallow asked.
Lowrey gave them a sour look. “Oh, I see the look in your eyes. Makes me glad you’ve eaten, you look so hungry. I’m a scholar and a mage, or perhaps, more to the point, an ex-mage. Lost my powers when the magic died.” He shook his head. “Apparently in some circles, even without magic I’m dangerous.”
“You seem to think it’s all a joke,” Connor said accusingly.
Lowrey leaned back and crossed his arms. “No, no. It’s no joke. It felt quite real when those villains were fighting over me outside the pub. I was afraid someone was going to slit my throat, hoping to pick my pocket of coins, and I had only enough to buy a pint or two at the pub. As I said, I’m a scholar. Not the man to rob. But,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, “once I got over the fear, I realized that whatever was going on was a damned sight more interesting than what I’d normally be doing, and I settled in and went along for the ride.”
“Who tried to kidnap you?” Penhallow asked. He had poured a goblet of blood and sat back, looking as comfortable as if he were in his own quarters. Connor watched Lowrey closely, trying to come to his own decision about the wiry little man. There was shrewd intelligence in Lowrey’s eyes. Yet he knew from court that even scholars in monastic houses often worked as spies and informants for other powerful interests, and that the research they did served purposes more worldly than academic.
“I had no idea,” Lowrey replied. “Voss tells me the men belonged to Vedran Pollard, working for another man, a talishte named Pentreath Reese. Do you know them?”
Penhallow looked as if he’d tasted spoiled meat. “Unfortunately, yes. Why did they want to kidnap you?”
Lowrey’s grin was crafty. “On account of the magic. I’ve made a life’s work of studying cartography and astronomy, which influence magics small and large. To tell you the truth, my magic is very much influenced by the movement of the stars, which is what got me started on the subject. Bit of an obsession, I must confess. I traveled among all the noble houses, searching through their libraries, to compare old maps with new ones and to look for references to the stars in their courses in olden days. Wanted to trace both the maps and the star positions back to the beginning of magic on the Continent, see how it influenced mages over the years.”
Lowrey paused and looked from Penhallow to Connor like a schoolmaster quizzing errant boys on their lessons. “You do know that magic wasn’t always here, don’t you?”
“Yes, we were aware,” Penhallow said, staving off what Connor guessed would have been a long lecture.
Lowrey looked disappointed, but rallied quickly. “Traced it back to a place called Mirdalur, where the first great Lords of the Blood pulled the energies together to bring magic to the Continent. Since the war and all, when the magic died, I’d been trying to figure out whether someone could do what the great lords did at Mirdalur, and bring it back.”
“And what did you discover?”
“Well, that was what I was really afraid of when those ruffians grabbed me. I was afraid that someone might harm my research. I’d gone through all those tomes in the noble houses, you know, before the Great Fire.”
“So your notes are all that remains of those books,” Connor said.
A furtive look glimmered in Lowrey’s eyes. “Not exactly,” he said. “I, uh, liberated, volumes that were particularly helpful. Those high-born dandies weren’t using them. Most of the books were thick with dust and falling apart—shameful treatment for a book, you know. I took them with me, for safekeeping.”
“You looted the noble libraries, stole what you wanted, and hid it,” Penhallow summarized, his voice more amused than scolding.
Lowrey grimaced. “It sounds bad when you say it like that, but I guess you could see it that way.”
“Where are your books now?”
Lowrey gestured to a corner of the library where frayed and aged tomes lay stacked on a table. “Over there. Once Voss explained to me who was after me and why, and that Reese’s men wanted to make sure the magic never came back, I told him where I’d hidden the books and he brought everything here. Now I’m the scholar-in-residence, and Voss keeps me quite comfortable.”
Penhallow exchanged glances with Connor, who could sense the other’s excitement even though to Lowrey, Penhallow’s expression might not reveal anything. “And what did you discover?” Penhallow asked, then held up a hand, forestalling Lowrey, who appeared to be ready to launch into a lecture. “In a nutshell?”
Lowrey frowned at being cut off, and for a moment, Connor did not think the scholar would comply. “It’s all very interesting,” he said finally, looking wounded at the need to cut his dissertation short. “It took a special combination of place, people, power, and timing to make it happen the first time. Unfortunately, the records from those years are largely nonexistent, but I have some firsthand accounts written by the men who were there, who kept journals.
“Mirdalur was important because the energies ran through it. That made it a place of power long before the great lords convened. It’s the kind of place where people built shrines or felt they ought to leave an offering to the gods.” Lowrey leaned back.
“Getting all the great lords to work together—that might be the real trick. My theory is that they each had latent magical ability, even if they didn’t know it. In other words, they were good ‘conductors’ for the magic.” Lowrey rubbed his hands together, getting excited over the story despite his previous pique. “They were all exceptional men in their own right, which is why they had fought their way to the top as warlords in a brutal age.”
He leaned forward. “And I have another theory: that the magic flowing through them that night changed them. I think it not only made them more likely to pass on magical ability to their children, but I think it marked them in their very blood.”
“Can you prove any of this?” Penhallow asked skeptically.
Lowrey looked wounded at Penhallow’s doubt. “A scholar, even a scholar-mage, can’t ‘prove’ anything. But he can assemble enough evidence to make the case to a reasonable man. And I think I’ve been able to put the pieces together to make a pretty solid case.”
“So what would it take to bring the magic back?” Connor asked, leaning forward, feeling as if he would burst if no one asked the question.
Lowrey tented his fingers. “I’ve told you about people, place, and power. Timing is the other element. Whether the first lords knew it or just got lucky, I believe that there are times of the year when the power is stronger. The equinoxes would be ideal, when the natural powers are balanced.”
Connor frowned. “We haven’t had the solstice yet. The spring equinox is still months away.”
Lowrey nodded. “That’s correct. You can’t rush the natural order of things.”
“What e
lse did you discover?” Penhallow pressed. “Is timing the only other piece?”
Lowrey looked mildly annoyed at being forced to tell his story on someone else’s terms. “I’m not certain how many Lords of the Blood it requires to raise the power. I would assume that at least one of the heirs of those original Lords of the Blood would be necessary to awaken the magic again. Mirdalur would be my first choice of location, because that’s where the ritual worked the first time.”
“First choice,” Penhallow said intently. “Are there other possibilities?”
Lowrey nodded. “Possibly, although the old lords no doubt had their own reason for choosing Mirdalur, and it is a very strong place of power. In theory, other places of power might work, although you’d want one that was as strong as Mirdalur.” He paused. “It’s difficult to say with certainty. I’ve only been able to find bits and pieces of information, you see, and it’s quite possible there are still unknowns.” He looked at them over the rim of his spectacles. “Unknowns can make for nasty magic.”
“What about the ritual itself?” Connor asked, too drawn into the conversation to think about whether Penhallow preferred to lead the questioning. “What did they actually do?”
Lowrey managed a smile. “That’s where my research let me put together pieces no one else found,” he said with an air of satisfaction. “The first Lords of the Blood worked the ritual using items known to attract and concentrate power: amulets, that sort of thing. There were also thirteen carved pillars at the site to focus the energies. Both the location and the objects themselves aligned with the position of the stars and the natural energy of the land. I’ve heard legends about Mirdalur all my life, but never anything about the objects, or anything linking its power to the stars or to the site itself.”
“How did you discover them?” Penhallow asked. Connor knew that as intrigued as the talishte was, Penhallow’s long existence had also made him suspicious, a trait that had saved both of their lives on more than one occasion.
Lowrey looked extremely pleased with himself. “The family of one of the Lords of the Blood had fractured enough times that everyone thought there were no relics or heirlooms left. But the family matriarch was a stern old woman, Lady Alarian, and she had a secret. She’d been the one entrusted with the guardianship of her family’s amulet, and she also had a list and description of what the old lords carried and a drawing of two of the carved pillars.”
“What happened to the items?” Penhallow asked with more excitement in his voice than Connor had ever heard.
Lowrey looked away, suddenly tense, his eyes downcast with guilt. “Lady Alarian was a very old woman, and she took her role as guardian very seriously. The objects had passed from the wife of the old lord to his eldest son’s wife down through all these years. They were to keep the items secret and guard them with their lives.”
“So how did she decide to trust you?” Connor asked.
“Lady Alarian set great stock by dreams,” Lowrey said. “She had been troubled by a dream in which the carved posts were talking to her, telling her that a ‘glass-eyed messenger’ would come and that she should share her secrets with him.”
“Glass-eyed?” Connor asked, and then looked at the wire spectacles perched precariously on Lowrey’s thin nose.
Lowrey shrugged. “When I finally tracked down the hints and clues to find Lady Alarian, she took one look at me and told me that the gods instructed her to confide in me. I was pleased, to say the least.”
“Who else knew that you had the objects?” Penhallow asked. “Once their existence was known, it would be a death sentence to possess them.”
Lowrey’s face lost its joviality. “I pursued the stories of the first lords with a scholar’s zeal. Even after the Great Fire, I never thought that my strange academic passion could have anything to do with the real world. I wanted to find a bit of history, to touch the past.” His voice had a pleading quality, like a child begging to be forgiven for a yet-undiscovered transgression.
“What happened to Lady Alarian?” Connor asked quietly, though the tightness in his gut feared a response.
Lowrey crumpled in his chair, his expression miserable. “I never meant her any harm. It was all just a game, a puzzle to solve. No one ever pays attention to scholars. We’re used to being ignored, or ridiculed. Some of the old houses had already died out. And as far as I could tell, the heirs of the remaining great Lords of the Blood were killed either in the war or in the Great Fire. Hunting for the amulets seemed like a purely academic exercise. I never thought—”
“What happened, Treven?” Penhallow’s voice was silky, reassuring, and Connor knew that it carried a nearly irresistible compulsion for those who were not linked by blood to the talishte.
Penhallow’s voice helped Lowrey collect himself, though his face still showed pain and regret. “A day after I’d been to visit Lady Alarian, rough men came to her house. They demanded to know what she’d told me. But the dreams had warned her, and she brandished a sword at them, told them to get out of her house. Imagine that.” He chuckled sadly. “An old lady thin as a reed, swinging a sword and cursing at them like a pirate.”
Lowrey drew a deep breath. “They were Pollard’s men, of course, probably sent by Reese. The men didn’t leave, and they overpowered her and her servants.” He swallowed hard. “Sweet Esthrane, Penhallow, they tortured her, an old lady, trying to make her tell them. She died,” he said, swallowing again. “But she didn’t tell them anything. Spat in their faces,” he said, wiping a tear away.
“How do you know this?” Penhallow’s voice was gentle, still satin smooth with compulsion.
“A few of the servants managed to escape. One of them remembered letting me in at the door and had obviously overheard a little of our conversation before Lady Alarian sent him away. He was frightened out of his wits, and he could only think to come find me, warn me.”
“What happened to him?” Penhallow prompted.
“I took him to the abbey, where the silent scholars are, the ones who took a vow not to speak. I have friends there, and they hid him.”
“Did you have any idea you were being followed?” Penhallow asked.
Lowrey shook his head miserably. “Not at the time. I was stupid. No, not stupid, just naïve. There were signs, warnings. I thought they were just strange coincidences. I wasn’t thinking about my odd little obsession mattering to anyone but other scholars and mages. Never thought it would threaten anyone. I hadn’t even heard of Vedran Pollard or Pentreath Reese.” He looked at Penhallow as if pleading for absolution. “I wasn’t even a prominent mage. I’d hoped that this study might get someone at one of the monastic archives to notice me.”
“How long after all this were you kidnapped?” Penhallow asked gently.
“Just a day or two,” Lowrey replied. “Traher Voss is the one who put the other pieces together, explained what was going on.”
“What about your research? The things Lady Alarian gave you?” Connor asked, unable to wait any longer.
“I had hidden them, but not because I thought ruffians would want them. Professional jealousy among scholars can be quite vicious,” Lowrey said, sniffing back tears. “I was afraid one of my colleagues might get wind of what I was working on and steal my notes. Once Voss told me what was actually going on, I realized that I didn’t really have a choice about telling him. I was going to be in ‘protective custody’ by either Voss or Reese, and Voss seemed the better end of the deal.”
He sighed. “Voss’s men went out the night they abducted me—or saved me, depending on your point of view. Brought back everything. Good thing, too. Someone burned my house down the next night.” Lowrey’s bravado had disappeared. Without it, he looked older, defeated.
“You didn’t realize the danger,” Penhallow said in his most compelling tone. “You weren’t to blame for what happened. You did the right thing to trust Voss, and now you can help stop Reese and Pollard.”
To Connor’s surprise, Lowrey sat up, his s
pine stiffened by sudden anger. “I don’t need your damned compulsion to make me feel better, Penhallow. I’ll keep my guilt, thank you very much. I need it to be angry enough to be brave. I’m no warrior, and I might be an old fool at times, but if I can do anything to bring down those bastards and hurt them like they hurt her, then I’m in.” Lowrey’s blue eyes crackled with anger, and his hard-angled face took on a look of determination.
Penhallow sat back. “Good. Because it’s going to get interesting. But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Connor shifted in his seat. From the time Lowrey had begun recounting his adventures, something nettled Connor in the back of his mind, although he couldn’t quite put the feeling into words. Engrossed in Lowrey’s tale, he’d tried to squelch the feeling, but it grew stronger until he felt it like an itch under his skin.
“Can I see what you collected?” Connor blurted. Penhallow and Lowrey looked at him strangely, and then Lowrey shrugged.
“Over here,” he said, rising and beckoning Connor to follow.
The nettled feeling in Connor’s mind grew stronger, as if a vital memory eluded his reach. Mystified at his own feelings, Connor knew that he could no more deny the urge than stop breathing.
He followed Lowrey to a small library off the sitting room. Books, scrolls, and iron-bound wooden trunks of every size and shape filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to overflowing, and then were stacked around the sides of the room.
Penhallow was watching him with a puzzled expression, but said nothing. Connor was relieved; he could neither explain himself nor resist the compulsion flowing through him. The books on one side of the room seemed to draw him, and Connor let himself move closer. His right hand stretched out, as if on its own volition, seeking a book Connor was sure he had never seen before, but whose image was clear and sharp in his mind.
Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) Page 42