Reign of Ash (44 page)

“Mind where you’re shooting!” Niklas shouted to the archers. “Those are our men going up after the bombs!”

By now, a length of abatis along the right side of the camp was on fire. Inside the rows of brushy obstacles, wooden fence sections with pointed pikes would slow down the invasion, but if the force against them was sufficient, Niklas knew Pollard could afford to sacrifice troops to clear a path. If the fences were breeched, the trench and embankment hiding the archers was the camp’s last defense.

Niklas lost all track of time as the night slipped past. He helped Ordel and the other healers triage the burn victims and gave his blessing for the healers to administer a toxic sleeping potion to those too severely injured to recover. Thanks to Gennedy and the other
talishte
, fewer of the firebombs struck the ground, but when they did, the damage was considerable.

“If we can make it to dawn, the sun will ground Pollard’s
talishte
as well as ours,” Niklas said as he carried an injured man to the triage area. “I prefer a fair fight with an enemy we can see.”

Ordel wiped his brow with his sleeve. “That depends,” he said, “on how many of the enemy there are to see.”

“Perhaps it’s time to get an idea of what we’re facing,” Niklas replied.

In the center of the camp, Niklas’s men had built a wooden spy tower that rose two stories into the air. It was little more than an enclosed staircase with archer slits, but it afforded a better view than could be had from ground level.
Not to mention the fact that it also makes a nice target
, Niklas thought as he began to make his way up the narrow steps. Twice already the tower had been struck by oil bombs, but the quick reactions of nearby soldiers doused the flames with buckets of water.

At the top, he pulled his spyglass from his belt and waited for the clouds to clear. Moonlight shone across the plain, clearly illuminating the protected land that stretched from Arengarte to Glenreith. Niklas could make out a sea of shadows, some moving as if on horseback, most on foot. They appeared to outnumber his own regiment.

He swore under his breath, mentally combing through all the tactics he had witnessed on the battlefield for a way to repel the enemy. Nothing came to mind. Even from a distance, Niklas could see the smaller force at Glenreith on the archers’ walk, catapults rolled into position on the manor’s highest roofs.
Blaine’s depending on us to keep Pollard at bay
, Niklas thought.
It’s all for naught if we can’t drive them back.

The next moments happened in a blur. Niklas heard a warning shout from outside the tower as he saw two dark shapes streaking toward where he stood. He heard a crash as pottery smashed against the wooden tower. Burning oil covered the top section, catching quickly in the rough-hewn wood and filling the observation post with smoke. Niklas covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and hurtled down the steps, slamming against the sides of the narrow stairs in his haste to outrun the smoke. He heard the smash of a second bomb hitting near the bottom and more smoke rushed in, making it difficult to see or breathe. Niklas tumbled down the last length of stairs and ran for the door.

A sea of burning oil greeted him where the bomb had soaked the ground at the exit. Niklas could hear the flames eating at the top portion of the tower, and he knew it would not be long before the tower’s roof fell in. Hot cinders were already falling in a fiery rain around him, burning his neck and shoulders.

Is this what it was like the night the Great Fire fell?
he wondered.
I have a choice: Stay and burn, or see if I can outrun the flames.

Just as he resolved to take his chances crossing the burning patch of oil, he spotted Ayers, who was holding a bucket of water.

“Captain! I’ll make a path!” Ayers hurled the water across the burning oil, dousing a thin path to safety.

Niklas did not hesitate. He lurched from the tower door even as he could hear portions of the roof beginning to fall behind him. Flames licked at his trousers as he ran, and he hoped that his high leather boots and thick cloak would protect him. As he reached the safety of the other side, he heard the shouts of a bucket brigade rallying to contain the damage to the burning tower.

Niklas looked up at the flaming structure. It would be impossible to save the tower, but with luck, the soldiers could keep the fire from spreading.

“You all right, Captain?” Ayers asked with a worried expression. “You’re covered with soot, dark as a coal miner, you are!”

Niklas managed a relieved grin and dragged a sleeve across his face, noting that it came away black with grime. “Thanks for the path. I didn’t fancy lighting up like a torch!”

Before long, the soldiers had the tower fire under control. Ayers and Niklas paused to drink a few dippers of water and wipe the soot and sweat from their faces. “We can’t hold them off forever, sir. You know that.”

Niklas nodded. “I know. But from what I saw in the tower, we can’t take them head-on, either.”

A runner came bounding up to where Niklas stood. Peters was one of the soldiers who had been under Niklas’s direct command in the war, unlike the many stragglers who had joined up with them on the long march home. Despite the cold, the young man’s dark hair was slicked back with sweat. His face was grimy, and the edges of his torn coat were singed.

“Something’s going on out there, sir,” Peters reported. “Can’t rightly say what, but something’s pulling the attack off our flank.”

“Show me!” Niklas said and took off after the lieutenant.

Niklas scrambled to the makeshift observation post his men had constructed on the stone roof of a small storage building. “Look there, sir,” Peters said, gesturing toward the shadows beyond the abatis wall.

Niklas peered into the darkness. Clouds streamed across the moon, so that the light waxed and waned. Between the distance and the darkness, it was difficult to see. Yet as Niklas adjusted his spyglass, it seemed as though the shadows were roiling. He could hear the shouts of men carried on the night wind, along with the clang of steel and the frightened cries of horses.

“Someone – or something – is attacking them,” Peters said.

Niklas gave a cold smile. “Then let’s take the offensive to them, shall we?”

Invigorated by the new advantage, Niklas was already shouting orders as he climbed down from the roof. “Catapults! Change your aim. Gennedy and the
talishte
– let’s send those oil bombs back where they came from. Pound their rear flank, and let’s drive them into the pikes and the trench where we can give them a proper battering!”

This was the part of soldiering that Niklas truly loved, the moment when a battle changed in a heartbeat and the odds shifted from impossible to probable.

“Who’s out there, Captain? Are they for us or against us?” Peters asked, dogging Niklas.

“No idea, Lieutenant,” Niklas replied as he moved down the lines, repeating his orders. He saw the dark shapes of
talishte
take flight and watched as they repositioned themselves and the catapult gunners dragged their war machines for a new vantage point. “All I care about is that they’re fighting our enemy.”

Peters moved to help one of the catapult crews with their heavy burden. “And if they come after us once they’re done with Pollard? What then?”

Niklas’s expression was grim. “Then we’ll take them with us to Raka, soldier. By all that’s holy to whatever gods exist, we’re going to hold this ground.”

All through the night, the catapults thumped and arrows sang through the air. Niklas continued working his way up and down through the ranks of the defenders, adjusting their aim, exhorting them to stay on their feet despite the long hours of assault. In the distance, Niklas could see flames light up the night where his
talishte
dropped the oil bombs. But as the night sky began to fade with the coming dawn, it became clear that his soldiers had not only held their position, but the new attackers had succeeded in severely damaging Pollard’s strike force.

“They’re retreating, sir!” Ayers shouted with jubilation, and a cheer echoed down the line.

“What of the strangers, the newcomers?” Niklas asked. He scrambled to the top of one of the catapult rigs for a better view.

“There’s a man coming this direction under a white flag,” Ayers reported.

Niklas glanced over his shoulder at the sky. “We’ve still got a bit before dawn breaks. Send Gennedy and another
talishte
to guide the soldier in. Let’s find out if they’re friends or whether we’ve got another fight coming.”

Before long, two
talishte
returned with a third man. Niklas’s eyes narrowed as he attempted to identify the man. From the way the
talishte
soldiers landed, it appeared that the emissary was also
talishte
because he touched down on his own accord, as if he had not been supported by his two escorts. The man was not remarkably tall but he was stocky, and he wore a cloak and uniform of military cut.
Whoever he is, he walks as if he owns the camp. I wonder if we’ve gotten rid of one threat just to greet another?

“Captain Theilsson,” the newcomer said before Niklas had a chance to speak. “I am Nidhud. I bring you congratulations from Lanyon Penhallow and offer you the support of my troops, the Knights of Esthrane.”

“B
loody hell,” Piran murmured under his breath. “They’re ghosts, I tell you. Nobody’s seen the Knights of Esthrane for generations.”

“They’re not ghosts,” Kestel said, motioning for Piran to pipe down. “We’ve been through this before, at the lyceum. They’ve just been in hiding for a while.”

“And now things are so bad that they’ve come out of hiding?” Piran said, casting a skeptical glance at the man who waited for them in the cellar at Glenreith. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“They’re here with Penhallow and Connor,” Blaine replied. “That means, at least in this matter, they’re on our side.”

“Uh-huh,” Piran said, unwilling to give in, but he fell silent as they grew closer.

Penhallow and Connor stood with Niklas and a man Blaine did not recognize. All four men looked as if they had come from battle. Niklas was singed and sooty. Connor’s cloak had been cut in places, and his shirt was spattered with blood. He looked rougher than Blaine remembered, unshaven, with the haggard look of a man who has seen the worst of battle and returned with nightmares. Penhallow looked as coolly unruffled as ever, but his clothing was muddy and torn, and the ruddiness of his complexion told Blaine that the
talishte
had recently fed well.

Blaine looked Nidhud over. He was solidly built, with strong shoulders and a thick neck, his dark hair cut short for battle. Blaine had seen the style of uniform that Nidhud wore in the mosaics and murals at the lyceum, but it was still a shock to see one of the legendary Knights in the flesh.

Nidhud met Blaine’s gaze, and it was clear the Knight was taking Blaine’s measure as well. “Lord McFadden,” Nidhud said with a curt nod.

Maybe someday I’ll get used to answering to that
, Blaine thought.

“Sir Knight,” Blaine replied, meeting the
talishte
’s gaze. “Welcome to Glenreith.”

“Penhallow tells me you’re the last living Lord of the Blood,” Nidhud said, his voice matter-of-fact.

“Yes.”

Nidhud seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “You seem to have made some powerful enemies.”

Blaine managed a cold chuckle. “That’s the story of my life,” he replied. “We’re grateful for your support in the battle. But tell me: How does my being the last Lord of the Blood concern the Knights of Esthrane?”

“I believe the real question is: What are you willing to risk to find Vigus Quintrel?” Nidhud asked.

The cellar room had been outfitted for
talishte
occupation shortly after Blaine’s arrival, when they had expected Penhallow to show up any day. A worn table with several battered chairs sat to one end of the room, while a few cots and more comfortable chairs were arranged toward the other end.

“Sounds like we have a lot to talk about,” Blaine said. “Please, have a seat.” He paused. “Have you eaten?”

Penhallow smiled. “Nidhud and I have fed well, thank you. But I would imagine Connor is quite hungry after the battle.”

Blaine could see the blood on Connor’s shirt and surmised that not all of it came from Connor’s foes, but he just nodded. He turned and spoke a word to one of the guards who had accompanied them down to the cellar, and the man went to retrieve food for Connor.

They sat down around the table, and Blaine listened in silence as Niklas described the battle from his perspective. “Just when we really thought we’d been outmanned, it was like someone had dropped a pack of wildcats into the middle of the enemy army,” Niklas said with a grin. “We didn’t know at first whether we’d found new friends or a different enemy, but either way, it spelled trouble for Pollard.”

“I wish we could claim exceptional foresight,” Penhallow said, taking up the story, “but as with most military victories, chance played a role. The truth is, Connor and Nidhud and I were on our way to Glenreith when we happened upon the battle. When it became clear that Vedran Pollard was involved, we made it our business.”

“Glad for the help,” Niklas said. He leaned back in his chair, and Blaine could see how weary his friend looked.

“We’ve had our own adventures aplenty since I left you, if you want to call nearly getting killed every other day an adventure,” Connor said. “But I’ve brought back the map and disk I had in Edgeland, and all but a few of the other thirteen.”

Connor withdrew a small locked box and set it on the table. When he opened the lock, Blaine could see a pile of the smooth obsidian disks inside. “We’ve also got a former mage-scholar with us, Treven Lowrey. He stayed behind with some guards when we realized there would be fighting. He’ll join us here tomorrow.” Connor looked at Blaine. “You’ll want to hear him out, Mick. Between Nidhud and Treven, I think we’ve got a fix on how to find Vigus Quintrel.”

“A matter in which Connor also plays a role,” Penhallow added. Connor looked away, and Blaine wondered at his sudden look of discomfort. “It appears that Quintrel left some clues hidden in Bevin’s memory without asking permission to do so, a liberty that has put Bevin in quite a bit of danger.”

“Thanks to Quintrel, I can read his godsdamned coded writing and find the trail of bread crumbs he left to lead us to him – and the way to restore the magic,” Connor said with an edge in his voice.

“There’s more,” Penhallow said quietly. “Connor is a medium.”

Kestel frowned. “So you can hear spirits?”

Connor grimaced. “More than hear them. I see them more easily than other people, and they can communicate with me. If they’re strong enough, they can take over my body.”

Kestel met his gaze. “Do you get anything to say about that?”

“Not always.” It was impossible to miss the touch of bitterness in his voice.

Penhallow cleared his throat. “We’ve also gained a new ally: Kierken Vandholt, the Wraith Lord. He has provided invaluable help.”

“And nearly killed me twice,” Connor muttered.

Zaryae had been quiet. She was dressed in muted colors, not at all like the flamboyant appearance she affected in her performances. She looked at Connor with understanding and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “A medium’s gift carries a heavy price,” she said, reaching out to touch his hand. “Mediums don’t control the possession, and they have few protections if a spirit decides to move in and stay. Hosting the spirit takes a toll on the body and mind.” She gave a reproving glance toward Penhallow. “There’s a reason most mediums die young.” Zaryae paused. “I may be able to help you learn to control your gift, show you ways to protect yourself.”

“Thank you.” Connor looked down. “I’d give my life to bring back the magic,” he said quietly. “I swore that I would do my part, and I will. I just prefer to be myself when I’m doing it, if you know what I mean.” He paused. “Even if the Wraith Lord does fight a damn sight better than I do.”

Penhallow nodded. “Understood.”

Connor and Penhallow made a succinct report of all that they had seen and learned. When they finished, the others took a few moments to digest the new information.

“If it’s true that we have a better chance if we work the ritual on the solstice, we don’t have much time,” Blaine said. “That’s a little more than a week away. I’ve got maps that we think may show us where to go, but Valshoa is quite a distance from here. It will take most of that time just to get there – assuming we can find it when we arrive, and that we can figure out how to work the ritual once we’re there.”

“Lowrey seems to believe the solstice would be auspicious,” Penhallow replied. “I defer to him on matters of magic.”

“Some of the surviving Knights retreated to Valshoa when we were exiled,” Nidhud said. He met Blaine’s gaze. “It’s quite possible they extended sanctuary to Vigus Quintrel and his refugee mages. If so, Quintrel left clues so Penhallow could find him. And a cipher,” he added with a look at Connor.

“If the Knights retreated to Valshoa, does that mean you can lead us there?” Kestel asked Nihud, leaning forward expectantly.

“Unfortunately, no,” Nidhud said. “When the Knights fled the king’s persecution, we split into groups to avoid our persecutors.” He paused. “My group fled to the lyceum, and when we feared discovery, we went farther into the hills to the west until the Wraith Lord called to us. But I believe that, with the maps and the other clues you have found, I may know enough that I can greatly increase your odds of success.”

Nidhud’s eyes gleamed with battle fire. “And I can think of another way in which we may be of help. My troops are quite prepared to battle Pollard’s men. I propose that we draw them off, present a distraction, to buy Blaine and his party a chance to get a head start toward the mountains.”

Niklas grinned. “While my men accompany him – leaving a force behind to guard Glenreith, of course,” he said with a quick glance toward Judith.

“An excellent suggestion,” Penhallow said as he stood. “Now, since it is quite late even by mortal standards, I suggest that we adjourn until Treven joins us.”

Blaine turned to Connor. In the weeks since they had parted company in the battle at Penhallow’s crypt, Connor seemed to have aged several years. When he had arrived as a shipwreck survivor in Edgeland a few months ago, Connor struck Blaine as young and untested. Blaine had admired Connor’s grit for enduring the perilous sea journey and for throwing himself into the dangerous business of the maps, but he had wondered whether it was the first time Connor had ever faced grief and hardship.

Now there was a world-weariness in Connor’s expression that had not been present before. He had seen it in Velant’s youngest, least dangerous convicts as they lost the last of their innocence. Blaine was sure Niklas had seen such a change as well in young soldiers returning from their first real battle. Whatever had befallen Connor since their parting, it had changed him, hardened something deep inside. And right now, Connor looked tired enough to fall asleep where he sat.

“Why not leave the cellar to the
talishte
?” Blaine asked Connor. “We’ve got empty rooms upstairs. You look like you could use a good day’s sleep.”

Connor had finished the cheese, bread, and dried meat that Edward had brought, but he still looked as if he had skipped a few regular meals on the road to Glenreith. He gave Blaine a grateful, tired smile. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

Penhallow nodded approvingly. “Go. Spend some time in the sun,” he said with a smile that might have held a touch of envy. “You’ve seen quite a bit of cellars and tunnels lately.”

“That doesn’t cover it by half,” Connor muttered, but his voice held no rancor. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

“I know,” Penhallow said. “Now get some rest. I dare say such opportunities are likely to be limited.”

Connor followed Blaine, Kestel, and Piran up the stairs to the main part of the manor. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have arrived here in one piece,” he said.

Kestel threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Piran clapped him on the shoulder. “We weren’t so sure you’d be coming,” Piran said.

“I imagine you’ve got quite a story to tell,” Blaine added. “We’ve been busy, too. But all that can wait until tomorrow, when your mage shows up.”

Connor stifled a yawn, stretched, and looked around as the group emerged from below stairs into the main part of the manor and walked toward the large front hall. “So Engraham was right – you really are a lord,” Connor said, taking in the entranceway.

“Fortunately the manor is in better shape than the Rooster and Pig,” Blaine said. “Welcome to Glenreith, the place I spent twenty years trying to run away from and then crossed an ocean to come home to.”

“I’ve seen enough of what’s left of Castle Reach to know that you’re lucky Glenreith is still standing,” Connor said as they headed up the steps.

Blaine stopped in front of one of the empty bedrooms and opened the door. He was not surprised that Edward had anticipated his invitation, and they found the room freshly made up, the bed turned down, and a clean towel and nightshirt laid out next to a pitcher of water and basin.

“Once again, I’m in your debt for a roof over my head,” Connor said, yawning broadly.

“Think of it as the new homestead,” Kestel said. “Now go,” she commanded, “before these two keep you up talking any longer. There will be time enough when you’re rested. We’ll make sure to save plenty of food for you, so get some sleep.”

Connor gave a tired bow. “As you wish, m’lady Kestel,” he said, and for the first time, the smile that touched his lips reached his eyes. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to tell tales.”

Just after sunset, the dining room at Glenreith hosted the first large gathering it had seen in all the years since Blaine’s exile. The heavy draperies were drawn to cover the windows, though it was full dark outside. Judith and Edward had conspired with the manor’s remaining staff to muster a meal of venison, roasted parsnips, and baked apples washed down with plenty of wine. For the
talishte
, flagons of deer blood were sufficient to slake thirst. Although Blaine had apologized profusely to his aunt for the added strain on the household’s slim resources, Judith had brushed off his protests with the wave of her hand, and Blaine thought she actually seemed to be enjoying hosting the closest thing Glenreith had seen to a party in many a year.