Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (54 page)

Penhallow nodded. “Pentreath Reese is an opportunist. It’s what’s kept him in existence this long. Could someone have picked up a clue about the maps, or your companions, while you were on the ship?”

Connor thought for a moment. “Possibly. We certainly weren’t shouting our business, but it’s a tight fit on a ship like that. Can’t say for sure that no one overheard.” He paused. “Pollard sent an assassin to Edgeland,” Connor continued. “We think he was after Blaine McFadden.”

Voss looked up. “Blaine McFadden?”

“You know him?” Penhallow asked.

“Knew his father. Real son of a bitch. Always thought it was a miscarriage of justice for that boy to go to Velant for killing the old man. It was just a matter of time before someone did,” Voss said. He paused, and then looked up. “Now that I think of it, there is a connection, although it’s a distant one. Lord Pollard and old Lord McFadden hated each other.”

Penhallow shrugged. “You’ve just said that everyone hated old Lord McFadden.”

Voss uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Yeah, but not everyone hates like Vedran Pollard. I always figured Pollard would be the one to kill the old man, and he probably would have if the son hadn’t beat Pollard to it.” He met Penhallow’s gaze. “And Pollard is Reese’s man.”

Connor looked at Penhallow. “If all of the old nobility was killed by Meroven’s magic attack, how did Pollard survive?”

Voss chuckled. “Remember how I said Vedran Pollard was his mother’s son? That’s on account of how he wasn’t his daddy’s son. Genuine wrong-side-of-the-blanket bastard, not a blood relation. Got the title because the legitimate heirs died under suspicious circumstances, in ways his mother might have helped along,” he said with a knowing wink.

Connor sat back, unwilling to say more in front of Voss and his crew. He glanced toward Penhallow, wondering what the
talishte
knew about their host, not sure just how far Penhallow trusted Voss.

Voss looked at Penhallow. “You’re keeping something back, Lanyon. I don’t know how Blaine McFadden figures into anything that Pentreath Reese would care about, or into anything to do with magic, but I can tell you that it would frost Pollard’s nuts to think that Ian McFadden’s heir was back on the Continent.”

“Why would Pollard care?”

Voss sat back and crossed his arms. “Ian McFadden may have been a son of a bitch, but we can thank the gods that he spent most of his venom on Pollard. Feuding with each other kept the two of them too busy to do much damage to the rest of us. Old man McFadden might have been a tyrant—or worse—to his family, but his sniping kept Pollard whittled down to size. With both old man McFadden and his heir out of the picture, Pollard’s been free to do as he pleased, and he pleases to fashion himself as a warlord.”

Voss stretched and yawned. “All this talk has been quite interesting, but I imagine you need to rest. You’ll be safe down here. None of my people will bother you, and I’ll have my men at the upper door on watch just to make sure of it. There’s food
and drink for mortal and dead folks in the wine cellar. Make yourselves comfortable; I’m going to do just that as soon as I reach my bed.”

At that, Voss lumbered out of his chair and, with a nod to Penhallow, headed up the stairs with his bodyguards behind him. Connor waited until they were gone and the door at the top of the steps had latched before he spoke.

“Do you trust him? Are we guests—or prisoners?”

Penhallow stretched out his lanky frame. “Both, if I know Traher. But Traher Voss has worked with me for a long time. I’m in his blood, as I am in yours. He’s not an honest man, but he does understand money and power. We’re as safe with him as we’d be anywhere.”

Connor’s lip quirked as he held himself in check from replying that Penhallow’s answer was no answer at all. “What about Blaine? Reese stands to lose a lot if the magic returns. Could he possibly suspect that Blaine might be the key to bringing it back?”

Penhallow grimaced. “I don’t put anything past Reese. But if he does know, it might mean that I wasn’t his target last night. If he had spies on the ship, and if they passed along information quickly enough, you might have been followed to the tavern when you went to look for supplies. Reese’s men would have recognized Geir as one of mine. They wouldn’t have had to risk the barghest or go through the tunnels. Once they had you pegged as belonging to me, they just had to wait for you to show up with me and then drop down and try to take the prize.”

“If that’s true,” Connor said, trying to make himself comfortable enough to sleep on one of the wooden benches, “then Blaine’s still in danger.”

“If it’s true,” Penhallow echoed, “we’ve got to get to him before Reese does.”

C
ONNOR AWOKE FROM DREAMS OF FALLING
rock and flames to the sound of shouted curses and a pounding that shook Traher Voss’s fortified manor to its foundations. He sprang to his feet, fighting down panic, and winced at the sudden pressure on his wounded leg. After their arrival just before dawn, he had gone to bed exhausted, resigning himself to waking and sleeping on the vampires’ schedule. He glanced toward the notched candle and saw that it had burned halfway down, indicating that he had slept through the day and that night had fallen.

Connor grabbed his sword and limped toward the stairs. Penhallow and the other
talishte
were also awake and armed. He joined them, and they headed up the steps, with Penhallow in the lead.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Penhallow slammed the door open. An armed guard stood at the top, his sword in hand.

“What’s going on?” Penhallow demanded.

“We’re under attack,” the guard replied.

A muscle twitched in Penhallow’s jaw. “Obviously. Why and from whom?”

“It’s Reese.” Voss’s voice sounded behind them. Connor turned to see their host. He was stunned at the transformation. Gone completely was the genial smuggling lord. Voss wore a long chainmail tunic that fell to mid-thigh, covered with a cuirass of hardened leather and scale mail. He carried a helmet and wore a lethal variety of knives and swords. His dark eyes glinted with anger.

“Are you sure?” Penhallow’s voice had a hard undercurrent.

“Positive. My perimeter guards identified him. They moved right after sunset.”

“It sounded as if we were being bombarded.”

Voss nodded. “We are. Reese has a catapult, and maybe a battering ram. Damn good thing I fortified this place for a siege, because that’s what we’ve got.”

“What do they want?” Penhallow pressed.

Voss jerked his head. “We’re about to find out, although I can hazard a few guesses. They’re sending a messenger under a flag of truce.”

“Let’s hear it,” Penhallow said, following Voss to the manor’s large front entranceway.

Connor and the others stood well back from the door as three of Voss’s soldiers opened it just far enough to see a messenger standing outside the massive front doors.

“Speak your message,” the guard barked at the messenger.

“M’lord Pentreath Reese has sent me to demand that you turn over Lanyon Penhallow and his people or face the consequences.” The messenger was a young soldier, and he wore an expression of resignation, knowing that one party or the other would likely be unhappy with his message and that he stood little chance of emerging from his mission alive.

“Not for all the damned souls in Raka,” Voss said, striding closer but still careful to avoid being framed in the doorway, where one of Reese’s archers might be able to get off a lucky shot.

The young soldier did not flinch, though his eyes had the look of a man condemned. “Lord Reese insists. Otherwise, we will lay siege to your manor, destroy your soldiers, and take the fugitives you are sheltering by force.”

Voss’s face had grown red. “Where in the depths of the Sea of Souls did Reese get the idea he could demand anything from me? Go back to your master and tell him—” At that, Voss veered into an obscenely creative and anatomically impossible suggestion detailed and vulgar enough to send a blush to the doomed messenger’s cheeks.

“Is that your last answer?” the messenger asked, still standing at attention. Connor felt a stab of pity at the fear and hopelessness in the messenger’s eyes. He guessed Reese had given the messenger an ultimatum to succeed or die.

“It’s my only answer,” Voss roared.

“As you wish.” The messenger turned slowly, leadenly, his face impassive. He took only a few steps away from the doorway before an arrow fired by Reese’s men took him through the heart and he fell down dead on the flagstones.

Voss’s men swung the heavy door shut and dropped a massive crosspiece into place. Voss was still cursing fluently in several languages, swinging his sword in a wide arc for good measure, so that everyone stepped far back to give him room.

Running footsteps on the stairs from the upper levels drew everyone’s attention. “Commander Voss,” called a young man clad in the same quasi-military uniform that Voss wore. “I’ve got a report from the parapets.”

“What do you see?”

The soldier ran a hand back through his close-cropped dark hair. “From their speed, we’re sure that most of the men out there right now are
talishte
. But with a spyglass, we can make out wagons and men headed this way. We think Reese plans to keep you pinned down by day with mortals and by night with the
talishte
.”

“Any better look at what they’ve got to use against us?” Voss questioned.

“Yes, sir. We counted a full battle catapult, a small trebuchet, and a battering ram.” Just then, a loud boom sounded above them, and a fine rain of dust rained down from the ceiling. “It appears they have resumed bombardment.”

Voss cursed, then looked at the soldier and nodded. “Very well. Get someone up to the murder hole and get a fire lit under the water cauldrons. Reese’s men’ll burn real nice when we pour hot water on them. Tell the mortals among our archers to keep themselves out of sight. Reese’s men can get off two shots before a mortal can fire one.”

“Aye, sir,” the man said. He made a stiff partial bow and headed back up the stairs. Just as the first man disappeared, another man in the same uniform emerged from the steps to the lower floors where Connor and the others had spent the night.

“Commander Voss,” the man hailed their host. “We’ve got a problem.”

Voss gave him an incredulous look. “You just figured that out?”

The man shook his head. “Not the problem out front, sir. They’ve found the escape tunnels. I sent men ahead to check the route, and both tunnels are compromised. One tunnel had been blocked, caved in. There was an ambush at the mouth of the other tunnel. I lost two men, and a third is injured.”

Voss sobered and nodded. “Drop the portcullises on both
tunnels and station guards. I’m not convinced a cave-in would stop Reese, and it could be a trick to get us to leave the ‘blocked’ tunnel unguarded.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, sprinting off with his instructions.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Penhallow questioned. “Two tunnels?”

Voss shrugged eloquently. “It’s a fortress. The easier it is to get out, the easier for someone else to get in.”

“How long can you withstand a siege?” Penhallow asked.

Voss chewed his lip as he thought. “We’ve got food, spring water, and wine to last quite some time.” He gave Penhallow a sideways glance. “I suspect we’ll have blood aplenty for you once Reese steps up his attack. Starving is the least of our worries.”

Just then another man came hurrying down the corridor. Despite the late hour, he was fully dressed in a dark waistcoat and trews beneath an open, flowing scholar’s robe. The man had a closely trimmed gray beard and a squinted look, with severe, hard-angled features. He glowered as he swept down the hallway, his robes swirling around him. “What’s all the ruckus? What’s going on?”

Despite the circumstances, Voss smiled. “So sorry to have roused you, Treven. We’re under siege.”

Treven pulled out a pair of wire spectacles on a chain around his neck and fitted them onto his nose. He looked owlishly from Voss to Penhallow and Connor. “Collecting strays or taking captives?” he asked.

“Which are you?” Penhallow inquired before Voss could answer.

The gray-haired man peered over the lenses balanced on his nose to get a better look at the
talishte
, and his gaze flickered briefly to Connor. “Damned if I can tell. Voss tells me I’m here
for my own safety. Since I didn’t know I was in danger before his people swooped in and gathered me up, I’m not sure about the danger part, but the food is good, the wine is excellent and plentiful, and he has a damn-fine library, so I figure I got the good end of the deal.”

“Lanyon Penhallow, I’m sure you remember Treven Lowrey,” Voss said hurriedly as one of his lieutenants began to signal for his attention from down the corridor. “And this is Penhallow’s pet mortal, Conroy.”

“Connor,” Connor corrected. “Bevin Connor.”

Penhallow glowered at Voss, who seemed oblivious. “And he’s hardly a ‘pet’ mortal.”

Voss dismissed the disagreement with a gesture. “As you wish. Feel free to find a safe room on the lower floors, eat my food, and stay out of the line of fire. I’ve got a siege to manage.” With that, Voss hustled off down the corridor to catch up to his lieutenant, leaving the others standing in silence.