Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  “I can’t say I blame you,” Blaine replied. If the scholar expected him to bristle at the slight against his family, he would be disappointed, Blaine thought. “My father certainly didn’t inspire trust. I keep my word.”

  Another scholar eyed Blaine, a thin man whose face was so haggard it was difficult to determine age. “And a convict, no less. What was Quintrel thinking?”

  “Quintrel had no idea who would survive the Cataclysm,” Blaine replied, growing less patient. “It’s just your lucky day that I’m the only Lord of the Blood still breathing, so you’ll have to make do with what you’ve got.”

  “We’ve only got your word for that,” replied a stocky man who looked as if he liked his ale and supper as much as his books. “Vigus brought most of us here before the so-called Great Fire. I’m quite happy out of the intrigue of the palace city, but it’s difficult to believe things are as bad as Vigus says.”

  Blaine’s temper started a slow burn. “If you doubt the kingdom is in ruins, you’re welcome to leave with us when the ritual is over. Of course, if you don’t like what you see and you want to come back, you’re on your own.”

  “It would be like Vigus to stretch the truth a bit if it served his purposes,” the stocky man said. “I think he rather fancies having a captive audience here.”

  “Is that what you are? Captives?” Blaine asked, wondering if he and the others would find it difficult to leave the valley.

  The stocky man shrugged. “Maybe. Haven’t tried to leave, so I can’t say for certain. Not sure I want to.”

  Blaine decided to take the offensive. “Quintrel chose you as his Remnant. Why? What’s so special about you compared to all the scholars and mages who died?”

  The older man turned his attention back to Blaine with a glint in his eyes that said he was reevaluating him. “In part, we were his loyal friends and supporters at the university and elsewhere. Maybe this is a surprise to you, but not everyone liked Vigus’s opinions, or his tactics.” The others chuckled, giving Blaine to know there was a long story behind the comments.

  “And the fact is, we’re good scholars and were good mages,” the thin man added. “Maybe we weren’t the best in the kingdom, but we were good enough to be able to train a new generation so the learning and the magic – if it returns – won’t be entirely lost.”

  And if you weren’t the best in the kingdom before the Great Fire, you are now, by virtue of the fact that you’re still alive, Blaine thought.

  “Why Valshoa?” Blaine asked. “I’ve seen Valtyr’s map. There were many places of power – maybe some just as strong. You could have hidden in a null space and not worried about the Great Fire or the magic storms. Why here?”

  The older mage-scholar looked at Blaine for a moment and blinked, resembling an ancient tortoise. “Treven tells me you were acquainted with Quillarth Castle and with the Lyceum of Tobar. Is that correct?” he asked in a gravelly voice. Blaine nodded.

  “Both were built on places of great power, and both had powerful wards and protections built into their very foundations, added layer upon layer over many years. The protections are older here, stronger. The Valshoans survived their own version of the Cataclysm, as well as the destruction of magic before it was raised at Mirdalur – and who knows what else. Vigus believed we would be safest here, even if the worst happened. And it did.”

  “What happens after we work the ritual tomorrow night?” Blaine asked. “Assuming we survive. Are we free to leave?”

  The stout man chuckled. “We’re not the ones to ask, and honestly, I don’t think Vigus is either.” He leveled a glance at Blaine. “The ones who have the biggest stake in keeping this valley a secret are the Knights of Esthrane. Whether or not you leave will be up to them.”

  For the next candlemark, the scholars asked Blaine about the devastation he had witnessed, both in Donderath and in Edgeland. He recounted what he had seen at the lyceum and in Castle Reach and gave an account of the fall of Velant. They quizzed him about Valtyr’s maps and the disks and were especially interested in Connor, both as the pawn in Quintrel’s game of clues and as the unwilling host to the Wraith Lord. Blaine answered cautiously, aware that he had no assurance either the mages or Quintrel was truly his ally.

  The door to the chamber opened to reveal another gray-robed visitor carrying a lantern. “Vigus asked me to bring Lord McFadden to him,” Carensa said, focusing her gaze on Lowrey and the older mage and completely avoiding Blaine’s eyes.

  “Forgive us,” the older man said. “We’ve monopolized our guest. We’re always hungry for news.” He gave Blaine a smile that did not completely reach his eyes. “Thank you for your information. I wish you success with the ritual, for all our sakes.”

  Carensa turned and led Blaine from the room without a word or a backward glance. The corridors were deserted, although Blaine guessed that it had as much to do with the sparse population as the late hour. He was unsure whether to speak and what to say, and so he followed in silence for a while. Carensa turned down an unfamiliar corridor and stopped in front of one of the rooms.

  Carensa’s lantern barely illuminated the chamber, but Blaine could see it was a sparsely furnished sitting room. The fireplace at one end was dark, and the rough furnishings looked as if they had been salvaged or built from scraps.

  All the years in Velant and Edgeland, I thought I knew what I would say if I ever saw Carensa again, and now I’m tongue-tied, Blaine thought. Where do I even begin?

  “I lied about Vigus wanting to see you,” Carensa said. “But I needed an excuse to rescue you from the Quorum.” They were both silent for a few awkward moments. “I’m glad you’re alive,” Carensa said, breaking the silence. She kept the distance between them one might keep with a casual acquaintance, neither expecting nor inviting an embrace. “I feared the worst.”

  Blaine drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled, hoping his voice would not convey his nervousness. “I heard nothing from you or Judith all those years, and now I know that you both wrote to me, but Prokief confiscated the letters,” he said. “As time went on, I hoped you built a life for yourself and that you were happy.”

  Carensa turned so he could not meet her gaze. “I survived. Father finally arranged a marriage for me, to a man who was decent and kind, but love was never part of the bargain. I gave him a son, and I loved our son, but I buried them both after the Great Fire.”

  “I asked after you when I came back. Judith told me that you were presumed dead,” Blaine said.

  Carensa let out a long breath. “I had a chance to leave behind all of the grief and memories – of you, of the years after you went away, of my son. I took it.”

  “I came back from exile, and you went into it,” Blaine observed with a mirthless chuckle.

  Carensa nodded. “Perhaps. Father despaired of me after you were sent away. He feared I would waste away, and I guess I hoped I would. To draw me out, he hired tutors. When I proved to be a good pupil, he was so happy to see me care about something that he brought a parade of scholars to the manor, never dreaming I would want to become one myself.”

  “Judith said he forbade you to go to the university.”

  Carensa sighed. “He felt that private instruction more befitted a lady. But the tutors told Quintrel about me, and when I advanced, he became my tutor. I confided in him, and after the Great Fire, I went looking for anyone who might be able to find him.”

  She shrugged. “Word reached him, and he sent for me.” Carensa looked down. “I stole Father’s disk. I don’t think Father even knew what it was. It was the only thing Vigus asked of me, and so I brought it with me when I ran away.” She raised her head and gave Blaine a defiant glare as if she expected him to disapprove. “I’ve been here ever since.”

  “Are you happy?” Blaine was surprised how much the answer mattered, even after all this time.

  “Yes, I guess so.” She met his gaze with a sad smile. “Perhaps not as I would have been if we’d married, or if my husband and son had li
ved, but it’s enough.”

  They fell silent for a moment. Finally, she looked to Blaine. “What about you?”

  Blaine looked away. “Velant was as bad as its reputation. I survived by sheer luck, and the fact that Merrill put a note in my file forbidding Prokief to kill me. When I earned my Ticket of Leave, my friends and I built a homestead. I made a handfasting with a girl who’d been sent away for thieving. We were happy enough, but then the fever took her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Carensa said. She paused. “The woman in your group —”

  “Kestel.”

  “Is she yours?”

  Blaine chuckled. “I’m not sure Kestel belongs to anyone but Kestel. But yes, we’re more than just friends – much more, I hope.”

  Carensa smiled. “You always had a thing for redheads.”

  Blaine returned the smile. “Maybe so.” Though they stood only a few feet apart, the gulf that separated them was as wide as years and as far as the cold shores of Edgeland. “What will you do after the solstice?”

  “Vigus hoped that no matter how great the damage, at least one of the Lords of the Blood would survive,” she said. “If he suspected that you were the likely survivor because you were in Edgeland, he didn’t tell me.” She sighed. “If you’re able to bring back the magic, Vigus and the others will have quite a task ahead, restoring what’s been lost. They’ll need helpers.” Carensa paused for a moment. “Regardless of what happens to the magic, this is my home.”

  “So you’re staying here?”

  Carensa nodded. “There’s nothing for me back there,” she said. “What about you? Are you staying in Donderath – or going back to Edgeland?”

  “I gave Aunt Judith my word that I would go back to Glenreith,” Blaine said. “There’s a lot of work to be done. And there are some powerful people who have tried very hard to keep the magic from coming back. They won’t be happy – and I have the feeling they won’t give up.”

  He paused. “Will Quintrel and the Knights let us leave?”

  Carensa met his gaze. “I don’t know. I wanted to warn you. I owe Vigus a great deal, but he uses people to get what he wants. Like he used your friend.”

  “Connor,” Blaine supplied. “He’s had rather a bad go of it.”

  Carensa nodded. “Vigus likes that the valley is so hard to reach. And the Knights have kept their hiding place here a secret for a long time. You and your friends know how to best the Guardians. That’s dangerous knowledge.”

  “But with the kings dead, the Knights have nothing to fear,” Blaine pointed out. “And if magic can be restored – even if it’s not quite the same as before – surely Quintrel and the mages can use it to set a new group of traps for unwanted visitors if they want to remain in seclusion.” He spread his hands, palms up. “None of us are mages of any power. Lowrey’s the only scholar, and he intends to stay. We’d be a drain on your scarce resources, with nothing to show for it.”

  Carensa’s gaze was sorrowful. “I don’t think Vigus is worried about it,” she said quietly. “The only value you and your friends have is working the ritual. I’m afraid he’s expecting it to kill you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “F

  all back!” Niklas Theilsson shouted above the din of battle. The foothills at the base of the Riven Mountains were thick with torch smoke. The cries of men and the clang of swords reverberated from the high rock mountain walls. “Fall back!” he shouted again, eyeing the onslaught of Pollard’s troops.

  Across the way, he could hear Ayers giving a similar command, allowing the line to break that they had fought so hard to hold across the mountain pass. Niklas grimaced. The ground was littered with bodies, many of them his soldiers. It was bitter to watch as Pollard’s troops whooped in victory while thirty men poured into the cleft in the mountains. The others took up the position that Niklas’s army had just vacated.

  Bitter, but not unexpected. He and Penhallow had been of one accord on strategy. They would hold Pollard back to give Blaine the longest possible lead. And if necessary, to reduce casualties, they would fall back. Pollard, as Penhallow predicted, sent his men to seize the victory.

  But Niklas knew it wasn’t quite over yet.

  “Rally here!” Niklas shouted, hearing his call repeated down the line. He gave a silent prayer for the souls of the dead and an apology to their spirits for the cost of the ruse he was now about to reveal.

  “They’re getting through, Captain!” one of his men complained, and it was obvious he felt the defeat keenly.

  Niklas nodded. “For now, soldier. For now.”

  When they had withdrawn far enough to give Pollard’s troops full access to the pass and remove his men from danger, Niklas scanned the horizon. He could see Nidhud’s Knights and Penhallow’s talishte maneuvering into position as Ayers got his own men situated.

  “Formation!” Niklas shouted. “There’s the line!” He indicated with his head where the other troops had gathered. “Find your place.”

  “You want the blighters to go into the pass?” one of the soldiers replied. “I thought we were trying to keep them out of the pass!”

  Niklas chuckled. “Yep. Line up. You’ll see.”

  He heard the muttering and saw the questioning glances as his men followed orders, and he sympathized. They had lost friends in the battle to hold the pass, and they had fought with all their might to keep Pollard away from the mountain.

  And if that would have done the trick, we could all go home now, Niklas thought with a sigh. But Penhallow and Nidhud and I knew it wouldn’t be. So I hope Nidhud’s fall-back plan is as good as it sounds.

  “Sir!” A talishte scout seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of Niklas, making Niklas’s horse step back a pace and rear.

  “Report.”

  “A large contingent is heading our way.” He grinned, showing his fangs. “Voss’s men.”

  Niklas sighed. “I wouldn’t have minded having them arrive sooner, but better now than never.”

  “Aye,” the talishte replied. “Best he hurry. It’s only a few candlemarks until dawn.”

  Niklas could already hear the sound of hoofbeats pounding, testimony that a sizable force was heading their way. I’m glad they’re on our side, he thought. Or as much as Voss ever is.

  A cheer went up from Niklas’s men when they spotted the flag of Voss’s mercenary company and realized that reinforcements had arrived. Niklas rode to where Penhallow, Ayers, and Nidhud had gathered. Voss shouted orders to his men to position them, then rode to meet the commanders.

  “You took your time,” Penhallow said, raising an eyebrow.

  Unlike most of the other soldiers, Voss was astride a true warhorse. His armor – and the armor on his horse – was expensive and richly detailed. Voss grinned. “Just making certain none of Pollard’s reinforcements showed up,” he said. “Left nothing to chance. Just a wake of dead men.”

  “I see you found a way to end the siege, Traher,” Penhallow said.

  Voss chuckled. “You know me, Lanyon. I don’t stay penned up long. Gave Pollard a surprise, we did. That whole plain in front of the fortress was honeycombed with caves. My engineers diverted that underground river to flood the caves, then drained them. Made the ground drop out from under his feet,” he said, chuckling harder.

  “We put on a show for them,” Voss said, grinning broadly. “The rooftops of my fortress are stone, so I put a thin coat of oil on them and set them afire, just for effect. Then I rigged up a hinged metal puppet and made it look as if I were dancing in the flames.” He guffawed. “The best touch was the kite we made with an effigy of Vessa, designed to burn slowly as it flew in the air.” He slapped his thigh and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. “Pollard’s men not only ran away, but I’m betting they soiled themselves!”

  “Time later to celebrate your cleverness,” Nidhud said dryly. “We’re not done here.”

  Voss looked at Penhallow skeptically. “Now what?”

  “Connor and t
he others made it through,” Penhallow said. “I sense it in the bond.” He paused. “From the images I can make out from Connor, the pass has four traps set by the Knights.” Nidhud and the others listened as Penhallow recounted what he learned from the bond.

  Nidhud nodded. “What you’ve seen matches the fragments the legends tell about the Guardians.” He gave a predatory smile. “Our plan should work. We’ll drive Pollard’s men right into the traps and let them take care of his forces for us.”

  Niklas looked at him askance. “Isn’t that risky? What if some make it through?”

  Nidhud’s gaze was hard. “If any survive the traps, my fellow Knights await them. And if the magic is restored, Quintrel’s mages – and the Knights – will be quite able to defend themselves.”