Reign of Ash

by Gail Z. Martin

  Blaine nodded. Although his bond through the kruvgaldur was much newer than Connor’s, and he lacked experience interpreting its messages, he had received the impression that Penhallow had not yet given up hope. So we may not be overrun in the next few minutes at least, Blaine thought. It’s not much, but it’s something.

  Distantly, Blaine heard a bell tolling.

  “That’s the signal,” Quintrel said. “We’re almost at the moment of solstice. When it tolls again, you must be at the center of the maze, because the solstice will be upon us. When you’re in position, my people will lend their support.”

  He paused. “The maze pattern is designed to concentrate the power. That’s why you – and you alone – may enter it to work the ritual. Don’t step off the stone path. The magic will be drawn by your blood and the disk, and your movement through the maze will wind the power tighter and tighter around you while my people speak the binding ritual.” He paused again, then met Blaine’s gaze. “Good luck.”

  Quintrel stepped back into the circle of people surrounding the ritual area. Blaine took a deep breath and pulled the disk out of the neckline of his shirt. He began to follow the pattern in the stones. Behind him, Quintrel’s people started a low chant, and though he was listening intently, Blaine could not make out the words.

  He reached the first of the maze’s turns and found a lit candle, a disk, and a symbol he recognized as the mark of the Garnoc family. He moved forward cautiously, noting that as the maze twisted, the path spiraled in on itself, with the turns growing closer together so the candles seemed to blaze brighter the nearer he got to the center.

  Concentrate the power, he thought as he followed the gray stone pathway. At the next turn, another candle and disk, and the mark Kestel had translated as belonging to Lord Corrender’s ancestors. Blaine thought it was his imagination, but the disk around his neck felt heavier, as if it were tugging at him, pulling him toward the center.

  A few more steps, another candle and disk, and Blaine had a growing feeling that power was rising around him. His own breath was coming faster, and his heart was thudding. The chant of the mage-scholars had grown louder. Their voices were pitched deep, so the chant echoed in the chamber like a bass horn, rich and resonant.

  Two more turns, and the air began to stir. Through the kruvgaldur Blaine felt a flicker of concern, and he remembered that the bond went both ways. I wonder what Penhallow makes of what I’m seeing, or how much he can read from me, Blaine thought. A more disturbing thought followed. If the magic kills me, as it tried to do at Mirdalur, Penhallow will surely know through the bond – but will it damage or destroy a talishte?

  Blaine wound through several more turns, mindful that the moment of solstice was just a few breaths away, and that the working would be at its strongest if he stood in the center of the maze at the very instant of the solstice. He passed the candle, disk, and symbol that Penhallow had identified as belonging to Pollard’s family, and then, a few steps later, the disk that had been King Merrill’s inheritance.

  At each step, the disk’s presence grew in Blaine’s mind until he could think of little else. The mage-scholars’ chants echoed in the stone chamber, and the disk seemed to draw him along.

  Another step, and as Blaine watched, the air around him began to glisten, as if ice crystals hung suspended. “It looks like this is drawing a storm!” he called back across the maze.

  “Keep your mind on what you’re doing!” Quintrel snapped. “We’ll deal with the rest.”

  Blaine continued to move toward the center of the maze. By now he had stopped trying to remember which symbol went with which of the thirteen original families. His head was beginning to pound, and the air shimmered like snow in the candlelight. The chanting had grown faster, and it echoed through the chamber. Overhead, the stars were bright in the night sky, and the wind was bitter cold.

  It felt to Blaine that his heart beat in time with the chant, that the glistening air burned his lungs. The disk that hung on his chest felt as if it were eager to get to the center, anxious to play its part in the night’s work. Just a few more steps, a few more turns, and Blaine would be at the center of the maze.

  In the distance, the bells began to toll once more. Blaine quickened his step, careful to heed Quintrel’s warning and stay on the stone path. The maze twisted so tightly back on itself that it taxed Blaine’s balance to follow the path without falling, without disturbing the last three candles. From where he stood, he was completely surrounded by the candle flames, and the glittering particles swirled as the pain in Blaine’s head grew so sharp that it hurt to keep his eyes open and the sound of the chanters made him wince.

  Only four steps left to go… three… two… one.

  Blaine stood at the center of the maze, and the power around him churned like a mirrored vortex, reflecting the candlelight in its glowing particles, leaving the flames untouched. Blaine knew that it was magic, not air, that stirred around him, robbing him of breath, searing through his mind. The Valshoans had created a place to harness magic, and Quintrel’s people had strengthened it. All it needed was his presence, his disk, his blood to make it happen.

  A faint green glow rose, suffusing the central circle with light. Blaine felt the growing energy crackle around him, building as the glow spread from one twist of the maze to the next.

  Energy rose from the soles of his feet, spreading upward rapidly. The tingle grew in intensity until it burned, and Blaine couldn’t move. His legs refused to obey his mind, and within seconds, his arms and hands were numb. The disk on its strap began to glow, pressing against his chest with cold fire that burned and froze. The green glow swirled around him, enveloping him. As it rose, Blaine felt as if bands of steel encircled his chest, hindering his breathing, and he fought panic. As the energy around him and the pain grew, he felt a scream build in his throat, yet he could not draw the air to cry out.

  Blaine felt the energy shift. The bands of power became needles coursing through his blood, burning along his nerves. Caught in the unbreakable grip of the energy, Blaine writhed. Without air, his vision was growing blurry, and pinpricks of light danced in front of him. Against the power of the energy, his strength meant nothing, and his struggle to break free seemed to intensify his pain. Blinding light flashed through the chamber like trapped lightning.

  The pressure on his chest eased, and Blaine gasped for breath, drinking in gulps of cold air. Energy still surged through his body, wracking him with pain, and a scream tore from his throat. The green glow that had started as a faint phosphorescent fog now rose in pillars of emerald fire streaking skyward from each of the candles. The twists of the maze pulsed with their own radiance, as if lit from within. All of the power of the meridians coursed through him until Blaine felt as if he were being burned alive. The pendant grew hot, and the black disk seared his chest.

  The mage-scholars kept chanting, and it sounded as if drummers had joined their number, pounding out a relentless rhythm. The light formed a green dome over the entire ritual space with walls of coruscating energy that pulsed and crackled. With every tortured breath, Blaine expected to be burned alive, yet the pain did not abate and he did not die.

  When pain threatened to black him out, a jolt of energy coursed through him, setting every muscle and nerve atremble. He heard a distant roar, and then the ground beneath his feet shook.

  Blaine fell to his knees, holding his temples in both hands, eyes tightly closed, heaving for breath. Magic coursed through him and his blood felt like fire, burning with the untamed energy. Too much. I can’t hang on, Blaine thought as the power blazed through him.

  Just when the coursing magic seemed as if it would sweep him away in its current, Blaine felt a slender tether anchoring him to his body. He saw Penhallow’s image clearly in his mind and felt the compulsion that had brought him back from the brink of death. That same compulsion bound him in its power, linking him to Penhallow through the kruvgaldur.

  With all his waning consciousness, Blaine
dove toward the bond that linked him to Penhallow. He grasped it and caught hold, feeling as if he were being plucked from deep water by strong hands and held fast in the swift current.

  The chants became screams and the drumming abruptly stopped. Blaine felt as if the magic lifted him out of his body, so that his essence was contained in the glowing crystals that swirled around him. He could feel the magic changing, shifting, losing the wild peaks of its energy. And as it did, the gossamer fabric of shimmering light stretched thinner and thinner until it dissipated completely.

  Blaine fell face-first onto the stone, gasping. As abruptly as it came, the pain left him, but the bond remained, then gradually loosened until it slipped beyond Blaine’s ability to sense. He lay still, struggling for breath, utterly spent, and realized that for the first time in many months, he felt the flicker of magic kindled within him.

  It worked, he thought, stunned. It worked and I’m alive.

  Blaine slowly rose to his feet and looked out over the chamber. The candles had been extinguished. He raised a hand to touch the disk that hung at his chest, and it burned his fingers. When he glanced down, he saw that the disk was glowing, and as he watched it dimmed from yellow to orange to red. As the red faded, the disk shone black once more, and the symbols and runes that marked its surface pulsed with an inner, golden light.

  The chanting resumed, weak at first but then its tone and rhythm shifted to a song of victory as the voices gained strength, and the drums offered up a triumphant rhythm. Blaine did not understand the language of the chant, but the spirit of rejoicing did not require translation. Thank the gods – and Penhallow.

  He took one staggering step and then another back the way he had come. Now that the glittering light was gone, Blaine could see across the room. Even the Knights of Esthrane looked shaken by the wave of power that had shot through the room.

  The mage-scholars looked pale and unsteady, but they had managed to sit or stand after being felled by the burst of magic. Quintrel spared Blaine a glance to assure he was still alive and gave a signal for the chanters to fall silent.

  “Now you know why we warded the chamber,” Quintrel said. “The warding triggered the first tendrils of harnessed magic, limiting the damage of the wild power. Without the warding, we might all have died in the attempt.”

  Blaine searched for his friends. Kestel was just being helped to her feet by Dawe, who looked ashen and wide-eyed. Borya supported Desya. Verran knelt next to Zaryae. Piran was leaning heavily against the wall. He looked angry, and Blaine remembered that when the magic died, Piran had felt the pain of the shift even though he possessed no magic of his own.

  Connor stood apart from the others, his posture rigid, and his expression was one of total concentration. He’s channeling the Wraith Lord, Blaine thought as he made his way back through the darkened maze.

  Quintrel met Blaine at the entrance to the maze. “I can feel magic again,” Blaine said, his voice dry.

  “How, exactly, the magic returned will take a while to figure out,” Quintrel replied. “According to the old documents, when it comes back it’s not quite the same as before. We shall see. But yes,” he said, clapping Blaine on the shoulder, “you did it.”

  General Dolan left his post by the wall to join them, mindful even now not to break the red warding line. “You were successful,” he said, eyeing Blaine as if reevaluating him.

  “Apparently so.” Blaine felt as bone-weary and sore as if he had just returned from battle. The aching in his head was gone, but the rest of his body felt as if he had been beaten. He gathered his remaining strength to stand tall. “Once my group has rested, we’ll be ready to leave the valley.”

  Dolan frowned. “I’m afraid we can’t allow that. We’ve guarded the secrets of this valley for far too long to risk exposure.”

  Exhaustion wore Blaine’s temper thin. “There’s an army headed this way through the pass,” Blaine snapped. “You’re already exposed, and you can thank Reese and Pollard for it.”

  “The army has been dealt with.” Connor spoke with the certainty of the Wraith Lord.

  “What happened to them?” Blaine asked.

  “I called to the spirits of the third Guardian, the souls of those in the crypts,” the Wraith Lord said. “They drove the vanguard back into the blades of the maze. Nidhud’s man waited until Reese’s soldiers were in the cavern, and then he threw down burning brands. Many died in the explosion.”

  So I really did hear an explosion as the magic turned itself inside out, Blaine thought.

  “Those who survived the attack have been destroyed by your friends. It is over,” the Wraith Lord said.

  Blaine eyed Connor with respect tinged with fear. He did not envy him the burden of playing host to the Wraith Lord’s powerful spirit. “You helped save us,” Blaine said.

  Connor inclined his head. “I made a promise to Penhallow to do so, if it was within my power,” the Wraith Lord replied.

  “Thank you.”

  Connor nodded, then turned to regard the general. “Dolan,” the deep voice of the Wraith Lord said, “do you know who I am?”

  Dolan straightened, but Blaine caught a glimpse of irritation in his eyes before the general’s expression shifted into an unreadable mask. “You are Kierken Vandholt. You are the Wraith Lord.”

  “When I walked among the Knights, I was your patron and your protector,” the Wraith Lord said. “Do not allow the youth of my host body to delude you. I am as powerful as I ever was, and with the return of magic, even stronger than before.” Possessed by the Wraith Lord, Connor turned an imperious glance toward Dolan, and his features seemed older, unforgiving.

  “Hear me. This is an order, binding on you and upon all the Knights. You will not hinder Lord McFadden and his party from leaving. You will assist them so they reach the lowlands safely, and you will permit them to go on their way.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dolan replied, though he did not look happy with the command.

  “I find this body quite compatible,” the Wraith Lord continued. “And the mortal who possesses this form has asked only one boon of me, despite how hard I have used him. I grant that favor.” He turned to meet Dolan’s gaze. “You and all the Knights will cause no harm to befall McFadden and his companions, and insofar as you are able, you will lend him your protection when he requires it. Am I understood?”

  Dolan’s jaw was tight, but he gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

  The Wraith Lord turned to Blaine. “You have done well, Lord McFadden, but your part is not yet over. I was able to help destroy the army that sought you, but there will be others. You are the last Lord of the Blood. You may find that this means you are in more danger now than ever before, since you are bound to the fragile new magic.”

  “I brought back the magic. I’m done,” Blaine said, meeting the Wraith Lord’s gaze levelly and finding that the soul that looked back at him with Connor’s eyes was ancient.

  “So you believe. This land has need of you. When I can, I will assist you.”

  Though the Wraith Lord’s voice never wavered, Blaine could see that Connor was growing pale. “I will consider what you’ve said,” Blaine replied cautiously. “But you must let go of Connor. He’s weakening.”

  “Remember my words,” the Wraith Lord replied.

  Connor collapsed like a severed marionette and would have fallen had not Blaine and Dolan caught him. Blaine eased Connor to the ground and met Dolan’s gaze.

  “First, we’re going to get a healer for Connor, and food, drink, and rest for my people. Then we’re leaving,” Blaine said.

  “I know my orders,” Dolan growled.

  Blaine turned to Quintrel. “I hope you’ve kept our rooms for us, because I think we’re all going to sleep well tonight.” He looked Quintrel in the eye. “And we’re leaving at dusk tomorrow.”

  Quintrel chuckled. “You don’t have to convince me further,” he said. “I’m not one to question the Wraith Lord, especially when it comes to standing in the way of
destiny.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “C

  an you feel it?” Kestel looked from Blaine to Dawe to Verran.

  “No, obviously I can’t,” Piran remarked, “since I never had magic to begin with. The question is – can you?”

  They had returned to their room inside the large Valshoan building, reluctantly aware that even with their concerns over Quintrel’s questionable hospitality, the night’s working had taken too high a toll on Blaine to contemplate leaving the valley without rest. Blaine and Connor were hardest hit from the efforts, but the others looked exhausted as well.

  Despite a generous dinner and ample wine set out by the mage-scholars, Blaine felt completely spent. His only consolation was that Connor looked worse. They had kept their weapons, although after the Wraith Lord’s announcement, Blaine doubted they would have further difficulty from Dolan and the Knights. Still, he remained wary of Quintrel’s reach now that the magic had been restored.