War of Shadows (39 page)

Two guards stood in front of the door to Carr’s room, and when Quintrel nodded, one of them turned the key in the lock. When they entered, Carr was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Quintrel demanded of the guards, who stared at the empty room, wide-eyed. Carensa felt a surge of hope.

“No one left the room after we locked him in,” the senior guard replied. “And the window hasn’t been tampered with.”

Stanton made a careful circle of the room. “I believe I’ve found the problem.”

Stanton stood by the garderobe, which was hidden from view by a curtain. He threw back the cloth to reveal Carr slumped next to the stone seat, with both arms thrust into the hole.

The senior guard grabbed Carr by the shoulders and pulled him back. Carr’s head lolled, and his body tumbled from its perch. Carr looked unnaturally pale, even before the lantern light revealed a new set of cuts, long, straight gashes that ran from wrist to elbow on each forearm.

The guard felt for a pulse in Carr’s neck, then looked up. “He’s gone, m’lord.”

Quintrel turned to Stanton. “Can you—”

Stanton shook his head. “No. If we had reached him at the moment of death, perhaps. But I can’t read the dead, nor could I read still blood, even if it hadn’t flowed down the castle wall by now.”

“He must have had a blade hidden on him that was missed,” Guran said.

“If so, then I suspect it’s at the bottom of the chute as well,” Stanton remarked. “An unexpected complication. But he may still be valuable.”

“We’ve lost our leverage,” Quintrel snapped. “I fail to see the value in that.”

Stanton turned to him. “He can still be used to send a message.” He looked back down at Carr’s body. “I can get him to Glenreith before daybreak, drop him off in front of the manor. I don’t think it will take McFadden long to figure it out. He has a temper; perhaps this will goad him into something rash.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Quintrel challenged.

Stanton shrugged. “You’ll still have scored a blow close to home. McFadden won’t let that go. And when he strikes back, we will be ready.”

A
RE YOU CRAZY?” KESTEL LEVELED AN ANGRY
glare at Blaine. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time you were at Mirdalur? Or at Valshoa? Both times, you nearly went up in flames.”

Blaine’s small war council gathered in the parlor at Glenreith. Niklas leaned against one of the bookshelves, arms crossed over his chest, a dour look on his face. “It’s doubly risky since Hennoch and Rostivan expanded their territories. You’ll be back in the same situation you were when we first met up—a small group, trying to sneak past the patrols.” He glowered at Blaine. “And you know how that ended.”

“The alternative is waiting to anchor the magic until we’ve battled Lysander and Rostivan—and maybe Hennoch—to a standstill,” Blaine said.

“I don’t think Hennoch is cause for too much concern,” Niklas replied. “The word I’ve gotten from Verran’s spies is that Reese is still imprisoned and Pollard’s forces have not fully recovered after the Battle of Valshoa. Hennoch isn’t strong enough to make much of a difference—at least, not yet.”

Piran sat on one of the couches with his feet propped up on
the footstool, toying with his knife. He appeared distracted, but Blaine knew Piran was not only paying attention, he was uncertain about the chances for success.

“If anchoring the magic is killing Mick, I don’t see how there’s really a choice about what to do first,” Piran drawled without looking up.

“Swapping one thing that’s trying to kill Mick for something else that’s almost certain to succeed isn’t much of an improvement,” Kestel snapped.

Geir stood near the fire. Its glow gave a hint of color to his pale skin, though he could not draw comfort from its warmth. “The fact remains,” he said, “that as long as Blaine is the only anchor for the magic, the magic is as vulnerable as he is.”

“Anchoring the magic might make you less of a target for Quintrel,” Niklas offered. “After all, once the magic’s anchored, killing or kidnapping you doesn’t gain him anything.”

Blaine made a dismissive gesture. “Knowing Quintrel, he won’t give up that easily.”

“Are you certain the ritual can be done at Mirdalur?” Piran asked.

Niklas nodded. “Nidhud and Dolan investigated the Citadel, and also went into the crypts beneath Quillarth Castle.” He shook his head. “They were lucky to get out in one piece. There are reasons why those levels beneath the castle were off-limits for so long. The dead are dangerous—even to
talishte
.”

Kestel swore under her breath. “Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea? Mirdalur is on the edge of Hennoch’s territory. Even if Mick survives the ritual, we could come up in the middle of a battle. And we don’t dare take a full complement of troops with us, because that would call Hennoch down on us for certain.” Kestel was pacing at the far end of the room, and Blaine knew from her gestures that she was both angry and frightened.

“How do we keep a working of that level a secret?” Blaine asked. “Kestel’s right—moving troops to protect ourselves is essentially a declaration of war. For Quintrel or anyone with magical abilities, what we do will be like lighting a bonfire. Even if we could slip in unannounced, after we finish—assuming it works—every mage in Donderath will feel it.” He shook his head. “That’s the hard part about trying to anchor the magic before we’ve won the war.”

“How do you even know this will work?” Kestel challenged. “I know you can’t anchor the magic yourself much longer. But if you’re wrong about how it’s done, it could kill everyone involved.”

“So what do you get out of this whole ‘anchor’ thing, Mick?” Piran asked, looking up. “I mean, it makes you a target for every warlord on the Continent. You’ve nearly gotten fried several times, with one more shot coming up, it seems. Does it make you a mage? Will you be able to fly or walk through walls? Cheat at cards without getting caught? Seriously, Mick—there ought to be something in this for you.”

“If we can anchor it properly, I get to go on living,” Blaine answered drily. “And the short answer is: it doesn’t do much for me, beyond having the magic working again. From everything we’ve found, when it’s done right, the Lords of the Blood all come away with some extra abilities—things like King Merrill’s truth-sensing. But it didn’t make them mages before, and it probably won’t make them mages now if they weren’t already before the ritual. Maybe it’s because the magic is still brittle, but the only difference I can see so far from anchoring the magic myself is having a few seconds of foreknowledge before someone attacks.” He shrugged. “And maybe that’s all there will ever be.”

“Sounds like a bad bargain, Mick,” Piran said, shaking his
head. “I’d never have gone for it.” Kestel snickered. “What?” Piran demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” Kestel said with a wave of her hand. “By all means, keep talking.”

“Let’s look over that list again,” Niklas said. “Your new Lords of the Blood.”

Blaine let out a long breath and nodded. “Start with me, and you, and with the Wraith Lord, who was a Lord of the Blood when he was mortal.”

“So that really means Connor,” Kestel supplied. “Since we need Lords of the Blood who actually have blood.”

“True. Connor’s done a lot to make this possible.” Blaine said. “He and the Wraith Lord together are valuable allies.”

“Penhallow is a good choice,” Piran said. “It can’t hurt to have your strongest allies included.”

“Good of you to think so, since you, Dawe, and Verran are all on the list,” Kestel said, playfully swatting at Piran’s bald head.

“Why aren’t you?” Piran challenged.

“Because the real power of the Lords of the Blood lies in anchoring the magic over generations, and since I’m married to Mick, that would create only one Lord in the next generation, not two,” Kestel replied, rolling her eyes. “As it is, House McFadden will ultimately be represented twice, since Dawe’s asked Mari for a handfasting this summer.”

“We’re sure
talishte
can be a Lord of the Blood?” Niklas asked.

“They were before,” Kestel responded. “Kierken Vandholt was already
talishte
but had not yet been made a wraith.”

“We believe the bond stays with the
talishte
until the ultimate death,” Geir added.

“Did Borya and Desya decide which of them wants to be the lucky one?” Piran asked.

“Zaryae decided it for them. Said that Borya was the first twin born, so it’s his job,” Kestel replied with a chuckle.

“She didn’t want to have the honor?” Niklas raised an eyebrow.

Kestel shook her head. “Blaine approached her first, because of the magic. Zaryae declined because she hasn’t decided whether or not she wants to wed.” She shrugged.

“Dolan is a good choice, to secure the allegiance of the Knights of Esthrane,” Geir said. “As is Traher Voss—a valuable man to have on your side.”

“Tormod Solveig makes sense,” Kestel agreed. “And there, the decision between Tormod and Rinka had to do with Tormod’s magic. They talked about it, and thought Tormod was the better choice.”

“Too bad Verner didn’t survive the last battle,” Piran commented.

“His son did,” Niklas pointed out. “Birgen was commanding part of their army elsewhere when the mage strike hit his father’s troops. He’s agreed to be one of the thirteen.”

“Which leaves one more,” Blaine said. “We’ve got representatives of the
talishte
, and from the mages, plus old friends and allies. That’s why I chose Folville.”

“Quite a set of rogues, if I do say so myself,” Niklas said. “And I think you’ve just answered our question with the names on the list. We’re going to have to fight the war to a conclusion before we can anchor the magic, because we can’t hope to assemble all of those people at Mirdalur until we’ve dealt with Lysander and Quintrel. We’d be inviting a massacre.”

“All your allies in one place, tied up with a magic ritual that will kill them if anything goes wrong—he’s right, Mick,” Piran agreed. “You might as well paint a target on our backs if we try to fix the magic before the war is decided.”

“Not much of a choice,” Kestel said, grimacing. “Anchor the
magic, and we probably all die. Keep on fighting, and we don’t know how much of a toll the magic will take on Blaine.”

“Dolan and Nidhud are confident that they’ve figured out the transfer and anchoring process, once we can assemble the group,” Geir said. “Dolan has the presence-crystals and manuscript he took from Quintrel, plus the disks. And since then, he’s found more information beneath Quillarth Castle and in the hidden rooms at the Citadel, details that Quintrel didn’t know. Put it all together, with a Lord of the Blood in a place of great power, and they’re sure it will work.”

“And we can be pretty certain that if Quintrel had found the rest of the pieces, he would have either offered it up when Blaine did the ritual at Valshoa, or used it for himself to try to take control of the magic away from Blaine,” Niklas said. “I don’t think Quintrel would be resorting to allying with warlords if he could get what he wanted with magic.”

Piran looked up. “So just one of the last Lords of the Blood was a mage, right? But all of them came out of it with some kind of extra abilities. So how will it change us? And what about Mick? Does he get to keep his battle magic and foresight, or will that change, too?”

“Dolan’s gone over the manuscripts carefully, researching that point,” Geir said. “From all accounts, only Kierken Vandholt was a mage before—or after—the ritual at Mirdalur four hundred years ago. And remember, magic had been gone for a hundred years when they restored it. So when the small magics started to manifest, in people who had been without magic for generations, it seemed miraculous. And those who participated in the actual ritual came out with new, small magics that provided a survival advantage.”

“Like Blaine’s foresight or King Merrill’s truth-sensing,” Kestel said.

“I’m certainly not a mage, but I’ve always had a small dollop of magic that made me a little faster, a little stronger in a fight, better reflexes than when I’m not in battle,” Blaine said. “Since Valshoa, it’s like I can see a few seconds ahead, sense an attack before I’d normally be able to know it was coming.” He shrugged. “It’s not huge magic, but it’s helped keep my head on my shoulders. When everything’s said and done, I wouldn’t mind keeping those abilities, or even having them expand. If I’m going to stay in the warlord business, I’m fine with an unfair advantage.”

“You could also say that your new bond with the magic heightens your awareness of when power is being used nearby,” Kestel speculated. “That might be handy, if it didn’t drain you so badly. Maybe when the magic’s properly anchored, if you keep that ability, it can give you a warning without damaging you.” She gave a wicked smile. “Being able to keep tabs on who’s using magic and where they are could make you a hard man to kill.”

“That’ll take some getting used to,” Piran mused. “I’ve made it this far without any magic at all.” He grinned. “Maybe my new magic will make me irresistible to the ladies.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Kestel said. “There’s not enough magic in the world to make that happen.” Her grin softened their long-running friendly bickering.

Geir looked up abruptly, as if summoned by a call only he could hear. “Excuse me,” he said, already making his way to the door. “I’m needed outside.”

“Is there anything—” Niklas began.

Geir shook his head. “Not yet. Stay inside.” With that, he was gone.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Blaine said, crossing to the window. “Remember—my bond to Penhallow includes Geir.” The
door flew open and Mari came running into the room, trailed by Dawe.

“He’s dead! By the gods, Blaine. Carr’s dead!”

Blaine looked from Mari’s tearstained face to Dawe’s grief-stricken expression.

“It’s true, Mick,” Dawe said quietly. “You’d better come down. He’s in the entrance hallway.”

Kestel touched Blaine’s arm in a gesture of support. Blaine took the stairs two at a time, leaving the others behind him as they hurried to follow. He slowed as he reached Glenreith’s entrance hall. Judith knelt, sobbing, beside a figure wrapped in burlap. Edward knelt next to her, one arm protectively around her shoulders. The older man was weeping. A guard stood just inside the doors.

“What happened?” Blaine asked, stunned.

“A
talishte
dropped the body in front of the gates, sir,” the guard replied. “Two of ours gave chase.”

Blaine nodded absently, although he barely heard the answer. He knelt next to Carr’s body. Carr’s eyes were open and staring, his skin unusually ashen, even for a corpse. Deep gouges across his face and chest were mute testimony to torture. Blaine looked up, feeling grief war with rage. “They drained him?”

Edward folded Judith against his chest as she sobbed, and shook his head. “Look at his arms, Blaine,” Edward said.

Blaine lifted one of Carr’s arms and turned it palm up. His hand was dark with dried blood, but not from the bite marks Blaine feared. Two raw, deep parallel gashes sliced from Carr’s wrist to his elbow, slashed into the veins.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, barely able to frame his thoughts aloud. “Why would he kill himself?”