Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (32 page)

M
ICK!” PIRAN ROWSE’S VOICE CARRIED THROUGH
the cold autumn night. “Mick McFadden!”

Blaine looked up. He was just getting back to the Crooked House tavern after several candlemarks spent searching Edgeland’s coast for survivors of the shipwreck, and he could barely feel his hands. The long dark had come a few weeks ago, and with it, Edgeland’s icy cold.

“Over here!” he shouted.

Piran shouldered through the crowd outside of the Crooked House. Some of those assembled were the tavern’s regulars, excited to have news. Others had come to be on hand should survivors be found. That included Kestel and Verran, who had gathered anyone with any healing experience. Dawe and Blaine had been part of the search teams, heading up and down Edgeland’s rocky coast with wagons looking for survivors or usable items that could be scavenged. Blaine sighed, wishing for nothing more than a glass of brandy and a warm bed.

“Did you find survivors?” Blaine tried to ignore a headache that was building just behind his temples.

Piran nodded. “Twelve that my group found. Maybe a few
more among the other searchers. Everyone else—” He let his voice drift off, but Blaine understood. Given the freezing-cold water and the chill air, it was a miracle any of the passengers managed to get ashore alive.

“What are the odds that they’ll stay alive—at least long enough for us to find out what they were doing out there?”

Piran shrugged. “Most of them were in pretty bad shape. They’ve been taken to the healers. I wouldn’t bet money on some of them.” He paused. “A couple were able to speak when we picked them up.” He nodded toward the doorway to the Crooked House. “Just took those two inside to let Kestel and the others fix them up. Get some hot soup into them and a nip of brandy, and they’ll probably be fine as long as fever doesn’t set in.”

“Convicts?” Blaine asked.

Piran frowned. “Not so we could tell. Didn’t see a brand on them, or irons.”

Blaine looked out over the dark sea that stretched from the wharves to the horizon. “Then what in the Sea of Souls were they doing way up here? Were they from Donderath?”

“They answered our questions in Donderan just fine.” Piran paused. “Mick, do you know of any other McFadden who’s a prisoner here?”

Blaine gave a bitter laugh. “No. It’s not a common name. I’m the only black sheep.” He paused at the odd look Piran gave him. “Why?”

“Because one of our new guests asked to see ‘Lord’ Blaine McFadden. That wouldn’t be you, Mick, would it?”

For a moment, Blaine felt as if the cold had stolen his breath. “What else did he say?” Blaine asked when he found his voice again.

Piran’s eyes narrowed, and Blaine knew his friend recognized
the evasion. “Not much. Had lungs full of seawater. Said this Lord McFadden was his friend.”

“Sweet Esthrane,” Blaine whispered.

Piran laid a hand on Blaine’s arm. “You’re a lord, Mick? A bleedin’ lord? We’ve been mates for what—six years? And you didn’t bother to mention it?”

Blaine let out a long breath. “As far as I’m concerned, ‘Lord’ McFadden died on the ship from Donderath. I lost my lands and title when Merrill passed sentence. I’m not lord of anything—not anymore.”

“King Merrill passed sentence—in person? By Torven, Mick, you’ve been holding out on your mates. Let me get this straight—the king himself sentenced you?”

“Don’t be so impressed. All it did was win me exile rather than the noose—or worse. Merrill had been friends with my father.”

“So isn’t your father Lord McFadden?”

“Who do you think I killed?”

Piran stared at him, dumbfounded. “Do the others know?”

“Just Kestel.”

“You told Kestel?”

“I didn’t have to. Kestel recognized me from court.”

“From court.” Piran gave Blaine an incredulous look. “So all her blather about being a rich man’s fancy whore—she was telling the truth?”

“Kestel was the most sought-after courtesan in King Merrill’s court. She was also a damn good spy—and an assassin.”

Piran let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a few notches up from where I’d figured, even though she’s easy on the eyes.” He shook his head. “Were you ever going to let the rest of us in on the whole story?”

Blaine shrugged uncomfortably. “What would have been the
point? What I had, I lost. Who I used to be doesn’t matter up here. I’m a murderer, a convict, and an exile. And I’ve gotten rather used to being Mick instead of Blaine. I’d just as soon leave Blaine dead and buried.”

Piran gave him a knowing glance. “Don’t know if that’s going to be possible, Mick m’boy, once our new guests tell their stories.”

Blaine sighed. His breath steamed in the cold air. “Then we’d best get in there and see if we can contain the damage.”

Blaine and Piran walked into the crowded tavern. It might have been his imagination, but Blaine felt the eyes of the crowd on him as he and Piran made their way to the back room, where two of the survivors had been taken.

They stayed out of the way against the wall as Kestel and one of the Bay-town healers saw to the castaways’ needs in the warmth of the inn’s kitchen. Verran had tagged along and was lending a hand. Without magic, the healer would be limited to potions and poultices.

Blaine looked at the two men. On the bench closest to him lay a man whom Blaine guessed to be in his late teens or early twenties. He was of average height, with dark-blond hair. It was hard for Blaine to tell much about the man’s waterlogged and worn clothing, but from what he could make out, the cut and cloth had once been quite good.

Neither he nor his friend have the look of a laborer, or a farmer
, Blaine mused.
Perhaps merchants, or lesser nobility. The blond man might even have worn such an outfit at court if he were a valet or squire. Interesting.
The man would have been barely apprenticed when Blaine had been sent to Velant. Doubtful that he would be the one to have gone looking for a long-disgraced lord at the edge of the world.

The other man was probably a few years older than Blaine,
perhaps in his early thirties, Blaine guessed. He had wavy brown hair, and Blaine felt sure that when the stranger opened his eyes, they would be blue. With a start, Blaine knew where he had seen the man before.
Engraham
, his memory supplied.
Lord Forden’s bastard. Now what’s he doing so far away from the Rooster and Pig?

Ifrem came down the back stairs carrying an armful of dry clothing.

“See if any of these fit,” Ifrem said. “They’re odds and ends from what patrons have left behind, but they’re dry and fairly clean.” He set the clothing on a worktable and went out front to tend the bar.

Kestel and Verran began stripping the blond man out of his soggy clothing. He was barely conscious, unable to give more assistance than to keep himself from falling off the bench. Blaine saw a look pass between Kestel and Verran, and Kestel’s hand brushed against the folds of her skirt with an object Blaine couldn’t quite make out.
Never let me forget to add “master thief” among Kestel’s many accomplishments
, Blaine thought.
What could she have found worth taking? Petty theft isn’t Kestel’s style.

Without comment, Kestel and Verran finished getting the man changed into the mismatched garments Ifrem provided. On the other bench, the second man whom Blaine was increasingly sure was Engraham was only a bit more responsive as the healer got him changed into dry clothing. The healer plied both men with tea, and Blaine could smell the potent herbs in the brew that would ward off both chill and fever. To Blaine’s relief, neither man seemed up to talking, and the healer’s potion put both of them to sleep. After a murmured discussion between Kestel and the healer, the healer left the room and Kestel headed over to where Blaine and Piran stood, with Verran on her heels.

“The healers were more than happy to let me take the first shift,” Kestel reported, answering their unspoken question. “There are several more castaways to care of, and these two seem to be in the best shape.”

Verran reached out and poked Blaine in the shoulder.

“What was that for?” Blaine asked, giving Verran a questioning look.

Verran grinned. “Never poked a lord before. By the gods! I’ve been bunking in the same room with nobility for years now and I never knew it.”

Kestel rolled her eyes and gave an elaborate sigh. “Sorry, Mick. I’m guessing Piran’s already told you that our new neighbor washed ashore looking for his old ‘friend’ Blaine.”

“Yeah, he told me.” Blaine watched Engraham’s sleeping form with mixed feelings. Curiosity at what had brought Engraham to Edgeland looking for him. Worry that their darkest fears about the war in Donderath might have come true. And more than a little resentment that Engraham’s arrival could blow apart everything Blaine had worked to build since he’d gained his Ticket of Leave.

“Do you know him?” Kestel asked.

Blaine nodded. “He looks like Engraham, who ran the Rooster and Pig tavern down on the wharves. Lord Forden’s bastard son.” He looked at Kestel. “Have you ever met him?”

Kestel nodded. “I’d have put money on it being Engraham. I had clients who liked to gamble in the back room at the Rooster and Pig. Forden’s friends liked to play cards there along with their ‘companions.’ Place had the best bitterbeer in Castle Reach.”

“What do you think he’s doing all the way up here?” Piran asked.

Kestel shrugged. “By the time he and his friend got here,
they could barely sit up long enough to get a dose of elixir in them. They’re lucky to be alive.”

“If it’s luck that brings anyone to Edgeland,” Verran murmured.

Blaine met Kestel’s eyes. “You pocketed something off the first man. What was it?”

Kestel smiled. From a hidden pouch in the folds of her skirt, she produced a slim wooden case and an obsidian disk on a leather strap. “Something I thought looked interesting. Now, if you were thrown into the sea, what would be so important to you that you’d make sure you took it with you?” She weighed the wooden box across her palms.

“Let me take a look,” Blaine said. Kestel handed it over. Blaine carefully wiped down the wood with a rag to make sure no seawater would drip into whatever was hidden inside. The cap stuck, but he carefully pried it loose.

“Papers,” he said, looking into the dark interior. “Just papers.”

Gently, he teased the rolled parchment from its hiding place. He glanced at the two sleeping men on the benches, but neither Engraham nor his companion stirred. Kestel motioned him over to a worktable, and cleaned off the surface so he could stretch out the parchment. Blaine caught his breath when he saw the map.

“It’s just a map of Donderath,” Piran said. “What’s so special about that?”

“Not a treasure map, is it?” Verran asked, his eyes alight.

“It just might be,” Blaine murmured. He glanced up at Kestel. “Can you see if Ifrem can come in here?” He glanced around the kitchen, but there was no one else except his friends and the two sleeping castaways. “And let’s keep this just among ourselves, huh?”

Kestel gave him a questioning look, but went out to find
Ifrem, and returned a few minutes later with the tavern master in tow. Blaine looked up, giving Ifrem a nod to come over and look at the parchment still stretched between Blaine’s hands on the table.

Ifrem let out a low whistle. “Where did you get this?”

“One of our new friends had it hidden under his tunic,” Kestel replied.

Blaine met Ifrem’s gaze. “A mate to the other map?”

Ifrem bent closer, studying the parchment. “To my eye, it looks like it. Unless it’s a very clever forgery.”

Blaine shrugged. “Why bother with a forgery?”

Verran eyed the map with curiosity. “So it’s a map of all the places where magic’s very strong—or places where magic doesn’t work?”

“So it would seem,” Ifrem replied.

Piran snorted. “If Donderath’s had the same problems we’ve had, magic doesn’t work anywhere. Not sure what use that map is now.”

Kestel laid the obsidian disk down atop the map. “Do either of you know what this is?”

Ifrem touched the disk gently with his fingertips. He slid it carefully across the map so that the runes that appeared to be scattered at random on the parchment filled the slits in the pendant’s surface. “Offhand, I’d say it’s a key to the map. I can’t read the runes, but I’m betting someone could.” He picked up the disk and carefully examined it. “There’s also no telling whether it needed magic to work.”

“Looks to me like we’ve got a map of places that don’t matter anymore and a disk that doesn’t do anything,” Piran observed. “Let’s hope that we get more useful stuff from what we can scavenge tomorrow. Something that actually works—or that we can eat.”

Blaine carefully rerolled the map and replaced it in the wooden box. He offered it to Ifrem, who took it and nodded.

“I’ll put it with the other,” Ifrem said.

Blaine looked back at their sleeping guests. “What I can’t figure out is—what were they doing with the map, and why did they bring it here?” He sighed. “And what in the name of the gods was Engraham thinking when he asked for me?”

Kestel followed his gaze with a worried expression. “I don’t know, but we’d better find out before we let them out of our sight.”

Blaine and his friends took turns sitting up with the shipwreck survivors throughout the night, napping on pallets near the banked kitchen fire. Ifrem joined them once the crowds thinned and the tavern officially closed, a few candlemarks after midnight.

“A copper for your thoughts,” Ifrem said after Blaine had gone for several minutes without talking. Ifrem poured them both another finger of whiskey. Blaine swirled the dark liquid in his glass and took a deep breath.

“To tell you the truth, I’m dreading having them wake up,” Blaine replied. “I’d been hoping that Donderath would just forget about us and let us go our own way.”

“Every new ship of convicts was another reminder,” Ifrem said quietly. “Pasts never stay in the past—not even here.”

“Yeah, but Donderath always stayed at a nice, comfortable distance. This,” he said with a wave of his hand toward the two men, “brings it all too close.”