Asmarr blocked his path, shoving him again down the beach. Cam felt his anger rise.
“You’re dead. Your favorite son, Alvior, murdered you. And you still can’t let it go, can you? You can’t accept that I’m back, when you hated me and Carina just for being what we were. Well, I’m not leaving. You threw me out once. You’re not running me off again.”
Asmarr’s expression darkened, and the ghost seemed to grow in size, becoming more solid. A hail of rocks suddenly flew through the air at Cam, pelting him from the direction of the path. Cam spotted a second trail at the far end of the beach. It was on the other side of the dock, but it was the only way back to the manor without winding through the caves. As another shower of rocks flew toward him, Cam began to sprint to the second path.
Rocks struck him on the shoulders and back, and Cam realized that Asmarr’s fury had not abated. The rocks came from the inland side of the beach, and Cam found himself being driven toward the water.
“It’s not enough that Mother died, you want to kill me, too?” Cam shouted. He was sore where the rocks had struck him, and he could feel blood running down the side of his head.
Asmarr’s ghost launched itself at Cam, moving to block his escape. Cam drew his sword and brought the
blade down with a killing slice that would have cleaved a living man from shoulder to hip. The blade passed harmlessly through the ghost’s form. Cam swung at Asmarr, and it felt as if his fist hit something solid, though not quite human. Dropping his sword, Cam began to pummel the ghost, all the while realizing that Asmarr was, slowly but surely, forcing him down the pier. He wondered if Asmarr meant to push him into the water, and if that happened, whether the ghost could hold him under. He didn’t want to find out.
The Divisionists did their best to drown me. Goddess! I have no desire to die like that at Father’s hand.
Cam rained blow after blow down on the ghost, but Asmarr’s expression was determined. If the ghost felt the punches, it gave no sign, although Cam knew they would have felled a mortal. Broad-shouldered and ham-fisted, Cam had held his own in enough bar fights and battles to know how to throw a punch. In life, Asmarr could never have withstood Cam’s strikes. Now, Cam knew he was losing the fight.
Near the end of the pier, Asmarr’s eyes glinted with something akin to madness. Cam suddenly felt as if someone had thrown a boulder at him, as an invisible force pushed him to his knees. He was sweating hard, fighting the ghost’s power, as he fell to all fours on the dock. Something forced his head down, so that his gaze went into the water.
And then Cam knew. Asmarr wasn’t trying to kill him.
Asmarr was warning him.
Someone had dredged the inlet.
“I see! Get the hell off me!”
Immediately, the ghost released him. Cam gasped for breath as the force that had held him down disappeared. Cam staggered to his feet. “You never had any tact when you were alive,” he grumbled, straightening his shirt. “Why should I be surprised that you have none now that you’re dead?” For the first time, as he looked around the inlet, he saw something that had not been there before. He looked back at the ghost.
“What are those posts sunk into the rock?”
Asmarr’s ghost pointed out to sea.
Cam frowned. “They’re meant to moor boats—a lot of them. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Asmarr nodded.
Cam looked down the cliffs at the long line of posts, and then out to sea. “He wouldn’t need that many to tether small boats from supply ships.” The only reason was one that made Cam shudder. “Men. The boats wouldn’t be for cargo. They’d be carrying troops from larger ships beyond the inlet. Alvior intended Brunnfen to be a staging area for an invasion.”
Asmarr stood a few paces away. A pained expression had replaced the dogged determination of a few minutes before, and it was the closest thing Cam had ever seen to remorse on his father’s face.
“Alvior did this?”
The ghost nodded.
“He meant to bring a fleet here to challenge the king?”
Again, Asmarr’s ghost nodded.
Cam let out a creatively obscene curse and stood staring at the water, his hands on his hips.
“That probably means he’s coming back, doesn’t it?” Cam began to pace on the pier. “It’s late summer, so he’s got
a few months until the ice starts to build. It’s already been close to seven months since he disappeared. So the question is, will he strike before winter or wait until spring?”
Asmarr pointed to the trees, and brought his hands down through the air, fingers moving.
“He’s coming back when the leaves fall,” Cam said. “Damn! I wish Tris Drayke were here to interpret. I hate guessing games.” He bit his lip as he thought. “Maybe we can make it expensive for him.”
He looked up to see Asmarr watching him. “Will you let me pass now that I’ve seen what you wanted to show me?”
Asmarr nodded. Cam shouldered past the ghost, and then stopped. He turned back. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I don’t imagine you’re pleased that I came back. I suppose you showed me this because, despite throwing Carina and me out of the manor, you were always loyal to Donelan. But whether you like it or not, I won’t be run out of Brunnfen again. I’ll stay or leave on my terms this time.” He grinned. “And I just might be able to get Tris to visit and send you to the Lady if you don’t agree to cooperate. Understand?”
Asmarr did not move, but his eyes gave Cam to believe that the ghost did hear him. “Good. Now you can go back to haunting the bay if you’d like. I’ve got work to do.”
Cam sprinted back up the trail toward Brunnfen. His head was spinning, both from the encounter with his father’s ghost and from the new evidence of Alvior’s further treachery. Brunnfen loomed high above him, dark and forbidding on its perch above the Northern Sea.
Asmarr’s ghost wasn’t the first to haunt Brunnfen, and it wasn’t likely to be the last. Cam slowed as he crossed
the threshold. Portraits of long-dead—but not really departed—ancestors seemed to glare down at him, sharing his father’s disapproval. It had taken him years to understand that not everyone’s family history was quite as tragic or blood-soaked as the tales of the lords of Brunnfen.
Grandfather Gierolf, who had gone mad and murdered a dozen servants and his own wife believing himself beset by
dimonns.
Great-grandmother Nessa, who had immolated herself and her children in a rage over her husband’s infidelity. Asmarr’s brother, Raynor, who murdered his eldest son in a blind rage over spoiled wine. A great-uncle who had locked an unfaithful wife away in an oubliette beneath the lowest wine cellar. Insanity and violence were the heritage of Brunnfen’s heirs. Cam had never felt the weight of his heritage so oppressively as he did now.
“M’lord, breakfast is ready.” Haulden, the steward, was one of the servants Renn had cajoled into returning to the manor.
“Where’s Renn?”
“He ate quickly and said he needed to see to accounts in town. Said to tell you he’d probably spend the night at the inn and be back late tomorrow.” Haulden took in Cam’s disheveled appearance. “Is there something wrong?”
“How many able-bodied men do we have on the manor grounds? Men who could do hard work.”
Haulden thought for a moment. “Not so many as when your father ran the holding. Counting the men who are in the fields, about three dozen. A few more, if you take the older boys from the stable.”
“Unless you want Alvior back in charge, get me every man with a strong back you can find. Tell them to bring chains and axes.”
Haulden’s eyes widened. “You intend to fight?”
“I intend to change the rules of Alvior’s game. When he comes back with his ships, we’ll have a surprise waiting for him.”
“What in the name of the Eight Faces do you think you’re doing?” Renn’s voice carried across the water. Cam and three other men were shirtless in the late-summer heat, putting their combined strength into shoving a huge tree stump from a raft into the harbor.
“Stopping Alvior from coming back,” Cam grunted.
Renn ran out on the pier until he was across from where the raft floated. “Who told you he was coming back?”
“Father—or at least, his ghost.”
Renn looked from Cam to the flurry of activity. Along the forest’s edge, men felled trees and loaded them into wagons. Near the water’s edge, teams of men bound the trunks together into spiked balls, with as many limbs as possible protruding to snag unwary navigators. Horses and a brace of oxen dragged the snares to the water. From the end of the pier, two men fed a heavy chain down to others who dove into the inlet’s chilly waters. Along the beach, the stablehands were busy fashioning barricades from smaller trees and thorned bushes. There were even men on the roof of Brunnfen, hauling logs by pulleys up to a flat area. Barely visible at the edge of the beach stood Asmarr’s ghost, watching.
“What are you building on the roof of the manor house?” Renn shouted to Cam.
“A watchtower. We’ll keep it manned at all times, change it out in shifts. If boats approach, whoever’s up there will show a lantern and ring a bell. We’ll send
a rider out to Captain Lange. He’s based at the outpost about a candlemark’s ride from here. They’ll be the first reinforcements.”
“And you know Lange will come—why?”
“Because Cam asked me.” The voice came from behind Renn, who turned sharply to see a broad-shouldered man with a fighter’s build coming up behind him.
Cam’s raft drew up alongside the pier and Cam hopped off. “Renn, meet Captain Lange. Lange, this is my brother, Renn.”
Lange extended his hand to Renn, who shook it dubiously. “Dammit, Cam. I leave for a day and you tear the place apart,” Renn said.
“I sent a rider down to warn Lange yesterday morning, as soon as I realized what Alvior had done,” Cam said, using a rag to mop the sweat that matted his hair against his head. “We’ve been on a campaign or two together in the past.”
“Or three or four,” Lange added dryly. “It’s not every day the King’s Champion sends a rider to see if you can free up a few men to keep a foreign navy from landing in your own backyard.”
Cam grinned. “So Lange came, and he brought a couple dozen of his men with him. Together with the servants, we’ve done a decent job of snaring the harbor and making the beach unfriendly. Which means that if Alvior and his friends do come back, they’ll be hung up on the snares or stuck at the mouth to the bay, where we can hammer away at him with the trebuchets Captain Lange is so helpfully going to provide.”
“Damn,” Renn said again. He paused and looked back at Cam. “Wait a second…
Father
told you about Alvior?”
Both Renn and Lange listened intently as Cam recounted his struggle with the ghost. When he was done, Renn shook his head.
“I’d meant to warn you not to come down to the beach alone. I’d seen Father’s ghost once, but I got my ass out of here before he had the chance to get closer, and I’ve been wearing an amulet ever since then to keep ghosts away.” Renn pulled a silver pendant from beneath his shirt. “Knowing Father, I figured that he wouldn’t let being dead get in the way of a good beating. I’m sorry. If I’d been braver, I might have had the warning sooner.”
Cam snorted. “I’d have run for it myself if he hadn’t been throwing so many damn rocks at my head. Don’t blame yourself. Father was his usual, charming self. He’s angry that Alvior betrayed him, and maybe that Alvior betrayed the king. That doesn’t mean Father’s sorry about what he did to either of us.” He gave an unpleasant smile. “But if Alvior does come back, I hope he gets close enough for Father to throw a couple of big rocks at his head, just for good measure.” He paused. “What do you know about the posts sunk into the rock?”
Renn shrugged. “Don’t know for sure, but I’ll tell you my suspicions. They weren’t here when Father was alive. They suddenly appeared about the time Alvior started to get his ‘visitors.’ At first, there were just a few, and I figured they were for those ships. All the others were put in while I was locked in the dungeon. I’ve asked among the servants, but the men who sank the posts for Alvior either fled or disappeared.”
“Father seemed to agree with me, that they had to be for invading ships.”
Renn nodded. “That’s my guess.”
“Lange’s offered to post some men here at Brunnfen to protect you,” Cam added.
“From Father?”
Cam shook his head. “Now that we have more of an idea of what Alvior is planning, I’ve got to get back to Aberponte and warn Donelan. I can get there as fast as any messenger. It’s bad enough that Alvior has a dark mage—maybe even a dark summoner—on his side. Whoever’s backing him has some kind of navy or Alvior wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble to prepare the bay. The next move is going to be big, and unfortunately, Brunnfen’s going to be right on the front line.”
Cam paused and met Renn’s eyes. “It’s your choice. I’m not going to billet troops in your home without your consent. But I’d really like you to consider it.”
Renn looked from Lange to Cam. “Alvior’s the one who threw me in the dungeon and starved me, remember? Billet all the troops you want—only mind that they bring their own food, because we don’t have that much to spare.” He grinned. “Think you can get that alehouse of yours started before you leave? Soldiers like their ale, after all.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that.” He sobered. “Thank you, Renn. For everything. I’m sorry that I have to leave.”