Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (23 page)

If the magic is gone, what happens to people like Benna?
Connor wondered.
Assuming she isn’t a fraud, how does it feel for the magic to disappear? Is it like a song you can’t get out of your mind that’s suddenly gone?
He watched Benna closely. Everyone around her appeared to be trying to ignore the woman’s existence. Benna seemed equally oblivious to those around her. She laid down cards in the manner of fortune-tellers, three rows for Charrot, Torven, and Esthrane, and their lesser gods. One row foretold illusion, darkness, and danger, the province of Torven. Another row spoke to the effects of Charrot’s dual nature, of reversals of fortune, change, and unanticipated rewards. The third row gave voice to Esthrane’s dominion over love and family, birth and rebirth, and material bounty.

Benna mumbled to herself and reshuffled the cards. Though she patiently set the cards out over and over again, the meaning she sought appeared to elude her.

While Connor had made no effort to meet his fellow
passengers, Engraham worked his way around the hold. Connor suppressed a smile watching his friend in action. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, Engraham had made his way on a combination of charm, ambition, and intelligence. He usually kept the latter two well hidden behind the first, but he and Connor had stayed up past closing on far too many nights for Connor to be fooled. Engraham was a survivor, and now, under pressure and in a strange place, all the skills that had served him well in his past came to the fore once again.

And what about me?
Connor wondered.
I can navigate the below-stairs politics at court. Hardly a useful talent without a court. Thank the gods I came from the poorer nobility; at least I’ve split wood and mucked out the stables. Maybe that’ll be good for a coin or two wherever we’re going.

After a while, Engraham made his way back to his spot by Connor.

“Greet everyone in the hold, did you?” Connor joked.

Engraham grinned. “Everyone who was awake.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Besides the fact that I overpaid for our fare?”

Connor grimaced. “You know what I mean.”

Engraham’s smile faded. “For one thing, I learned that Captain Olaf and his fellow ship captains held off taking passengers by a full day beyond when the small ships loaded.”

“Oh?”

Engraham nodded sagely. “Smart move—and ballsy. They were taking a big risk staying in port. I’m betting that they figured the small ships would take the refugees who couldn’t have afforded to pay much for passage. Might have also figured they’d let the small ships head out of the harbor first and see if they ran into any trouble.”

“What else?”

“According to Dorin over there,” Engraham said with a nod toward a man with short-cropped gray hair who was dozing against the bulkhead, “we’re barely out of sight of the coast. Dorin says he’s done a bit of navigating himself and he can tell where we are by the stars. The captain’s being very cautious about heading out into open waters.”

Connor frowned. “Why?”

“Dorin did a lot of trade with the Far Shores. Owned a number of warehouses down along the wharves. He says that the last ships that came in from the Cross-Sea Kingdoms were in a big hurry to unload and leave. They were afraid Donderath was going to be blockaded.”

“Do you think that’s likely?”

Engraham shrugged. “If we’d been fighting Meroven alone, I wouldn’t give it much thought. Meroven never invested a lot in its navy—it’s always put its stock in soldiers. But Meroven allied with Vellanaj, and Vellanaj’s navy is formidable.”

“Do you think a blockade would still be in effect after all that happened?”

Engraham let out a long breath. “Who knows? It could take weeks for a ship to reach them with new orders.”

It occurred to Connor that while much had been made of getting aboard the ship, little had been said in the chaos of the moment about necessities such as food and water.

“Think they took on enough provisions to feed all of us for a long voyage?”

“Actually, that’s one reason I wanted to be aboard Olaf’s ship,” Engraham replied. “He’s an honest man. Some of the captains would be the type to take passengers aboard without provisions and let ’em starve. After all, once the ship leaves port, who are they going to complain to?”

Connor shivered.

Engraham grinned wolfishly. “We know they’ve got ale a-plenty on board. I asked around to see what kinds of provisions the
Prowess
had taken on. Got the right answers, too. Barrels of water and grog, salted fish, hard biscuits, dried beef—enough for a long journey.” He paused. “Olaf’s used to transporting convicts all the way to Velant. He knows how many people fit in this hold and how much food it takes to make sure they’re alive on the other end.”

“Well, at least we won’t starve, or die of thirst.”

Engraham shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on a full belly, but staying a little hungry’s probably best at sea. Less to retch up when the waves are high. You might lose a few pounds, but I think we can trust Olaf to do right by us.”

Just then the ship pitched, sending anyone standing in the hold tumbling and flailing. Connor grabbed at one of the hammocks to slow his slide, and Engraham managed to wrap his arms around a support beam to avoid plowing into the mass of cursing passengers who found themselves tossed hard against the hull.

Connor dragged himself to his feet and braced to be able to see out of the porthole. Two large military ships were close enough to the port side of the
Prowess
that Connor could make out the number of sailors on their decks. Water splashed high into the air as heavy iron balls soared toward the
Prowess
, propelled from catapults on the attacking ships. “We’re being fired on!”

The ship leveled out, spilling the passengers across the decking. Above them, Connor could hear shouts and pounding footsteps. Engraham fought his way through the tangle to look out the porthole.

“Those are Vellanaj ships,” he said grimly. “We’re blockaded.”

Connor pushed in next to him. Flaming arrows were arcing
from the attacking warships, falling short of the
Prowess
and disappearing into the water. “If those arrows catch the sails afire—”

Engraham frowned. “If they’d meant to burn us or board us, they’d have done so by now. They know we’re a cargo ship. They’re not interested in sinking us; they just want to make sure we don’t cross the blockade.”

The hold buzzed as passengers talked nervously, clustered in groups of two and three. So many people pushed to see out the small portholes that Connor feared he might be crushed against the hull of the ship.

The
Prowess
turned hard once more, but this time, the refugees were faster to brace themselves. People clung to the rope hammocks or wrapped their arms around the support beams to avoid landing in a heap. Connor fought to maintain his view from the porthole.

“They’re not pursuing us,” he reported.

Engraham nodded. “I’m guessing the Vellanaj ships were ordered to hold their line. They’re not looking for a fight; they just want to make sure that no ships get in or out toward the Far Shores.”

“We’re changing course,” Dorin, the trader, shouted.

“Can you tell where we’re headed?”

Dorin frowned. “It’s daytime—I can’t see the stars. But from the sun, I’d reckon we’re headed north.”

“But there’s nothing north of the Continent,” one of the passengers protested.

Dorin returned a mirthless grin. “Sure there is. Captain Olaf makes this run all the time. We’re headed for Edgeland.”

B
LAINE’S SLEEP WAS TROUBLED. DESPITE A FEW
cups of whiskey, sleep had proven elusive and his dreams were dark.

Velant’s walls loomed high. To the work team headed for the ruby mines, the stockade might as well have touched the sky. Guards patrolled along the walkway near the top of the fence. Torches lit the large open area too well for anyone to hide in the shadows. Many dreamed of escape, but few if any had ever succeeded.

Blaine shivered. His homespun woolen top and trews would be plenty warm deep inside the mine, but aboveground, they were inadequate protection for Edgeland’s bitter winds. Shackled between Piran and another prisoner, Blaine shuffled toward the mine under the eye of the guards. Their steps made a rhythmic clink-crunch as they made their way through the crusted snow.

A year had passed since Blaine’s ship dropped anchor at Velant. When he had walked off the ship in chains, Donderath and his former life ceased to exist. Commander Prokief welcomed the new prisoners with a mock funeral, assuring them that here at the edge of the world, they were dead to everyone they had left behind. But
Prokief had plans for his “dead” men. And for the last year, Blaine had toiled in the mines. Dark, wet, bone-chillingly cold, the back-breaking work was not nearly as hard to bear as the torments of their guards, men for whom Blaine knew Velant was also a prison.

“You can move faster than this.” The guard lunged toward the shuffling prisoners, laying into one of the convicts with his whip. Manacled at the wrists and shackled to the others at the ankles, the convict could do little to avoid the bite of the flail. Blood spattered the snow and droplets sprayed the other prisoners. The whip fell again and again, slicing through the prisoner’s meager clothing, biting into flesh.

The beaten prisoner stumbled, pulling the others with him. Enraged, the guard caught Blaine and Piran with his whip as the tangle of prisoners struggled to regain their footing. The lash caught Blaine across one cheek, opening a cut. Warm blood poured down his face, instantly freezing to his beard in the cold. The second stroke of the whip slashed across his shoulder and chest. The return stroke of the whip cracked down across Piran. Blaine and Piran exchanged glances. Exhausted, hungry, cold, and hopeless, it was the final straw.

Together, they lashed out with their feet, tripping the guard and bringing him down hard to the snow. Using their combined weight, Blaine and Piran heaved themselves on top of the guard, dragging the other men with them. Blaine wrested the flail from the guard’s hand and slammed the solid base of it into the guard’s skull. Piran pinned the guard’s hands and Blaine swung both fists together, striking the guard’s face on one side and then the other.

Just yesterday, Blaine had seen four guards beat two of his fellow prisoners to death in the courtyard while the other guards looked on. The battered bodies had been left lying where they fell. They froze rapidly, unprotected from the wind, becoming a ghoulish monument. Today’s whipping was one torment too many.

Boots thudded across the snow. Rough hands dragged Blaine and Piran away from the guard. Shouts echoed across the stockade. Two guards helped their comrade struggle to his feet. The guard’s face was bloodied and one eye was swelling shut, but he was still alive. As the moment’s rage faded, Blaine realized that he was quite likely to end up with the frozen corpses in the parade yard.

“These two—take them to the mages,” the captain of the guards snapped, striding across the bloodied snow. Keys clinked in the guard’s hands as he unfastened Blaine and Piran from the other prisoners. Before either could take a step, the guard sent a right hook to Blaine’s jaw as the captain did the same to Piran, dropping them in their tracks. The beating continued after they fell to the ground, fists and boots flying as the guards returned double what had been inflicted. Finally, as Blaine struggled to remain conscious, the blows stopped.

“Take them away,” the captain said. Two guards grabbed him roughly, one under each arm, and began to drag him across the snow-covered yard. Behind him, he heard Piran groan as two more guards hauled him from the ground.

Blaine had stopped fearing death when he had reached Velant. Yet he knew that death was the least of the punishments Prokief and his warden-mages could inflict. He should feel fear, perhaps terror; yet he felt nothing except a numbness that chilled him more than the Edgeland cold. Death would be a mercy, and the torment that might lead to death could not last as long as a life sentence on this godsforsaken slab of ice.

The guards dragged Blaine into the large prison building. He hung like dead weight between the two guards who hauled him along, toes trailing behind him. They stopped in front of two massive doors, which creaked open onto a large open courtyard with a tiled floor and a balcony gallery.

The two guards threw him into the room. Still bound at the
wrists, Blaine fell badly and felt his nose break, sending blood streaming down his face. Piran collapsed into a heap beside him. The guards retreated as doors on the other side of the room opened, and for the first time, Blaine felt a stab of fear break through his indifference.

“Sit him up.” Commander Prokief’s voice was like a rumble of thunder. Black boots stopped just short of where Blaine lay facedown on the tile floor. Guards stepped forward to drag Blaine up and force him to kneel. One grabbed Blaine by the hair, jerking his head up so that he could see the large uniformed man standing over him.