Cold Magics (19 page)

“No, you won’t.”

Alphonse ignored Thomas and looked over George. “You know,” he said, his voice still conversational, “I have made men larger than you break and cry like infants.”

George leaned on the table, the wood creaking under his weight as he stood up, his face inches from the inquisitor’s. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “Try.”

The inquisitor smiled. “Well, I must retire,” he said. “We will speak more in Frostmire.” He stepped away from the table and George. “By the way, did Thomas tell you how he comported himself while he was under question? Most unfortunate, really. Hard to retain one’s dignity when one is unable to control one’s bowels.”

Thomas was on his feet, one hand reaching for his sword, when Henry’s voice cut through the room.

“It is time to retire,” said Henry. “Father, take your men to their billets. Knights, friends, with me. Now.”

It took a great deal of Thomas’s will to step back from the table. Father Alphonse just smiled again, turned away and walked back to his companions. The church guards were all looking at Thomas, and several of them were laughing. Thomas, shaking with anger, took a deep breath and forced himself to stare back at them until Father Roberts ordered them from the room.

He realized George and Eileen were watching him, too. He didn’t say anything to them, just walked across the room to Henry.

Henry waited for Thomas to come close. “Remember that killing him will not help anything.”

“Define ‘help’.”

“Not annoying the church to the point where it sends five hundred men after you instead of twenty,” said Henry. “Now go to bed. We have a long ride in the morning.”

12

For the next three days they rode toward the city of Frostmire. Villages dotted the roadside more frequently, but at each one they found only burned-out shells of buildings and the leaning, charred remains of the stockades that surrounded them. For two nights they slept in the open on the cold ground with rotating shifts of four men on watch.

Henry and his knights grew more grim by the mile. The villages, Henry informed Thomas, had been intact when he had come through a month earlier. Baron Bellew’s men did not look surprised at the destruction. When Henry questioned them, they told of seeing the lights of the raiders’ fires. The church troops simply looked scared, and Father Roberts made signs of blessing over the villages as they passed.

As afternoon was fading on the third day, Martin called out, “There! Home!”

The knights increased their pace. Straining his eyes, Thomas could just make out the walls of the city. Soon it was easier to see, though it took another day’s ride for them to reach it. When they arrived, Thomas found himself feeling slightly disappointed. He had expected something grander, he realized. Instead, the city of Frostmire squatted on the edge of a lake like a giant stone spider, frozen in wait for its prey.

“Thank the Four,” said Martin.

“Aye,” agreed Patrick. “At least this is still standing and unscarred.”

“That’s
unscarred
?” said George.

“Well, no new scars.”

Thomas looked over the walls. “They look like they’ve seen better days.”

“They aren’t pretty,” agreed Patrick. “But they still hold, and that’s what’s important.”

“We’ve had the tribes at our doors a few times. And others,” said Rowland. He pointed to one blackened stretch of wall. “That’s where they nearly managed to scale up fifteen years ago. They used each other’s bodies as ladders. We poured boiling oil down on them and lit it.” He shifted his finger to another section of wall built from an entirely different colour of stone. “That’s where our neighbours to the west managed to break it down using sappers about a hundred years ago.”

“Neighbours to the west?”

“Kingdom of Meithe, Duchy of Aithar—currently ruled by Duke Reaver, if you can believe it. They claim the name goes back to a time of great warriors. Me, I think it comes from when they were all horse thieves.”

Sir Patrick laughed. “They nearly took the city, but Lord Henry’s great-grandfather managed to rally the troops and push them back.” He smiled. “The next year, he went after them, and that’s how we extended to the mountains in the west.”

Thomas thought about it. “Any chance they’re the attackers?”

“None,” said Patrick.

“Ah,” said Thomas. At Patrick’s silence, added, “Why not?”

“Three reasons,” said Sir Rowland. “First, we’ve had a peace treaty with them for close to a hundred years and no one’s sought to break it yet. Second, Lord John is betrothed to Lise, the duke’s daughter, so there’s no benefit to waging war.”

“And third?”

“The Order of the Bear,” said Patrick. “Led by Henry’s eldest brother, Richard. The ironworks are in the mountains, and the Order of the Bear guards them, plus three fair-sized towns with a good number of strong men at arms and strong reserves. Getting past them is difficult.”

“But not impossible?” asked Thomas.

“It’s been done,” said Patrick. “About two hundred years ago. But never without us knowing about it.”

Another easy answer gone
, thought Thomas.
Oh, well.

Henry led them to the gates and shouted out. There was a stunned silence at first, and then a half-dozen questions before the guard disappeared from view. After a short, cold wait, the gates opened just wide enough to let in one rider at a time, though they could have easily let in six riders abreast. On the other side of the gate a party of guards waited with spears and swords at the ready. Their attitude shifted from hostile to joyous when they saw Henry, but the gate opened no further.

The city itself was built out of a local brown stone that did little to add charm to the streets, and left the entire place feeling cold and somehow dirty. Some of the buildings featured other sorts of rock, and a few had been painted, but neither addition was much of an improvement. The roofs were thatch or shingle, the windows shuttered against the cold. The cobblestone streets were covered with dirty snow and filled with people.

At first Thomas thought that the city was bustling, like Hawksmouth on a market day. But the people were just standing in the streets, doing nothing and going nowhere. Looking off the main thoroughfare, Thomas saw makeshift shelters lining the streets, and women and children staring out from underneath piles of blankets or out the doors of tents. Small fires—many of them burning dung, from the smell—were surrounded by groups of men and women, huddling close for warmth. The knights looked at the crowds with dismay. Henry rode through it all with his back stiff and his eyes straight ahead.

The castle was as brown as the rest of the buildings, but considerably higher. While the rest of the town seemed content at one or two stories, as if the buildings were hugging themselves to the earth for warmth, the outer walls of the castle rose to twenty-five feet, and the buildings within rose higher yet.

“This is the original wall of Frostmire,” said Patrick, as they passed under the archway. “The outer wall was built a hundred years later as the town grew.”

“Grew?” said George. “Why was there was a town here in the first place.”

“The lake,” said Lawrence. “The river that feeds it runs straight from the mountains where the mines are, and the river that flows from it runs southeast to the coast. It’s the fastest way to bring metals to the markets, and  an obvious place for trappers to stop. First it was a trading post, then a castle, then the city.”

Henry raised a hand, bringing the column to a halt in the inner courtyard of the castle. Stable boys rushed out and a pair of guards at the door saluted. Henry exchanged words with the stable boys—and everything became chaotic for a time. The knights and guards dismounted and the stable boys took their horses and their extra gear. The church guards, Thomas noticed, were roundly ignored. The father and inquisitor dismounted, though the remainder of their troop stayed on horseback, looking uncertain as to what to do next.

A pair of men who could only be Henry’s brothers, if appearances were anything to go on, stepped through the door of the inner keep and into the courtyard. The taller of the two waved. The other only surveyed the group, taking special notice first of Thomas and his friends, then of Father Roberts and the inquisitor.

“Henry!” called the first man, stepping down the stairs to embrace his younger brother. “How are you? How was the trip? Success?”

“Some,” said Henry. “I’ll tell all to father, so why don’t you two come and save me repeating it?”

“We will,” said his brother. He looked at the group. “Who are your friends?”

“George, Eileen and Thomas,” said Henry, pointing at each in turn. Thomas risked a glance behind and saw the confusion, then anger on Father Alphonse’s face. Thomas smiled at him, then turned back.

Henry’s oldest brother looked Thomas up and down. “So, this is him, then.”

“It is,” said Henry. “Thomas, my brother, Richard.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Thomas giving a short bow, “Lord Richard.”

“And I am curious to meet you,” said the other brother, stepping forward.

“Lord John,” said Henry.

“Pleased to meet you, Lord John,” said Thomas, bowing again and wondering how much they knew.

“Father said that you were something of an expert on magic,” said John, which didn’t give Thomas an answer. “Did Bishop Malloy really use it against you?”

“He did,” said Thomas, glancing again over his shoulder to Father Roberts and the inquisitor, both of whom were looking less than happy.

John nodded. “Interesting.” He looked over at the two priests, both auspiciously left off the list of Henry’s friends. “And these are?”

“Father Roberts,” the man said. “Special Envoy to the Archbishop. This is Father Alphonse, Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor?” Richard’s eyebrows went up. “What need does the church have to send an inquisitor here?”

“There was word that men are using witchcraft in the North,” said Alphonse. “I have been sent to identify and remove those persons.”

“Those persons are the enemy,” said John, “and if you can remove them, you’ll get a hero’s welcome from us all.”

The inquisitor looked at Thomas and smiled. “We shall do our best, Lord John.”

Thomas found himself biting the inside of his cheek, but managed to say nothing.

“I am most anxious to speak to your father, Lord Richard, Lord John,” said Father Roberts, bowing slightly to each man in turn. “These are matters of some great urgency.”

“Unfortunately, you will have to wait. There are other, more urgent matters to discuss,” said Henry. “Starting with why we didn’t defend the villages against our attackers.”

“Father seemed to think it best,” said Richard.

“He’s right,” said John. “We should waste men patrolling when there is nothing to protect?”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing left to protect because we didn’t send the men out when they were needed.” He turned back to Thomas and his friends. “You no doubt wish to get warm. Come inside.”

Richard turned to Father Roberts, but Henry stepped forward before his brother could speak. “I suggest you take yourself to the home of Father Wollesley. He has space for you all among his own guard, I’m sure.”

John stepped forward. “The envoy and his men are most welcome.”

“But they are also most tired,” said Henry, “and I’m sure would wish to rest in a familiar atmosphere.” He looked directly at Father Roberts. “Don’t worry. I’ll inform my father of your mission, and I am sure he will summon you at his first convenience.”

Henry looked to the men Baron Bellew had sent. “Your escort was most appreciated. There is room for you in the barracks, and I will order hot meals sent to you at once.” Henry looked to one of the stable boys. “Escort them, please.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said the captain. He spoke a quick order and led his men after the stable boy.

Henry stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his rapier, looking at Father Roberts. The silence grew long and uncomfortable. Thomas watched Father Roberts’s lips tighten and turn white. At last, the man bowed and said, “I wish you well, Lord Henry, and look forward to speaking with your father at the earliest opportunity.”

The envoy mounted, the inquisitor following a moment later. They turned their horses and led their troop out into the streets of the city. Henry smiled as he watched them go. It was not in the least a pleasant expression.

“That was extremely rude, brother,” said John.

“It was,” agreed Richard.

“So was trying to kill us while we slept,” said Henry. Richard and John stared first at Henry, who offered no more explanation, then at the retreating church men. Henry turned to his knights. “You’re welcome to come in and join us for a meal, or go home to your families. We’ll meet tomorrow after breakfast.”

 The knights bowed, and to a man said they would go home.

“If you please, brothers,” said Henry. “Lead the way.”

The castle proper had been built for defence, Thomas saw. The antechamber had slits in the walls and trapdoors in the roof, all for attacking whatever enemy tried to enter unbidden. Beyond the inner doors, the great hall was wide open, with high ceilings and a balcony running around the entirety of the room. Tapestries decorated the walls. A large hearth blazed to one side, and Richard and John led them there, calling for food as they went. Servants came and were immediately sent out to scare up some dinner and hot mulled wine for all of them. Thomas found his mouth watering at the very thought.

“So,” said John, turning back to Thomas. “The story of Bishop Malloy’s magic. How much of it was true?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “I don’t know how much Henry—” He caught himself. “Lord Henry has embellished it.”

“Not too much,” said Richard, “though he did linger on the description of George’s sister dressed in breeches.” He smiled at George. “Begging your apologies.”

“Oh, it’s not his you’re going to have to beg,” said Henry.

“I swear, Henry,” snapped Eileen, “have you not seen a pair of legs before?”