Niklas and the other commanders dispersed down the line and were soon assembled in front of the army. “They wanted to get into the pass!” Niklas shouted to his men. “So we gave them what they wanted. But we’re not going to let them out. They will not leave the mountains alive!”
Nidhud, positioned in the center of the forces, raised his sword, the signal to charge. With a roar, the soldiers ran forward, swords at the ready. Pollard’s soldiers braced for the attack. Niklas’s men, heartened by reinforcements, plunged toward the enemy line. Pollard’s troops had their backs against the mountain, unable to retreat in large numbers into the narrow entrance to the pass.
Voss’s soldiers killed with precision, and Niklas’s men took out their frustration over their forced retreat. Thanks to Voss, the numbers now favored Niklas’s side, and before long, those troops of Pollard’s that had not reached the pass either lay dead or knelt in surrender.
Niklas turned to Nidhud when they had secured the mouth of the pass. “Now what?”
“I need a mortal volunteer, someone who isn’t afraid of fire,” Nidhud replied.
“I’ll go, Captain,” Ayers responded. “I’d let Torven take my soul if we could send Pollard’s men straight to Raka.”
Niklas met Nidhud’s gaze. “Is this a suicide mission?”
Nidhud shook his head. “That’s not my intent. I can’t guarantee safety. This is war, after all. But I have every intention of coming back intact.”
Niklas nodded to Ayers. “Go. But plan on coming back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nidhud gestured to his Knights, and a group of seven broke away from their fellow soldiers to follow him, folding Ayer into their company. Niklas watched them go and turned to Penhallow. “What now?” he asked.
“We wait,” Penhallow replied. “My men destroyed Pollard’s talishte fighters. Nidhud won’t need to worry about them.”
Niklas peered into the darkness of the canyon, but he saw nothing but shadows. Time passed, and he felt the tension, wary of attack.
A sudden explosion roared through the canyon, and flames flashed high into the night sky. Niklas’s men fell back several paces, ready for treachery.
“I’d say Nidhud achieved his objectives,” Penhallow said with a cold smile.
Not long after the explosion, Nidhud and the Knights came walking out of the canyon, along with Ayers.
“You made better time coming out than going in,” Penhallow observed as Nidhud joined them and Niklas’s troops cheered.
Nidhud shrugged. “We were wary of overtaking the enemy on the way in, as they were mortal, and slow,” he said.
“What happened?” Niklas asked, eyeing the plume of smoke that rose from deep inside the canyon.
Nidhud chuckled. “One of the Guardians is a cave that is treacherous to navigate. The real danger is the bad air inside the cave. We concealed our presence until they were just about to enter, and then pushed them so that they hurried. When most had entered, Ayers was kind enough to lob a few lit torches inside to light their way.”
“And blew them all sky-high,” Ayers finished with a satisfied grin.
Nidhud shrugged. “Perhaps not all of them,” he conceded. “But they have no way to return the way they came, and between the remaining Guardians and the Knights that await them in Valshoa, I believe we have a rout.”
Niklas watched the smoke ascend. “Now it’s up to Blaine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
T
he day dawned with an overcast sky that threatened snow. Blaine’s sleep had been fitful, and because of the heavy burden of the task that lay ahead of him, he could not rest.
He walked to the window and looked out over the valley that sprawled from the city to the horizon. He tried not to think about the ritual that evening, tried not to dwell on the idea that this might be the last dawn he would see.
Blaine was so deep in thought that he did not hear Kestel approach. “I’m happy for you that Carensa is alive,” Kestel said quietly.
Blaine turned. Kestel was far too adept at politics to let her feelings show in her face, but Blaine could read the expression in her eyes. “I’m glad she survived,” he replied. “When she lost everything else, Quintrel gave her a place to go and a reason to go on.” He paused, knowing what Kestel was waiting to hear.
“I told her that you and I were together,” Blaine said. “What was between Carensa and me happened a long time ago, when we were different people. She plans to stay here with the scholars permanently. I have other plans.”
Blaine moved a step toward Kestel and took her in his arms. She leaned her head against his chest and sighed. “I hope we have a chance to make plans.”
Blaine looked down to meet her gaze. “I have every intention of living through this,” he said. “I’m not a martyr. We’ll go back to Glenreith, get down to the business of making the homestead – manor – self-sustaining again. With Niklas’s help, maybe we can restore the rule of law, at least in the area we can protect.”
He smoothed a hand back through her hair. “There’s one more thing I want to do when we go home. I want to marry you.”
Kestel looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“I know what I want, Kestel. And I want you. What do you say?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Now we just have to live long enough to make it happen.”
Blaine bent to kiss her and drew her closer. She returned the kiss with passion. The kiss lingered until they heard the sound of applause.
“It took you two long enough,” Dawe said with a grin.
Kestel laughed. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’ve been busy.”
Reluctantly Blaine let her go, and Kestel stepped away. The others were waking, and a knock at the door signaled the arrival of several scholars laden with trays of food and pitchers of fet. Blaine and the others waited to talk until their hosts had left the room.
“What’s the plan?” Piran demanded as he reached for two of the warm rolls and a handful of dried fruit.
“Not sure,” Blaine said, taking a piece of sausage and some bread, as well as a tin cup to hold the hot fet. “I get the distinct feeling the scholars – or the Knights – don’t want us wandering around.” Briefly he recounted his conversation with Lowrey and the scholars, and his concerns about their ability to leave the valley once the ritual was complete. “We need an alternate plan.”
Blaine swung a leg over the bench and sat down facing them. He swallowed a mouthful of fet, made a face at the bitter taste, and set his cup aside. “All right. Everyone at this table, except Piran, has some kind of magic, right?” They nodded. “If the ritual works, and the magic can be controlled, we may need to be ready to defend ourselves the moment the magic rises.”
“We’ll be ready,” Kestel promised. “You raise the magic, and we’ll take care of the rest.”
As the day wore on, Blaine could feel the group’s tension rising. Thanks to the healer, Desya was awake and able to stand, although he would not be able to hold his own in a fight. Zaryae, Borya, and Desya spent much of the morning huddled together, and Blaine guessed that they were taking what comfort they could mourning Illarion.
Kestel asked the scholars for candles and made a small shrine to the gods. Zaryae joined her, and as the hours passed, everyone except Piran made a stop at the shrine to ask for protection or make their peace with the gods.
I’m not sure whether you’re real, Blaine thought as he addressed the gods, and if you’re there, I’m not sure you’re listening, but in case you are… Please get my friends home safely, and if possible, I’d like to live through this.
Blaine sighed and figured that if style and wording made the gods heed prayers, he was doomed. Kestel would say that it’s the thought that counts. I guess at this point, I’ll take all the help I can get.
Dinner came early so that they could be ready for the ritual at sundown. Blaine forced himself to eat, remembering how badly the botched working at Mirdalur had dr
ained him, but he tasted nothing. By the look of it, the others had little appetite either.
A knock at the door startled them. Blaine opened it and found Carensa and another woman standing in the hallway, each carrying a large basket of what appeared to be dirty clothing. “Let us in – quickly!” Carensa said.
Blaine stepped aside and frowned as he heard the clink of metal against metal as the two women moved. When the door was shut, Carensa and her friend lowered their baskets and skimmed the clothing off the top. Inside the baskets were their weapons.
“Be quick! We managed to get into the storeroom, but Vigus doesn’t know we took your weapons,” Carensa said. “You were right, Blaine. Vigus and the Knights don’t want you to leave. Take your weapons with you to the working. Tomorrow, be ready. Once you’ve had a chance to recover from the ritual, I can get you out.”
“How?”
“The valley path with the Guardians isn’t the only way,” Carensa said, glancing nervously behind her as if the door might open at any second. “The Knights had another route, but it’s well hidden and dangerous. I’ll show you where to go if they won’t.”
“Thank you,” Blaine said, laying a hand on Carensa’s shoulder.
She gave a wan smile. “You’ve spent enough time as a prisoner.” She paused. “There’s another piece of news – and it’s not good. Our watchers say there’s a large force moving toward the Guardians. For the first time in a thousand years, Valshoa is under attack.”
Blaine and Piran exchanged glances. “That means Pollard’s men got past Penhallow and Niklas,” Blaine said. “It doesn’t bode well.”
“I don’t like it, not one little bit,” Piran replied. “Fix the magic, and we might have a chance.”
“I’ve got to go,” Carensa said. “Despite his faults, I owe Vigus a lot, and I still intend to stay here,” she said, stretching up to kiss Blaine on the cheek. “Now go – and be careful.”
A few minutes after Carensa left, the door opened once more and Quintrel himself entered the room, followed by a handful of mages. He eyed their weapons immediately. “Where did you get those?”
“I was out for a walk this morning to stretch my legs, and I saw an open door,” Piran lied. “Found these in a heap and figured, with all that’s going on, you forgot to get them back to us. So I spared you the bother.”
“I see,” Quintrel said, unconvinced. “Where you’re going tonight, swords will do you no good.”
“We’ll need them on the journey home,” Blaine said pointedly, meeting Quintrel’s gaze. “We mean to leave as soon as possible.”
“We’re in no hurry for you and your friends to depart,” Quintrel said amiably. “Treven Lowrey has chosen to become a permanent member here. Your group would be welcome to stay as well. Depending on how things go, you may need time to recuperate.” His expression darkened. “And leaving may not be advisable. Our scouts tell us that there’s an army headed this way, up the pass.”
Piran gave a snort. “I’d like to see them manage the Guardians.”
Quintrel gave him a mirthless look. “I’d rather not see that, thank you.” He paused. “If you’re successful in restoring the magic, we should be quite capable of handling the threat. If not —”
“If not, we’ll come up with something else,” Blaine replied testily. He was feeling the strain of the long afternoon of waiting.
“The ritual area has been prepared,” Quintrel said. “All of the disks except for the one you wear have been placed along the lines of power, as have the symbols of the thirteen houses. Lowrey and Connor have done a good job piecing together what we believe is the chant used in the Mirdalur ritual, thanks to the help of the Wraith Lord,” he said and inclined his head toward Connor. “My people will be in attendance to chant and lend their energy to the working, and, should you succeed, to help contain the magic.” He paused. “All that is missing is you – and your blood.”
“The space you’ll be using is the most sacred in all of Valshoa,” Quintrel continued. “The Valshoans esteemed it so highly that their women gave birth there, because they believed the powerful magic protected both mother and child from harm.”
“So it’s steeped in blood and birth,” Zaryae said, looking up from where she sat, surrounded by her divination tools. She had cast her cards and sought the guidance of her crystals, and now she nodded. “A very auspicious sign,” she said. Blaine did not feel any less worried.
“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Blaine said.
“That’s why I’ve come,” Quintrel replied. “It is time.”
Quintrel led them through the heart of the city, past once-beautiful buildings with façades carved with scenes from the everyday life of their long-vanished culture. Perhaps under other circumstances, Blaine might have had the impulse to linger, but now his mind was far too preoccupied.
When they reached the center of the city, Quintrel left the roadway and walked up the debris-littered steps of a large, stately building. The pillars that had once graced its entrance lay broken and the roof was gone, but its former grandeur could still be glimpsed in the carved walls and elaborate mosaics visible on the floor. It reminded Blaine of the large customs house at the Castle Reach waterfront, and the king’s public court.
Kestel walked briskly beside him, with Piran on the other side and Zaryae just behind them. Connor and Dawe were next. Verran and the twins walked farther back, sizing up Quintrel’s contingent of mage-scholars and counting the Knights who escorted the group like an honor guard. Blaine eyed the Knights warily, wondering how vigorously they would defend Valshoa’s secrets.
The corridor opened into an ornate gate flanked with pillars. Torches around the walls lit the huge room. The room opened to the sky. Most of the rubble from the roof’s collapse had been cleaned away, exposing a beautiful floor tiled with smooth-cut stone laid out in winding, interlocking patterns, and in the room’s center, Blaine saw a stone-pattern maze that reminded him of the concentric circles at Mirdalur.
Blaine paused as they entered to survey the area. Quintrel had, indeed, prepared the space for the working. The smell of sage hung in the air, purifying the room of negative energies. Along the wall, he could see a series of small shrines built beneath the figures of Charrot, Esthrane, and Torven. Candles burned at each shrine, along with gifts of grain, wine, and fresh loaves of bread, all intended to invoke a blessing from the gods. Toward the center of the room, in the maze, Blaine saw twelve pillar candles and twined around each one, the strap holding an obsidian disk.
“Let’s have your friends stand inside the protective circle,” Quintrel said, guiding Blaine by the shoulder. “Step over the line so you don’t smudge it and break the warding.” He pointed to a reddish line as thick as a man’s finger that had been marked around the room. Zaryae bent down and touched a finger to the line, then tasted the red mark on her fingertip.
“It’s a mixture of salt and several other protective herbs,” she murmured.
Quintrel fixed her with a look. “Did you think we would leave the area unwarded?”
“What good is it until the magic returns?” Piran asked.
“We don’t know how wild the power will be when the ritual calls to it,” Quintrel said. “We’ve tried to create baffles to slow the rush of magic, to give Blaine a better chance to live through the working.”
“Much obliged,” Blaine muttered.
Just within the warding line Quintrel’s mage-scholars stood shoulder to shoulder. They parted as Quintrel and Blaine made their way toward the center of the room.
Magic might have slipped from mortal grasp, but power still resonated in this place. Blaine could feel it humming, just out of reach. The obsidian disk that had been handed down through his family hung on a strap around his neck. Outside, in the canyon, Pollard’s army was heading this way, and Blaine wondered what would happen if the city came under attack before the ritual could be completed.
Could the Guardians stop a full army? he wondered. It’s sun
down. Will Reese and his talishte beat the Guardians’ protections, or have the Knights prepared other defenses designed for them?
Another thought occurred to him. If the ritual works and it draws the wild magic the way it did at Mirdalur, what does that mean for everyone in the canyon pass – friend and foe?
Kestel touched his shoulder, then followed the others to where Quintrel indicated. Dawe, Piran, and Verran met Blaine’s gaze, and Piran gave him a mock salute. Zaryae made a gesture of blessing, while the twins left him with a shallow bow. Connor was the last to leave.
“Be careful,” Connor said quietly. In a lower voice, loud enough for only Blaine to hear, he added, “They’re fighting outside the canyon. Penhallow feels… optimistic.”
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