Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Before that, it gets murkier, but Quintrel thought he had found inscriptions on ruins to suggest that at least once every thousand years, the magic rose and fell. The locations varied, but to the best of my ability to map them, they were all wells of power,” Lowrey said.

  Penhallow nodded. “That makes sense. But there are many places where the magic was exceptionally strong. Does it matter where Blaine makes the attempt?”

  Lowrey turned his gaze toward Connor. “I think Quintrel had an opinion on that,” Lowrey said. “I can’t read his code, but I’m betting if it’s important, you can.”

  Connor took a step backward. “I’ve had enough of other people rummaging around in my brain,” he said, holding up his hands in protest. “It’s getting so I hardly recognize my own thoughts.”

  “Ah, but you’re still alive to be annoyed,” replied Penhallow. “You handled the journal several times before we left to see the Wraith Lord, and nothing happened. So I believe Quintrel’s trance also attuned to time and place.” He paused.

  “This is important, Bevin, just as it was urgent for me to intrude, and for the Wraith Lord before that. Quintrel left his clues with you. You’re the only one who can do this.”

  Connor sighed and moved forward to where Lowrey had Quintrel’s handwritten journal laid open on the table. He stared down at the yellowed journal page, and at an obviously newer note written in code. Quintrel’s tight scrawl ran from one side of the page to the other in neat lines of faded ink, yet the symbols were meaningless, to Connor and even to Lowrey, a former mage.

  Connor steeled himself and reached out to touch the lettering. A strange feeling washed over him and his head spun. Memories flooded to the fore, and when he looked down at the page, he could read the coded notes.

  “Long ago, long before the kingdoms of Donderath and Meroven ruled the Continent, other great powers controlled these lands,” Connor read. “For a time, the gods favored them, to see how high they might rise. They bound magic to their will. They built a vast city filled with riches and comforts. Their mages increased the yield of their fields. Their chirurgeons learned the secrets of healing. Then the gods became angry, and fire rained down on the city. So great was the destruction that the city itself disappeared.”

  Connor paused and turned his attention to the newer piece of loose parchment that had been used to mark the page. “The rogue mage awaits those who would restore the magic. One of the thirteen must find the valley where the last of the disks rests secure.”

  Abruptly, Connor stopped reading as the memory that Quintrel had embedded suddenly ended. He felt light-headed as he returned to himself, and the vertigo made him reach out to steady himself on the edge of the table. Lowrey grabbed his shoulder, but Connor shook himself free, angry over Quintrel’s invasion of his memories.

  “Well?” Connor asked, looking from Lowrey to Penhallow. He knew he was in a foul mood and that his tone was insolent, but at the moment, he didn’t care. “Was that worth it? All I remember is a children’s tale. How in Raka is that going to help when it never even mentions the place by name?”

  “It doesn’t have to.” Nidhud had not moved from his place near the doorway. “You spoke of Valshoa.”

  “Dolan, the talishte who became the leader of the Knights just before we were exiled, believed that Valshoa was real,” Nidhud said. “If he was correct, and we are fortunate enough to find Valshoa, we may also find a contingent of Knights awaiting us.”

  Connor frowned. “You’re saying that the exiled Knights of Esthrane went looking for a place that might not even exist?”

  Nidhud shook his head. “Not all of the Knights. When we were driven out, many of our company were destroyed. To increase the odds that some among us would endure, the survivors split up to escape detection.” His eyes took on the faraway look of old grief that Connor had seen in Penhallow’s gaze.

  “Some fled to the Lyceum of Tobar in Durantha,” Nidhud said quietly. “They hoped to hide among the scholars and mages. Others fled to the null places, to take up a trade and lose themselves in obscurity. But Dolan was not a scholar or farmer or tradesman. He was a warrior, and though he was talishte, he had never forgotten the thrill of adventure. He and a small group of Knights swore to find Valshoa.”

  “And did they?” Lowrey asked, his expression showing just how excited he was about the possibility.

  Nidhud shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw him again.”

  “What about the kruvgaldur? Couldn’t you sense whether or not they made it?” Connor asked.

  Nidhud shook his head. “Dolan was quite particular about which Knights he chose to accompany him. He chose only those whose makers were gone, and who had made no fledglings – or those whom he had turned himself. They took their human servants with them. He made sure there would be no connection to the outside world.”

  Connor threw his hands into the air. “That’s what we’ve got to go on?”

  “No.” Lowrey’s voice made Connor turn. “Quintrel seemed sure he had discovered clues to the place he named in his code – the place you’ve all confirmed is Valshoa. If that’s true, then that’s where he’s waiting for us to find him, the place he believes Blaine would have the best odds to bring back the magic.”

  “Why Valshoa?” Connor asked. “If anything is even left of it – assuming it ever existed. Aren’t there other places of power that would be just as good?”

  Lowrey shrugged. “Possibly. If McFadden tried to restore the magic at Mirdalur, it obviously failed. Maybe there’s something special about Valshoa’s location, or perhaps Quintrel has a few more secrets that he’ll only share with the people dedicated enough to follow his clues.”

  “Not ‘dedicated,’ obsessed,” Connor muttered. “Isn’t he taking a huge chance with all this business of hidden clues? It was risky enough for Blaine to return to Donderath from Edgeland.”

  “Perhaps by the time of the Great Fire, Quintrel realized that there were some, like Reese, who would want to stop the magic from returning,” Penhallow said. “He might have guessed it wouldn’t be wise to speak plainly.”

  “We’re only weeks away from the solstice, and now we’ve got to find – and travel to – a lost, ancient city that might not even exist?” Connor questioned, running a hand back through his hair in frustration.

  “Quintrel seemed to believe that was the most likely way to succeed,” Lowrey replied. “And there’s another reason to find him. Did you hear what he said? He has the thirteenth disk.”

  “But we don’t have all twelve of the other disks,” Connor protested. “We’re still missing some.”

  “We can hope that by now Blaine has come into possession of his father’s disk,” Penhallow said. “Until we rejoin Blaine, we don’t know what else he’s found.”

  “And if the disks are essential, then Quintrel has assured that whoever is serious about reviving the magic must come to him,” Lynge summarized. “Brilliant – or incredibly reckless.”

  “Oh, Vigus Quintrel was both, I assure you,” Lowrey said.

  Penhallow looked to Nidhud. “You know, the Wraith Lord didn’t have the chance to explain how a small company of long-exiled Knights just happened to be in place to rescue us from Reese’s men.”

  A look passed between the two talishte, and then Nidhud nodded. “Very well. The Wraith Lord was punished by banishment to the Unseen Realm. He lost his physical body, while his consciousness remained within the mist, as you have seen. Yet Esthrane did not desert him. She could not undo Etelscurion’s curse, but the Mother Goddess is clever, and she found a way to ease the Wraith Lord’s suffering,” Nidhud explained. “She gave him the ability to allow his consciousness to wander the Paths of the Dead and strengthened his power in the kruvgaldur. In that way, he was able to summon the Knights who did not go into exile in Valshoa to his aid.”

  “Can he communicate with the Valshoa Knights?” Connor asked.

  Nidhud shrugged. “I don’t know. He has never mentioned such a bond,
but then again, the Wraith Lord keeps much to himself. No one except the Wraith Lord knows what limits – if any – hinder his spirit’s travels. And I would not advise asking him.

  “The Wraith Lord has existed for a thousand years,” Nidhud said. “And in that time, he bound many people to him through the kruvgaldur. When Esthrane strengthened that bond, it gave the Wraith Lord a network of spies and informants that would have been the envy of any king. Through that network, he heard about your interest in the disks, and about the threat Pentreath Reese posed to restoring the magic. He knew that eventually you would come to him, either for the disk or to ask his counsel. He was a patron of the Knights before we were banished, and when the king betrayed us, the Wraith Lord did everything in his power to protect us. We are oath-bound to him. He called the Knights to him so that, if he deemed you worthy, we would assist you in your quest.”

  “Yet with that network, you don’t think the Wraith Lord has connections to the Knights in Valshoa – assuming they still exist?” Penhallow asked.

  Nidhud frowned. “Even among talishte there is politics. You, of all people, should know that. Dolan was something of a rogue, even among the Knights. He respected – and feared – the Wraith Lord. But he was careful never to make a blood bond with him, and he made every effort to keep his loyalists from bonding with the Wraith Lord. In a way, I think Dolan welcomed exile. It gave him the opportunity to follow no orders but his own.”

  “How many Knights are in your company?” Lowrey asked.

  “I’ve gathered twenty-five from those who were exiled and still survive,” Nidhud replied. “At our strongest, there were just two hundred Knights. King Merrill’s grandfather slew half of the Knights when he betrayed us. Twenty knights went with Dolan to search for Valshoa. Exile has taken a toll on those who remained. Some were killed when assassins discovered their hiding places. Others gave up in despair and let themselves be killed in battle. Some just disappeared. Maybe they allowed the dawn to take them.”

  “What are your orders?” Penhallow’s voice was cautious.

  “We are to give our assistance and protection to Blaine McFadden’s attempt to restore the magic,” Nidhud said.

  “How can we stand against Reese’s army?” Connor asked.

  Penhallow frowned, thinking. “Perhaps the odds are not so lopsided as they seem,” he mused. “Traher Voss and his men are yet to be accounted for. I hardly believe Reese and Pollard were able to bottle him up forever.” He clapped Connor on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Bevin. Although I sincerely hope we won’t have to do battle with Reese, if a fight comes, we won’t stand alone.”

  “Without the twelve disks, it may be in vain,” Lowrey reminded them. “Don’t forget about that.”

  Nidhud grinned. “I might be able to help, a little, with that. I know where we can find a disk that I’m almost positive Reese can’t get his hands on.”

  “Where?” Connor asked skeptically.

  Nidhud’s smile was wolfish. “The oubliette beneath the castle.” He met Connor’s gaze. “But to get it, we’ll need the Wraith Lord’s help – and he’ll need your help.”

  A candlemark later, Connor, Nidhud, and Penhallow made their way through a cramped tunnel beneath the ruins of Quillarth Castle. Stagnant water ran in a trickle along the floor, and heavy cobwebs festooned the corners of the upper walls. Connor carried a lantern. In the darkness, the lantern’s dim glow bolstered Connor’s courage, as long as he did not think about where they were headed.

  Once again, I’m stuck in a dark tunnel with a couple of vampires, Connor thought. When this is all over, assuming I survive, I’m never going belowground again.

  “You’re telling me there’s a talishte in an oubliette who’s been down here so long that even Lynge didn’t know about it?” Connor asked in a whisper.

  “I’m not even certain Merrill knew, to tell you the truth,” Nidhud replied.

  “And you thought it was too dangerous for Lynge to come with us, but it’s perfectly fine to bring me?” There was no hiding the challenge in Connor’s voice.

  “We’ve been over this before,” Nidhud said. “Hemming Lorens has been locked away for almost one hundred years. King Merrill’s grandfather grew to hate our kind,” he said. “Lorens certainly didn’t help our cause. He was a powerful talishte who enjoyed preying on mortals. In fact, he did so boldly, mocking the king’s authority.”

  Penhallow’s expression showed his distaste. “I remember. There was such an outcry, it’s amazing we weren’t all hunted and burned.”

  Nidhud nodded. “There were certainly those who tried.”

  “So Lorens has been locked in an oubliette for one hundred years? How has he fed?” Connor asked, a new horror gradually dawning in his imagination.

  “He hasn’t,” Nidhud replied.

  “And he still… exists?” Connor said, aghast.

  “Merrill’s grandfather was a ruthless man. He betrayed the Knights when they no longer served his purpose. Lorens’s slaughter of mortals helped the king turn public opinion against the Knights,” Nidhud said.

  “Merrill’s grandfather could have destroyed Lorens,” Penhallow added. “He certainly exterminated enough of the Knights of Esthrane. It’s clear he knew how to do it. He publicly slandered the Knights, destroying any support they might have received from mortals, and made a spectacle out of their execution.”

  “Once Lorens’s usefulness was over, the king decided to bolster his reputation as a fearless hunter of talishte even further by inflicting a punishment so severe, it drove the remaining talishte into hiding,” Nidhud said. “He locked him in the deepest oubliette and left him to starve.” Nidhud turned to meet Connor’s gaze, and his expression was grim. “Do you have any idea how long it takes a talishte of Lorens’s power to starve?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “Neither did the king.”

  No one said anything for a few moments, and Connor wrestled with his thoughts. We’re just going to drop by and then leave Lorens there to finish starving? On the other hand, he slaughtered mortals. Would it be a greater kindness for Penhallow or Nidhud to destroy Lorens altogether? Or is any existence better than none at all?

  Connor had heard of oubliettes, but he had prayed fervently to the gods that he would never see one. His lantern was the only light as they made their way through a dank corridor. Connor was certain that, by now, the corridor had led them far beyond Quillarth Castle, but where they were, he had no idea. Rats scurried by his feet, and a faint green glow from luminescent fungi on the corridor walls gave the passageway an eerie feel.

  The oubliette was a deep hole in the rock covered with a heavy iron grate. The lantern’s light did not extend far enough to see the bottom of the pit, but there was a sense of presence that made the hair stand up on the back of Connor’s neck.

  “I don’t understand,” he said in a hushed voice to Penhallow. “Can’t talishte fly – or at least levitate? Couldn’t Lorens just come up to the top and rip off the grating?”

  “The king thought of everything,” Nidhud said, a bitter note coloring his voice. “He drove a stake through Lorens’s heart. For those talishte who are old and strong, a stake alone is not enough to kill – beheading is necessary.” He turned to meet Connor’s gaze.

  “Lorens is conscious but immobile. He can hear us, speak to us, but he cannot move. He has been that way for nearly three generations. Unless he is beheaded, he will be that way for a very long time.”

  Connor felt bile rise in his stomach. “Is there no way to end his suffering?”

  Nidhud’s eyes narrowed as he peered at Connor in the dim light. “Lorens slaughtered dozens of mortals. Yet you would end his suffering if you could?”

  “Yes.”

  Nidhud looked away. “We have a job to do. Let’s do it.” He strode up to the iron grate and rattled it with his boot. “Lorens,” he called out. “A word with you.”

  “Leave me.” The voice was as brittle as dry leaves, a painful wheeze.
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br />   “Your maker requires a word with you,” Nidhud said, his tone hard.

  “His maker?” Connor asked under his breath.

  “The Wraith Lord,” Penhallow replied.

  Connor shot a worried glance toward Penhallow. “Now wait a minute! I’m tired of being taken over by talishte. Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?”

  I cannot travel to the oubliette except through another, the Wraith Lord’s voice spoke in Connor’s mind. He has a key to the puzzle. There is no other way.

  All right then, Connor thought, angry but resigned. But be quick about it.

  Connor thought he heard the Wraith Lord chuckle. The now-familiar vertigo of possession made him stumble, and both Penhallow and Nidhud put out a hand to steady him. When Connor straightened, he felt the Wraith Lord come to the fore.

  “Lorens. You survive.” The voice that came from Connor’s mouth was not his own, and Connor wondered how much it sounded like the disembodied talishte who spoke from inside his mind.