Authors: Gail Z. Martin
“Where do we go, assuming there isn’t an army outside waiting for us?” Connor asked. “Blaine could already be at Mirdalur.”
Penhallow nodded. “Been and gone, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Geir’s been doing his best to keep me informed, although the
kruvgaldur
link works imperfectly over distance. Despite my attempt to warn them, it seems they went to Mirdalur and the attempt failed.”
Connor looked at him sharply. “Did they survive?”
Penhallow had begun walking toward the cave’s entrance. “Yes, although it wasn’t pleasant. I felt Geir’s pain through the bond.”
“And now?” Connor asked, falling into step beside him.
“The last sending from Geir was jumbled. There was a threat, and danger, but I couldn’t clearly read it.”
“So we’re heading for Mirdalur? Or to Glenreith?” Connor scrambled to keep up with Penhallow’s long strides.
“Neither,” Penhallow replied. “We’re going to Quillarth Castle – or what’s left of it.”
They had reached the cave’s mouth. It was dark outside, and the evening was cold. Connor and Lowrey waited while Penhallow quickly scouted the area a second time.
Before long, Penhallow returned. “Voss was mistaken: Reese’s men did know about this exit,” Penhallow said, and Connor noted that even in the moonlight, the
talishte
’s pallor had faded. Connor had come to know that usually meant Penhallow had recently fed well. “I’ve eliminated the problem, but we’d best get moving before anyone finds the bodies.”
“What do you mean, we’re going to the castle?” Connor repeated in a whisper. He knew that he was quite loud enough for the
talishte
’s enhanced hearing. “What about Voss? Aren’t you going to get reinforcements or something?”
Penhallow chuckled. “No, or at least not yet. Voss told me he was quite prepared to sit out a siege. Blaine McFadden needs our help much more, and to provide that, we need more information. If there’s anyone who knows how to bring back the magic, it’s Vigus Quintrel. He’s left a trail, and he left clues in your memory to help us track him down,” Penhallow said, with a pointed look at Connor. “And I have a feeling we can pick up Quintrel’s trail at the castle.”
You mean Quintrel waylaid me, planted memories, and then made me forget
–
until I find the clues he’s left for me
, Connor thought ill-humoredly. For months, Connor had feared that the gaps in his memory meant he had somehow betrayed his master, only to learn later that Quintrel had tampered with his mind to assure that essential information would survive the Cataclysm.
Penhallow frowned. “What I don’t understand is how Quintrel’s magic continues to work on you, when other magic has vanished.”
“It works because it wasn’t magic – or at least, not all magic,” Lowrey said. Connor and Penhallow looked at him.
“Explain,” Penhallow said.
“It’s possible to put a person into a trance and give him instructions – even instructions to be carried out later – without magic,” Lowrey said. “Quintrel was fascinated with the topic. According to him, it’s even possible to link the memories to a sight or sound that suddenly brings them back.” He shook his head. “I don’t claim to understand it, but Quintrel did.”
He looked at Connor as if trying to peer into his thoughts. “That’s the beauty of the ‘buried treasure’ spell. It speeds up the process and makes the memories clearer and stronger. After that, the magic isn’t needed at all.” He frowned. “It wouldn’t matter now, since the suggestions he planted would still work – magic or not.”
“It’s not a perfect system,” Connor mused. “Most of the time, the memories are fragments, just a sentence or two. If he was going to muck around in my mind, the least he could have done was made himself clear.”
Lowrey chuckled. “It took a great deal of skill to leave you a trail of clues and the memories to unlock them,” he said. “Especially since he doled out the memories so they would be triggered by an object or a place.” He shook his head. “Maybe with all that going on, bits and pieces were all he could manage. And while they might be fragments, the clues he’s left you have been valuable.”
“Quintrel vanished months ago,” Connor protested. “There’s no telling where he is – or even whether he survived the Great Fire.”
“He survived,” Penhallow replied, tramping through the dry, tangled husks of the dead weeds that nearly obscured the area just beyond the cave opening. “In fact, I think Quintrel feared that something like the Great Fire might happen. Whether it was a premonition or just insight, I think he read the warning signals earlier than the rest of us and made plans accordingly. He wasn’t the only one to vanish.”
Lowrey tugged on the hem of his robe to free it from a bramble bush. “No, he wasn’t,” he affirmed. “There were disappearances for over a year before the Great Fire. It seemed random. All people with some tie to magic, but not all mages, and even those who were mages weren’t particularly powerful. Researchers, historians, healers, people with a gift for creating elixirs or raising herbs for potions, and some people who didn’t seem likely at all.” From Lowrey’s tone, Connor wondered if the scholar-mage felt slighted by not being among those chosen to vanish.
“Are you sure they all were spirited out by Quintrel?” Connor asked. “Maybe they had personal reasons for leaving. Or maybe they defected to Meroven when it started looking bad for our side.”
Lowrey shrugged. “Perhaps. But it was wildly out of character for some of them. The vanishings were whispered about, and there was no shortage of theories.”
“So why decide it was Quintrel?” Connor pressed.
Lowrey looked at him over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Because as far as I could tell, every one of them had some tie to Vigus Quintrel. It was the only thing they all had in common. When Quintrel himself disappeared, I was certain he was behind it.”
“Ever think maybe he just killed them?” Connor replied, out of sorts as they slogged through a half-frozen, marshy area.
Penhallow chuckled, but Lowrey seemed to consider the possibility. “Doubtful,” Lowrey said after a moment’s reflection and shook his head. “Until he disappeared, Quintrel kept his position at the university in Castle Reach. Those who disappeared vanished from all over the kingdom.”
“He could have hired assassins,” Connor persisted, jerking his boot free where it broke through the ice crust and threatened to sink into the muddy marsh.
Lowrey glanced at Penhallow. “Is he always this suspicious?”
“He’s spent most of his life at court, Treven,” Penhallow replied. “A suspicious nature is required for survival.” He paused. “Actually, I’ve considered all of the objections Connor raised. I’ve met Vigus on occasion. His magic was more than sufficient to land him an appointment to the king, but he managed to stay at the university instead. I read some of his research. It was excellent, but he wasn’t named a dean. I had the distinct impression that Vigus intentionally deflected attention away from himself. At the time, I thought he was overly modest. Now, I wonder if he hadn’t been planning something all along.”
To Connor’s relief, they saw no more sign of the soldiers who were besieging Voss’s fortress, though they could hear the thud of catapults like distant thunder. They walked quite a distance in silence, keeping to the hedgerows along the road, alert for danger. Penhallow led them across the fields, and Connor was glad for the moonlight that helped him get his footing. As best he could tell, they were heading south, toward Castle Reach and the ruins of Quillarth Castle, though it would take more than a night’s walk to get there.
Finally, Penhallow veered away from the road and headed down a long dirt lane rutted with carriage tracks. The road led to an old stone house. While not so grand or large as to be considered a manor, the house obviously belonged to someone of means. It was quite old, judging from both the height of the trees and mature plantings around it, and from the overgrowth of ivy that climbed its walls. Penhallow signaled for them to stop just as they reached the edge of the property.
“I thought we were going to Quillarth Castle,” Connor protested in a hushed voice.
“We are.”
“This isn’t it.”
Penhallow nodded. “No, it isn’t. Audun Tormond lives here. And if I’m right, he may know something that could help us.” He did not make any move to approach the house, and Connor looked around nervously.
“What now?” Connor whispered.
“We wait,” Penhallow replied. “I want him to scent us, to realize we mean no threat.”
Connor’s throat tightened. “A
talishte
?”
Penhallow nodded and Connor searched his expression, hoping to find some clue as to the nature of Penhallow’s relationship with this new vampire. He shot a nervous glance toward the old house. Despite Penhallow’s calm assurance, Connor felt unwelcome. The house seemed forbidding, and Connor had to fight his instincts to approach the door.
The moonlight was bright enough that Connor could see the door swing partially open, revealing darkness inside. “We’ve been received,” Penhallow murmured. “Let’s go.” He looked from Lowrey to Connor. “And let me do the talking.”
Lowrey exchanged a glance with Connor that gave Connor to believe they were in agreement for the first time in their short acquaintance. They followed Penhallow at a respectful distance. Connor felt his heart pound. He took a deep breath, hoping to still his blood so that it did not call out attractively to their unknown host, in case he might be feeling hungry.
They stepped inside, and before Connor’s eyes could adjust to the darkness, he heard the sound of rushing air and was lifted off his feet by a hand that clutched his throat hard enough that he feared it might snap his neck.
Within a heartbeat, a sword glinted in the moonlight, swinging with terrifying force, sinking deep into the arm that held Connor, and sending a shower of blood across Connor’s face and chest. Shouting curses, Connor’s attacker released him, and Connor sank to the floor, frozen by a mix of terror and sudden, overwhelming relief. Before he could take a second breath, Penhallow had interposed himself between Connor and the attacker. Lowrey sidestepped closer, so that he, too, was behind Penhallow.
“Why did you bring them here?” The voice was a deep growl. “I dislike the company of mortals.”
“Both these men are under my protection.” Penhallow’s voice was as cold as the steel he held. “You’re old enough in the Curse to feel that, Audun.”
“You were always far too fond of mortals, Lanyon. Would you really challenge me, in my own home, on their account?”
“Yes, I would. Do I have your word that you will not harm these men – or cause them to come to harm?”
The silence seemed to last forever. “You have my word.”
As Connor’s eyes adjusted, he could make out the silhouette of the speaker. The man was shorter by a head than Connor, and narrower in the shoulders. He took a step that moved him into the moonlight. His features had the look of a man in his fourth decade, but his dark brown eyes looked much, much older and his face was gaunt. Their reluctant host was dressed like a nobleman at leisure, judging by the fit and quality of his waistcoat and breeches. Yet something was off, and then Connor realized that both the cut and the material were long out of fashion.
A rustling noise sounded in the darkness, and then a lantern illuminated the entranceway. Their host closed the door to the outside, and Connor’s heart seemed to skip a beat as he heard the lock latch. “You might as well come into the parlor,” the
talishte
said grudgingly. “I don’t care to stand here all night.”
Penhallow gave a nod to Connor and Lowrey to follow, then led the way. As Connor dragged a sleeve across his face to wipe away the blood, he noted that Penhallow maneuvered to keep himself between the two mortals and their host. While Connor appreciated the protection, the fact that Penhallow felt obliged to shield them did nothing to quiet his fears.
“Why have you come, Lanyon?” Audun asked.
“I’m looking for Vigus Quintrel,” Penhallow replied.
Audun looked up sharply. “The mage? I assumed he burned in the Great Fire. What use do you have for a mage?” He glanced at both Connor and Lowrey, and his gaze lingered on Lowrey.
“Not just any mage,” Penhallow corrected. “One particular mage. I need to find Quintrel.”
“Magic doesn’t work anymore, Lanyon.” Audun’s voice was clipped and his tone bordered on condescending. “Whatever Quintrel was before the Great Fire, he’s nothing special now, if he’s even still alive.”
“I think Quintrel is alive,” Penhallow replied. “And I think he might hold the key to checking Pentreath Reese’s power.”
At that, Audun’s eyes sparked, and his face became animated for the first time, twisting in disgust. “Why do you even mention Reese’s name in my presence? You know how I feel about him.”
A tight smile touched the corners of Penhallow’s mouth. “Yes, Audun. I know. That’s why I thought you might help me. You, of all people, have an interest in seeing Reese brought to heel.”
Audun’s gaze flickered to Connor and Lowrey, who both sat silently, attempting to avoid notice. “Such things shouldn’t be discussed in front of mortals.”
“These two have already suffered much because of Reese.”
“These mortals have suffered? And I’m to be impressed by that? You know what Reese has cost me, not in just one lifetime, but over centuries. And now you bring me mortals and ask for my pity?” Audun’s features were taut with anger, and his long eyeteeth were prominent. As the
talishte
’s anger grew, Connor felt as if the air in the room became heavier, more oppressive, like power coalescing.
“I didn’t come to ask for pity,” Penhallow said sharply. “I came to ask for information. Reese intends to set himself up as a warlord now that there’s no magic to challenge him. Restore the magic, and the odds against Reese’s success improve dramatically.” He leaned forward. “No one hates Reese as much as you do. That should make it an easy decision. Help us, hurt Reese.”
Audun met Penhallow’s gaze for a moment without moving, then finally looked away. “What do you want?”
“Show him the map and the disk, Connor,” Penhallow said.