Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (42 page)

“But the captain said he and the officers weren’t affected,” Blaine countered.

Connor remembered something he had seen in the captain’s quarters. “The biscuits!”

“What?” Blaine and Piran both turned toward him.

“There was a partially eaten tin of hard biscuits in the captain’s quarters. What if he and the officers didn’t eat the spoiled grain? If they had their own supplies, they wouldn’t have caught the madness.”

Blaine drew a deep breath. “If you’re right, then it’s likely the
Nomad
’s crew died or deserted her not long after that last entry in the journal.” He shook his head. “With the crew gone mad, the captain and his officers were dead men.”

Their fisherman guide looked on in horror. “What do we do, then? There’s food and drink aboard, and we need both back home.”

“We can’t take the grain,” Piran said, standing and dusting off his hands. “That’s for certain, or we’ll end up like they did.”

“Piran’s right,” Blaine said. “But the other supplies should be salvageable. I’ll talk to Darden, explain why we need to throw the grain overboard. He’ll make sure there’s no trouble about it.”

“What about the ship?” Connor hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud until they turned toward him. “What we’ve seen of it, the ship itself isn’t damaged. I hate to leave it out here.”

“We found fresh sails down below,” the fisherman who had led them to the galley replied. “So if anyone’s of a mind to rig new sails, it can be done.”

Blaine nodded. “Let’s make a report to Darden. I daresay that among the four fishing boats, we’ve got enough sailors to get the
Nomad
back to Bay-town.” He looked to the fisherman. “Go tell the others not to eat any breads or biscuits that they find, before we bring trouble onto our own boats.”

“Right,” the man said, and left them alone in the galley.

Piran looked at Blaine. “You know, a ship like this could make it back to Donderath,” he said quietly.

Blaine’s expression was unreadable. “I thought of that, too.”

E
VER THOUGHT YOU’D BE SEEING EDGELAND
from the deck of a ship like this?” Piran shouted above the wind in the
Nomad
’s sails as they neared the port of Skalgerston Bay.

Blaine shook his head. “Never thought I’d be on board any ship bigger than a fishing buss again.” He glanced around, looking for Connor, who was nowhere to be seen.
He didn’t come to Edgeland as a convict
, Blaine thought.
He doesn’t understand how sweet it is to be on deck like a free man.

A crowd mulled near the docks, trying to figure out what to make of the ghost ship. Blaine and Piran hurried down the gangplank and shouldered through the mob, with Connor scrambling behind them. Ifrem hailed them from the doorway to the Crooked House.

“Brought back quite a fish there,” he said with a nod toward the
Nomad
.

“Question is—do we keep it or throw it back?” Blaine replied.

Ifrem nodded, and Blaine knew that the tavern master recognized the real question:
Now that some of us can leave, do we? Who goes and who stays? And if we leave, where do we go?

“A ship like that can hold four or five hundred people,” Ifrem mused quietly. “That could take quite a strain off the colony, if people were of a mind to leave.”

“And go where?” Blaine asked, watching the wind billow in the
Nomad
’s sails.

“If things are as bad as Engraham and Connor told us, Donderath may be in need of some sturdy colonists.”

Blaine met his gaze. “Go back?”

“Go home.”

“Home didn’t want us, remember?”

It was Ifrem’s turn to shrug. “King Merrill didn’t want us. Merrill is dead.”

Blaine looked away, uncomfortable with the feelings that stirred at Ifrem’s words. “The only home I’m anxious to see is the homestead, and my bed. That’s where I’ll be if the Council has a mind to discuss anything. Just make sure they leave me time to get some sleep. Otherwise, I’ll be crankier than usual.”

“How could we tell?” Ifrem cracked a smile. But by that time, Blaine had rejoined Piran and Connor in flagging down a cart.

Blaine, Piran, and Connor climbed into the back of a farmer’s wagon and covered themselves with the feed sacks and horse blankets they found there. No one was in the mood for conversation, and Blaine wedged himself into a space between hay bales where he was sheltered from the wind and relatively safe from falling overboard. Exhausted, he leaned against the bales and dozed.

“Hey, Mick, wake up. We’re home.” Piran’s voice cut through the fog of sleep as a strong hand shook Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine blinked, trying to clear his head. They were back at the homestead.
The small house was lit up, offering the promise of warmth and shelter. Blaine jumped down from the wagon.

“Did you catch anything?” Kestel greeted them merrily, standing in the doorway, her cloak clutched around her.

“Bigger than you can imagine,” Piran said with a grin. “We caught ourselves a whole ship!”

Dawe ambled forward and helped to take their heavy cloaks and fishing gear. “A ship?”

“An abandoned merchant ship,” Connor supplied, stripping off his coat and stumbling as he tried to remove his boots. “No one on board.”

“What did you do with it?” Verran wanted to know from where he stood in the doorway to the small sitting room.

Piran shrugged. “Sailed it back to port. I guess what happens now is up to the Council,” he said with a look toward Blaine.

“Don’t look at me,” Blaine said, his mood still off from the dream. “I’m just one lone voice, not the whole damn Council.”

“Well, we’ve been busy while you were out trawling,” Kestel said, hustling them into the sitting room. A cheery fire warmed the room, and on the hearth, in the embers, a cauldron held what smelled like venison stew. Verran helped her fetch bowls, which she filled, and Dawe brought two freshly baked loaves of bread from the kitchen.

“Sit. Eat.” Kestel was trying and failing to suppress an ear-to-ear grin, with a look Blaine had come to associate with a successful scheme. “And we’ve got company.”

“Company?” Blaine asked between gulps of stew.

“That would be me.” Blaine and the others turned. Arin Grimur, their vampire rescuer, stood in the doorway.

Blaine looked questioningly at Kestel, then from Grimur down to the bowl in front of him. “Is that where the venison came from?”

Grimur gave a slight smile that revealed just the tips of his elongated eyeteeth. “I felt it was only right to bring a gift when I came to visit. Some of the trappers are willing to give me blood in exchange for my protection. Between them and the deer, I fed well enough to keep me satisfied until I return to my home.”

“We certainly wouldn’t want you feeling peckish,” Piran muttered, unconsciously raising a hand to rub his neck.

To Blaine’s amazement, Grimur chuckled. “I assure you, I pose no threat. You’re quite well protected.” At that, Grimur’s gaze slid for a moment to rest on Connor, who looked away.

I wonder if Connor understands his ties to that vampire back in Donderath any better than we do
, Blaine mused.

“Arin came down to study the maps with us,” Kestel said, taking a seat between Blaine and Grimur as if Blaine’s lack of a hearty welcome had not escaped her notice.

“Maps?” Blaine asked with a warning glance.

“I persuaded Ifrem to let us borrow his map. We put it alongside Connor’s and took a good look at that obsidian disk of his. I think we’ve figured out something—something important,” Kestel said, ignoring Blaine’s wary look.

“Which is?” Piran’s voice sounded as unconvinced as Blaine’s.

“We think we know how we might be able to restore the magic,” Verran replied.

When they had finished eating, Kestel and Dawe cleared away the dishes. Verran brought the chairs in the room closer to circle the table, while Grimur spread the maps open and laid Connor’s obsidian pendant in the center of Ifrem’s map.

“Here’s the map of Edgeland Ifrem had,” Kestel said, a hint of glee in her voice. “And here’s Connor’s map of Donderath. Do you see anything alike?”

Blaine frowned and studied the two maps. “The same ‘u’-shaped
symbols that Ifrem said stood for magic places and null places. Some odd gibberish that no one seems to understand.” He looked up at Kestel. “Am I missing something?”

Kestel’s smile was triumphant. “Verran’s the one who spotted it. Look at what happens if you put the two maps on top of each other.”

“If you do that, you won’t be able to see the one on the bottom. Big deal,” Piran said irritably.

Kestel rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. Grimur did not move, but it seemed to Blaine that the vampire actually repressed a smile.

“Don’t be so literal, Piran,” Kestel said. She reached for a gossamer jumble that had been set to one side. Blaine had assumed she had cast aside a shawl, and he frowned when Kestel picked up a fine silk scarf that was nearly see-through. She stretched the delicate fabric tight between her hands and held it over the Edgeland map. “Now do you notice something?” Kestel looked pointedly at Blaine.

Marked on the fine silk in dark strokes were the symbols of magic and null. And it was clear at a glance that those symbols on the silk matched the symbols on the Edgeland map.

“What’s on the scarf lines up with the map. Of course they do, if you copied them. Hard to see why you’d sacrifice a silk scarf for that,” Blaine replied.

Kestel moved the scarf, still held taut between her hands, until it was over the Donderath map. “Connor, you’re a clever man,” she said with a glance to tell Blaine that the comment was a gentle dig at him for missing… something. “Tell me what you see.”

Connor leaned forward. “The pattern is the same from map to map,” he said, looking to Kestel for corroboration. She let one end of the scarf fly into the air in celebration.

“Yes!” She waved Blaine and Connor closer to the maps. “The pattern of power and null is identical on these maps of Donderath and Edgeland. Which means…”

“That you think those nodes are a key to the missing magic,” Blaine finished for her.

“Exactly.” She brought out another drawing, this one on yellowed parchment. Blaine moved closer for a better look at the new drawing. “Grimur was kind enough to bring us something else,” Kestel said. “Look at this.”

“What is it?’ Blaine strained for a good look, but saw only a network of regular lines, almost like a spider’s web.

“They’re called ‘meridians.’ ” Everyone turned to look at Grimur. “That drawing was made by Elos Torinth, a mage who was a contemporary of Valtyr.”

“The one who made the maps,” Blaine replied.

Grimur inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Exactly. Torinth believed that the meridians were the places where wild magic,
visithara
, was strongest. The meridians and their power are a natural force, according to Torinth, and in addition to the lines, there are also ‘wells’ and ‘deserts,’ where power is much stronger or weaker.”

“The nodes,” Kestel murmured. “Places of power and no-power.”

“Yes.” Grimur gestured toward the yellowed parchment. “But there is also something very interesting about the parchment that you haven’t noticed. On it are marked the locations of the twelve old noble houses, the manors—actually, fortresses—of the original Council of Nobles who supported Donderath’s first king.”

The others crowded closer for a better look. “Quillarth, Rhystorp, Doranset, Glenreith,” Kestel read, with a glance to Blaine as she read the name of his family’s manor. She read the
other names, a familiar litany from court. Kestel paused. “There are thirteen names. But only twelve old houses.”

Grimur nodded. “Quillarth was not originally the castle of the king. King Merrill’s line won the crown in the Lowland Insurrection three hundred years ago. Mirdalur, the thirteenth location, was the fortress—castle—of King Hougen, Donderath’s first real king.”

Blaine frowned. “I’ve never heard of Mirdalur.”

“That’s because it was destroyed a long time ago,” Grimur said, a wistfulness touching his voice that made Blaine think perhaps Grimur remembered the manor from his long existence. “During the war between Donderath and Vellanaj. Quillarth Castle replaced it.”

Grimur gave a knowing smile. “This map has another secret. Do you see a pattern in the locations of the old houses?”

Dawe bent closer, intrigued by the puzzle. “Well, the old houses are clearly built along the meridians,” he mused. “Not too close to the ‘wells’ or to the ‘deserts’ of power. But they don’t match the pattern of the nodes on the other maps.” He straightened. “I give up.” The others nodded in agreement.

Grimur leaned down and traced several lines with his fingers. “Imagine lines connecting these houses in this way,” he said. His touch made a crude stick figure.

Verran frowned. “That’s pretty close to the way Charrot’s constellation looks in the sky—according to the astrologers, anyhow,” he said.

Grimur smiled as if pleased with a prize student. “Exactly. Now look at this,” he said, turning the map a half twist and connecting more dots with a finger-stroke.

“Esthrane’s stars,” Kestel said.