CHAPTER FIVE

WELCOME BACK.” EDWARD, GLENREITH’S SENESCHAL, greeted Blaine, Kestel, and Piran. Glenreith was Blaine’s family manor, damaged in the Cataclysm but still livable, though the misfortune of the years since Blaine’s exile had taken its toll on the once-grand manor.

“Glad to be back,” Blaine sighed wearily.

“You have no idea,” Piran added.

“Did we miss anything?” Kestel asked, managing an engaging smile despite the long ride back from Bleak Hollow.

“Dawe and Lady Judith have things well in hand,” Edward replied with a smile. Edward had been Glenreith’s seneschal and secret-keeper since before Blaine was born. In the years since the Cataclysm, he and Judith, Blaine’s aunt, had moved beyond friendship into a relationship built on long affection and deep trust.

“I never doubted it,” Blaine answered with a tired smile. “Please tell me you’ve got some food for us in the pantry, although we’re unforgivably late for supper.”

“It doesn’t have to be warm,” Kestel added as her stomach rumbled audibly. “Just edible!”

Edward chuckled. “I think we can more than meet those requirements. Come with me.”

They followed Edward into the kitchen. Long ago, when the McFadden family and the kingdom had known better times, a full staff of servants kept the kitchen bustling throughout the day and evening. Those days were long gone. The family’s fortunes had begun their decline under Blaine’s late, unlamented father, Ian, and the scandal caused when Blaine killed Ian to protect Mari had led to hard times even before the Great Fire.

Now, only a few servants remained, men and women who had served the family for generations and believed Glenreith to be their home. Most had nowhere else to go, and Judith had made them welcome, though she could offer little other than a roof over their heads, the protection of the manor walls, and a share of whatever food there was to be had. In the chaos after the Cataclysm, that was a generous stipend.

“The cook kept a pot of soup on the coals, in case you turned up,” Edward said with a chuckle, leading them to seats around the worn worktable. One of the serving girls ladled soup into bowls for them and then fetched a pitcher of ale and tankards. Edward returned with a loaf of freshly baked bread, along with cheese and honey.

“A pauper’s supper, I’m afraid,” he said.

Piran had already torn a piece of bread from the loaf and stuffed it hungrily into his mouth. “No complaints from me,” he said, his voice muffled by bread.

“It smells delicious,” Kestel replied. “I’m hungry enough, my saddle was starting to look good!”

“Your journey was successful?” Edward said to Blaine.

Blaine took a sip of ale and nodded. “More so than I hoped. Tormod Solveig will be joining us very soon.”

Edward frowned. “The necromancer? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” They had long ago dispensed with the formalities of title.

“My thoughts exactly!” Piran agreed, washing down his bread with ale. “Not that Mick ever listens to me.”

“We’ve got a new alliance, and that frees Tormod to help with some of the other problems,” Kestel added, giving Piran a poke in the ribs.

“Anyone notice I was gone?” Blaine asked, and began to work in earnest on his soup.

“Your absence is always keenly felt,” Edward replied. “Mari is helping Dawe get the villages prospering again.” Dawe Killick was one of Blaine’s convict friends from Velant, and his blacksmithing skills had been invaluable. He was also betrothed, with Blaine’s blessing, to Blaine’s younger sister, Mari.

“Judith is working with the servants and the farmwives to plan which crops to plant and how to preserve what’s harvested,” Edward continued. “She’s hopeful that their efforts—now that the storms are gone and we’ve got a good growing season—will mean less hunger come winter.” The last year had been harsh and hungry for those who survived the Great Fire, as unnatural storms, a backlash from the breakdown of magic, raked the countryside, and men were called away from farming to fight.

“That all sounds wonderful,” Blaine replied. He, Kestel, and Piran had been gone for more than a month, taking the army where the need was greatest. Blaine was discovering that a warlord had no time to rest. They would leave again very soon, but for a few days at least, Blaine was intent on enjoying being back on safe, familiar ground. When he had been exiled to Velant, he had never expected to see Glenreith again. Now, he took nothing for granted.

“Several people are quite anxious to speak with you,” Edward continued as they ate. “Mage Cosmin has asked numerous times when you were expected to return. I might be able to hold him off tomorrow until after you’ve had your breakfast,” he added with an arched eyebrow, “but probably not much longer.”

“That’s fine,” Blaine said. “Who else?”

“Lord Penhallow sent an urgent message that he and Sir Geir request to speak with you,” Edward added. “I would imagine that Geir saw you coming, and has already gone to bring Penhallow.”

Blaine exchanged a glance with the others. “Did they say what was so urgent? I sensed that there was something important through my bond with Penhallow. But that’s all I got.” Penhallow had saved Blaine’s life by offering his blood, which also forged a kruvgaldur bond between them. From what Blaine could observe, that connection was not nearly as strong as the bond Connor shared with Penhallow and the Wraith Lord. Blaine could only pick up strong emotions or simple telepathic messages. He suspected Connor’s bond both provided—and required—much more.

Edward shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But he said that you must not leave Glenreith without speaking with Penhallow.”

Kestel glanced at Blaine. “So no idea what that’s about?”

Blaine sighed. “Nothing good, from the feelings I picked up. And if it’s important for Penhallow to come himself, rather than just sending a message, and for him to pull Geir all the way from the Northern Plains, then something big is brewing.”

“Pollard and Hennoch on the move again?” Piran asked, working his way through a second helping.

Blaine shrugged. “Probably, although I figured it would have taken them longer to lick their wounds before they could pose much of a threat. I guess we’ll find out.”

“There you are!” Dawe Killick said, sticking his head in the doorway. “I heard a rumor you were back!”

“Barely,” Kestel replied. “Were you watching at the window with a spyglass?” she joked.

“Actually, I heard the dogs in the courtyard barking up a storm,” Dawe said as he walked in to join them. He pulled out a chair and turned it around, straddling it. “So I thought I’d come down to check.”

“Are they here?” Verran Danning glanced into the kitchen and grinned. Like Dawe, Verran was one of Blaine’s prison friends from Velant, and for their three years as colonists, Blaine, Kestel, Piran, Dawe, and Verran had shared a homestead in the wilds of Edgeland. “Good. Don’t start telling stories without me!” He was a thin man with sharp features and dark blond hair that stuck out at angles like a scarecrow. Before the war, he had been a sometime musician and ofttimes thief. Now, those skills paid off as McFadden’s spymaster.

“Are the twins with you?” Zaryae was a step behind Verran. “Fill me in on the news!” Zaryae was Borya and Desya’s kin, a talented seer. Dark black hair and dusky skin marked her as being from the western lands near the Lesser Kingdoms.

“Yes, we’re back. No, the twins aren’t with us. They chose to stay behind and help with translation, but they’ll be here before too long,” Kestel answered with a laugh. “And yes, we can give you all the news. Grab a seat and a beer.”

To no one’s surprise, Judith and Mari wandered in before they had gotten far with the story, greeting Blaine and the others with hugs and then settling in to hear their tales. The three travelers took turns telling about the battle, the dinner with Verner and the Solveigs, and then the dramatic alliance with the Plainsmen.

“You met Bayard himself?” Zaryae asked. “I am impressed. He’s the stuff of legend out on the plains—bigger than life. I honestly thought he might just be a myth. Are you sure he’s the real Bayard?”

Blaine shrugged. “Penhallow sent him, and I assume that he and the Wraith Lord would know. He was one of the Elder Council, before they disbanded.”

“You do attract interesting company, Mick,” Verran said, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think they’ll stand by their alliance?” Judith asked worriedly. “It seems so sudden to go from enemies to allies just like that.”

“Yeah—it skips the whole disastrous war defeat first,” Piran noted, finishing off his ale. “Actually, it’s rather efficient.”

“Yes, it is,” Zaryae replied. “And that’s why the Plainsmen do it that way. The nomads don’t have vast numbers of people. Squander too many lives fighting, and there’s no one to hunt food, protect the family, and father new children. Among themselves, they’ve devised ways to settle disagreements, smooth over bruised egos, and go on about their business without wasting a lot of lives.”

“It’s just that no one explained what was going on to the Solveigs—who aren’t Plainsmen,” Kestel finished. “So it escalated.”

Zaryae nodded. “Exactly.” She turned back to Judith. “So yes, I do think they’ll abide by the agreement—especially with a leader like Bayard returned to oversee the arrangements.” She shook her head. “He’s practically a god to them.”

“It’ll take a while for Rinka to believe they’ve had a change of heart,” Piran observed. “Maybe Bayard can work his godlike powers on her, too. She’s not the trusting type.”

Blaine leaned back in his chair, nursing the last of his ale. “It’s a double win for us. Bleak Hollow can stop looking over its shoulder for attacks from the plains, and be on guard against whatever new attacks are coming. And Tormod is freed up to help us and Penhallow with the renegade talishte, while we figure out how to help Niklas with this new Nagok threat.”

“Damn. Maybe when the twins get back, it’s time for us to take the spy show back on the road. I never know anything that’s going on since we stopped,” Verran said. For several months before the last crucial battle, Verran, Desya, and Borya, along with several other handpicked men, posed as traveling performers and relayed essential information back to Blaine and Niklas.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Kestel cautioned. “If this new general or warlord, Nagok, is as bad as Niklas thinks, we’re heading for another big battle. There’s rumor he may be a mage.”

Blaine set his tankard down with a thud. “Maybe I’m a lousy warlord, but I’m sick to death of war. I’d really like to get on with building things. Every time there’s a battle or a skirmish, something else gets burned down or wrecked, which is more for us to fix afterward.”

Kestel squeezed his arm and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Actually, that makes you a good warlord,” she said. “Good for the kingdom, that is.”

Edward brought more tankards and a pitcher of ale to the table. Piran was the first to refill his tankard, though the ale brewed since the Cataclysm was a poor substitute for the quality brew to be had prior to the Great Fire.

“Mari and I are making headway with the villages,” Judith reported, with a nod toward Blaine’s sister, who sat next to Dawe, holding his hand. “They’re anxious to have things back to normal—or as close to normal as we can come.”

“In other words, they’re tired of being hungry, losing their men to fighting, and having their livestock run off,” Mari added. “So many men are either dead, off fighting, or too badly injured to fight, the women have had to figure out ways to do all the things they need to do—plus what the men did, too.”

Judith nodded. “The villages are full of old men and little boys—sad, really.”

“Niklas told me that a lot of the new recruits he’s been getting are women,” Blaine said. “They’ve lost their families, they have no marriage prospects, their homes and farms were destroyed, and they’ve had to toughen up to survive.”

“Rinka told me they’ve seen the same thing,” Kestel confirmed. “Young women coming out of the countryside, volunteering for their guards. If she thinks they’re up to it, she takes them.”

“While all that has been going on, we’ve been scavenging the deserted farms for seedlings, and taking clippings from the abandoned vineyards,” Mari said excitedly. “And we’ve sent people to nurse the vineyards that might be salvageable.”

“It’s going to take time, several years at least,” Judith said, “but we might actually have some drinkable wine again!” Since the Cataclysm, luxuries small and large had been in short supply. Good wine, ale, and distilled spirits had been hard to come by, and stock from before the Great Fire was gone. What passed in the interim was only barely drinkable, and far from ideal.

“I’ll drink to that!” Piran said, raising his tankard, which was full once more.

“You’ll drink to anything,” Kestel said with a friendly poke in the ribs.

“We’ve patched up everything we can here at Glenreith,” Dawe reported. “With the villagers working hard to get the crops in and tended, I’ve been helping out several days a week with the farriers and the blacksmiths.” He sighed. “We lost a lot of experienced people to the war, so most of what I’m doing is teaching. My goal is to have a reasonably skilled person and a basic forge in each village by winter. Nothing fancy,” he warned. “Just the essentials. Horseshoeing. Tools. Hinges. Barrel hoops. That would be a big improvement over what’s out there now.”

It was hard to imagine that just two years ago, Donderath was a thriving, sophisticated kingdom. Thinking about how much had been lost saddened Blaine beyond words. We’re not out of the woods yet, he thought. If men like Reese, Thrane, and Pollard have their way, Donderath will never be anything except their private fiefdom.

They traded stories until the bell in the tower struck eleven times. “You’ve had a long day,” Judith said, rising. “We need to let you rest.” She gave Blaine a hug. “Glad to have you back safely,” she said. “All of you.”

Mari hugged Blaine as well. “It’s always good to have you home, although you’re never here long enough,” she said. Blaine planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Maybe someday,” he sighed. “But not just yet. I’m counting on you to have some good wine for us when we do.”

Mari laughed. “Make everyone stop fighting, and I’ll personally stomp the grapes!”

Dawe clapped Blaine on the shoulder as he left with Verran and the others. “Get some rest,” he said. “You’ve got too much on your plate. Enjoy being home for a little while.” Edward followed them out, leaving Blaine, Kestel, and Piran and what remained of the pitcher of ale.

“It’s really all hand in glove, isn’t it?” Piran mused. “All the battles don’t really matter if no one has food to eat, and the farmers can’t farm if they’ve got armies overrunning their fields. It’s like a dog chasing his tail—only the dogs have more fun.” He took the last of his ale with a gulp, and then stared sadly at the bottom of his empty mug.

“Your guests have arrived,” Edward said, returning to the doorway. “I’ve seated them in the parlor.”

Blaine set his empty tankard aside. “Time to go find out just what’s so important,” he said, standing. “I have a funny feeling that it’s not something I’m going to like.”

Two talishte waited in Glenreith’s sitting room, its most presentable area for company. The upholstered furnishings and wall hangings were the least shabby in the manor, and the best of what had not been sold off during the lean times.

Lanyon Penhallow looked to be in his thirties, but his eyes hinted at centuries. His dark hair was caught back in a neat queue that accentuated his angular, aristocratic features. Geir was a little shorter than Penhallow, and appeared a decade younger, with brown hair that fell loose to his shoulders.

“Welcome,” Blaine said. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”

Penhallow nodded. “Fortunately so. Much more so than yours, I wager.”

Blaine managed a wry half smile. “You could say that.” Edward, always the proper host, had already brought a flagon of deer blood and goblets for their guests. “What brings you to Glenreith, so quickly and in the middle of the night?”

All except Penhallow found seats in the parlor’s comfortable furnishings. Penhallow leaned against the mantle over the darkened fireplace. It was clear that he had a lot on his mind, and that worried Blaine. “Thrane has called the rogue Elders together—and they are summoning their broods,” Penhallow said.

“How do you know?” Kestel asked.

Penhallow shrugged. “In part, because we have people watching Solsiden. But the proof lies in the sudden spate of killings and disappearances in the towns and villages all around Thrane’s base. There are reasons talishte usually remain dispersed. Too many of us in a small area strains the food supply.”

In other words, it goes hard on the local population of deer—and humans, Blaine thought.

“Why did he call them?” Piran asked.

“Thrane intends to wage war,” Penhallow said. “It can mean nothing else.”

“There’s no other reason to gather so many talishte in one place,” Geir added. He was one of Penhallow’s most trusted warriors, and spent much of his time supporting Blaine as Penhallow’s proxy. “Gathering that many talishte isn’t sustainable for long. We’re territorial, and groups that aren’t part of the same brood tend to fight if they’re in close quarters. Sooner or later, when it’s that noticeable that talishte are preying on mortals, the mortals rise up and fight back.”

Penhallow and the allied talishte found their sustenance from willing donors or animals and avoided killing mortals except in battle. Thrane and the rogue Elders saw mortals as inferiors to be used as they desired. If the two sides were to go to war against each other, that difference gave mortals like Blaine a deep personal interest in the outcome.

“Pollard and Hennoch were badly weakened in the last battle,” Blaine said. “Surely they can’t have gained enough strength in three months to pose a serious threat?”

“They’ve been recruiting,” Penhallow said, beginning to pace. “The stragglers from Rostivan’s and Lysander’s armies, and any of Quintrel’s mages who didn’t die with him. What they can’t recruit voluntarily, they conscript.”

“Here we go again,” Piran said with a sigh.

“Niklas has asked for additional troops,” Blaine said. “He’s running into problems on the northern border, bandits coming over the border from Meroven, and someone called ‘Nagok,’ who sounds like a warlord. We’ll be heading up there in a day or two.”

“Our spies think they’re more than bandits,” Penhallow replied. “We suspect the ‘bandits’ are scouting and raiding parties, and they’re carrying information—and supplies—back to a larger force.”

“We’re reasonably sure Thrane spent at least part of the time he’s been missing in Meroven,” Geir added.

“Meaning Thrane could be behind these raids?” Kestel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Penhallow nodded. “Not only behind the raids but causing trouble. I wouldn’t put it past him to have been planning this offensive since the Cataclysm. It would be like him to have recruited talishte supporters, added to his brood, found mortal allies—maybe even equipped a large force waiting to strike. Thrane has always been a brilliant strategist.”

Blaine felt a chill as the full import of Penhallow’s comment hit him. “Thrane equips a Meroven-based force to come across the border and cause a disruption, drawing off our army, so that our resources are tied up and can’t respond to whatever it is he’s really planning?” He ran a hand back through his hair. “But what is it Thrane wants?”

Geir shrugged. “Control. The freedom to do whatever he wants, take whatever catches his eye, feed without constraint. There’s always an undercurrent, a minority of talishte, who want to play god. That’s one of the reasons we had the Elder Council, to keep those talishte in check.”

“Some on the Elder Council sympathized with the predator way of thinking,” Penhallow added. “But with the persecution under King Merrill’s father and grandfather, they understood that giving in to lawlessness would have meant extermination.”

“And without that threat, they’re ready to flex some muscle,” Kestel finished.

“Exactly,” Geir replied.

“Some of the Elders sided with you,” Blaine said evenly. “If all of you—and your broods—worked together, can you stop Thrane?”

Penhallow and Geir exchanged a glance. “We have a plan—but we need your help.”

“Blaine’s mortal,” Kestel protested. “What can he do?”

“There’s an artifact that we believe might be able to stop Thrane,” Penhallow said. “Something called the Elgin Spike. It was crafted by mages long ago and used as a way to bring an end to the last talishte war.”

“What does it do?” Piran asked.

“It was created to destroy not only a talishte but his entire bloodline, too,” Penhallow replied. “Assuming that, after all the changes in magic, the Spike still works.”

“That’s a big assumption,” Kestel pointed out. “You know how many magical items ended up tainted—and downright dangerous to the user—because of the problems with magic.”

Penhallow nodded. “I know. I was around for a few of the more spectacular failures, if you recall. But if it does work, it could solve our Thrane and Reese problems in one blow.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Kestel asked.

Penhallow managed a wry smile. “Then we’ll have to come up with a backup plan.”

Piran let out a low whistle. “Damn. Got any magic swords lying around, just in case?”

Geir chuckled. “Not to my knowledge. But I can ask Dolan.”

“So assuming the Spike works, what keeps talishte from wiping each other out?” Blaine asked.

“That’s what made the Spike so dangerous,” Geir said. “And why after that war ended, given the damage the Spike was capable of doing in the wrong hands, it had to be hidden.”

“You’ve found it?” Kestel looked up hopefully.

Penhallow gave an enigmatic smile. “I hid it. Or to be precise, I instructed Arin Grimur to hide it for me.”

Blaine, Piran, and Kestel exchanged a glance. “The man we met in Edgeland? But he said he had been exiled!” Kestel exclaimed.

“He could hardly go around announcing he was safeguarding a secret talishte weapon, now could he?” Piran said with a smirk.

“The Spike had caused too many problems, and it needed to disappear,” Penhallow went on. “Grimur was weary of civilization, and was willing to be the Spike’s protector. We fabricated the circumstances that led to his ‘exile,’ and no one seems to have guessed the truth in all these years.”

Piran frowned. “If the Spike’s been hidden all this time, how sure are you it will work? I assume Grimur didn’t take it out and test it now and again. And how do you know Thrane hasn’t figured out a way to protect himself from magic?”

Penhallow shrugged. “We won’t know for certain until we try to use the Spike. Like any magical object, its power has limits. As for the other concern, I don’t think Thrane could protect himself from the Spike unless he was a full mage, and a powerful one at that, which he isn’t.”

“We’re going to need to go get the Spike—and Grimur,” Geir said. “And we’d like to borrow a few people from your team to do it.”

“Blaine can’t run off to Edgeland in the middle of a war!” Kestel protested.

Penhallow shook his head. “No, he can’t. But we do need someone who knows the people and the territory. Verran would be perfect.”

“Verran’s not a fighter,” Blaine said.

“He doesn’t have to be,” Penhallow replied. “I’ll be sending Connor—and the Wraith Lord will go with him, which makes Connor a warrior with the Wraith Lord’s skills. We’d also like to send Borya and Desya, since they’re excellent fighters, and like Verran, they’re ready to be reassigned.”

“Who else?” Piran asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Zaryae,” Geir replied. “Her foresight could be essential, especially on the trip out. Kierken is a mage. It’s risky, but he might be able to use his magic when he possesses Connor. Grimur is also a mage. Nidhud will go as well, and along with Borya and Desya—and Connor with the Wraith Lord—they’ll have plenty of fighters. Since Nidhud is a mage as well, that makes three full mages and a seer. Verran should be in his element—working the crowd, reconnecting with the people who knew all of you when you lived there, making sure the team gets a warm reception.”

“We’ve secured the Nomad and a crew,” Penhallow went on. “The same ship that brought you back from Edgeland.”

“I agree with your choices,” Blaine said carefully. Through the kruvgaldur, he could feel how important Penhallow thought this mission was, and weighed that as he responded. “They’re good people with the right skills for the mission. And I can free them from anything they would have been doing for the fight here. But for a trip like that, you need to talk to them. I can’t make the decision for them.”

Penhallow nodded. “I plan to. But they’re your people, and I wanted to fill you in first. You might have had them on assignment.” He met Blaine’s gaze. “After all, you’re the most powerful warlord in Donderath, and the main commander of the war.”

“Verran knew nearly everyone in Edgeland, and most of them liked him,” Piran said. “That’s something you couldn’t have said for me.”

“Another good reason why you’re not an ambassador, Piran dear,” Kestel joked.

“Can you trust the crew?” Blaine asked. Verran and the others were friends, as close as family. The trip to Edgeland was more than a month long, and no matter what the time of year, the seas were treacherous.

“Yes,” Penhallow said without hesitation. “They’re all men with seagoing experience who have a strong kruvgaldur bond to me or to our allied Elders. They’re entirely trustworthy.”

Blaine was still learning just what the kruvgaldur meant and how it worked for him. He knew his was not nearly as strong as Connor’s, but no one had bothered to explain the details. “Is their bond strong enough to ensure their loyalty over such a great distance?”

Penhallow nodded. “It should. I chose only men who have a strong kruvgaldur bond.”

“The Nomad was a big ship,” Blaine said. “If you’re going to Edgeland, we’ll send supplies with you. We’ve heard nothing from the colony since we returned. It was hard enough to survive when there were regular supply ships from Donderath and the magic hadn’t gone wild. I don’t want to imagine how hard it’s been for them, without supplies and without reliable magic.”

Edgeland and the people Blaine and the others had left behind there were never far from his thoughts. He still thought of many of the people there as good friends, and prayed to Esthrane for their safety.

“What about on the return trip?” Kestel asked. “The Nomad holds four hundred passengers, in addition to the crew. Can Verran offer to bring back anyone willing to fight? We could use some fresh troops.”

Penhallow nodded. “That can be arranged. I can also add some supplies from our provisions as well.”

“Root vegetables, dried meat, tools, supplies the colonists would have had to rely on Donderath to provide like salt, dried plants that don’t grow up there for making healing potions,” Kestel rattled off. “All of those things would be more precious than gold. Anything we could send them would be much appreciated—and would make Verran a hero.”

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Geir said. “There’s no hiding a sailing ship coming into Skalgerston Bay, so let’s make sure he gets a hero’s welcome, does some good for the colonists, and has backup if he needs it from friends who are glad to see him.”

“Do you want me to tell Verran and the others before I send them to Westbain, or do you want to do the honors?” Blaine asked.

Penhallow frowned. “I’d rather have as few people as possible know about the Elgin Spike until we have it safely in hand and use it against Thrane. Please tell them, and only them, just what they must know at the last possible moment. With luck, the Spike has slipped out of memory. By the time your people reach Westbain, we’ll have the ship provisioned and ready to go. The fewer chances to compromise the mission, the better.”

Blaine nodded. “Makes sense.” He chuckled. “I don’t envy you Connor’s reaction. He didn’t fancy Edgeland much—and he was only there for a month or so!”

“With all the weird artifacts we pulled out of the catacombs under Quillarth Castle, are you sure there aren’t more things we can use against Thrane and Hennoch and the Meroven scum?” Piran asked. “I’m the last person to like relying on magic, but damn—if we can blow them up or burn them down from a distance with a little hocus-pocus, it saves a lot of lives.”

That brought a smile to Penhallow. “Nidhud and the Knights of Esthrane have been working with all of the artifacts we recovered with that same goal in mind.” He paused. “Although I suspect he might take exception to your wording.”

“Edward said Cosmin is looking for me,” Blaine replied with a sigh. “I figure he and his mages have either found something really useful or they’ve done a lot of damage and want to let me know it’s all for naught.” Since magic had been brought back under mortal control, the mages had a huge and dangerous task determining how the changes affected objects of power, and which pieces could still be safely used.

“I’ve got to admit that my mind is still back on Thrane and his rogue Elders,” Kestel said. “Are they really so blind that they think they’ll be able to slaughter mortals and people won’t fight back?”

“Thrane and Reese plan to put Vedran Pollard on the throne as their puppet.” Penhallow’s matter-of-fact observation left them in stunned silence. The chill Blaine had felt grew deeper. Vedran Pollard was one of Ian McFadden’s peers, and the bad blood between Pollard and Blaine’s father had been legendary at court. To Blaine’s mind, Pollard was Ian’s equal for sheer spite and vindictiveness.

Piran spat out a string of curses. “Pollard? King?”

“I remember Vedran Pollard from court,” Kestel said with disdain. “He was vain and cruel. Spending time with Reese and Thrane couldn’t have improved him. He would be a disaster as a king.”

“The only real alternative is for Blaine to be willing to accept the crown himself.” Penhallow’s voice was quiet, but it seemed to echo from the walls. For a moment, no one moved. Blaine caught his breath, thinking of a million reasons why the suggestion was preposterous.

“I’ve been thinking that for a while now,” Piran said, without any hint of humor. “Who else?”

Blaine found his voice. “I never even cared about being a lord, let alone a warlord,” he said. “King?”

Piran looked at Blaine with a sad smile. “In a way, the fact that you don’t want it makes you the best person for the job, Mick.”

“It’s crossed my mind, since the last big battle,” Kestel admitted. “The other warlords defer to you. You’ve earned the trust of the villagers and the people in Castle Reach. And Piran’s right—who else could do it? Verner just wants to go home and farm his land. He’s a decent general, but I don’t think he’s got the skills to be king.”

“The people would never accept either of the Solveigs,” Piran added. “Even if Rinka and Tormod were interested, and I don’t get the feeling their ambitions run in that direction.”

“Folville certainly isn’t cut out to be king, and Voss isn’t the type to want a crown,” Kestel continued. “Who else is there? Niklas couldn’t wait to leave Quillarth Castle when he was rebuilding it and get back out on the battlefield. The people won’t accept a talishte king.” She met Blaine’s gaze. “Face it, Mick—it’s got to be you. We’ve worked too hard, lost too many people fighting this war, to let it all fall apart when we win.”

“King?” Blaine repeated, stunned. The idea would be laughable if he was not certain that they were entirely serious.

“When I go back to Westbain, I’ll be gathering the allied Elders against Thrane,” Penhallow said levelly. “They will want to know what is to become of Donderath, once Thrane and the Meroven threat are defeated. We’re asking them and their broods to involve themselves in mortal affairs far more than talishte have done openly for centuries,” Penhallow continued. “They could easily leave, and let the mortals sort it out for themselves, on their own.” He looked dour. “I don’t think you would find that a satisfactory outcome.”

“And since you’re asking them to stick their necks out, they have an interest in what happens after the fighting is over,” Piran replied.

“Exactly,” Penhallow agreed. “Of all the players since the Cataclysm, only Blaine could win the support of the allied Elders.” He grimaced. “Of that, I’m quite sure.”

“I would agree, from what I’ve seen,” Geir said. “The allied Elders want to know that the next king of Donderath won’t turn on the talishte and hunt us. You’ve won points with them by naming Nidhud and Penhallow as new Lords of the Blood. You promised Dolan that the Knights will have a seat at the table as the kingdom rebuilds. You’re tied by the kruvgaldur to Penhallow. Connor—and the Wraith Lord—speak well of you.” He gave a bittersweet smile. “There is no one else with credentials that compare.”

Kestel laid a hand on Blaine’s arm. “Could you really just walk away and let it all fall apart?” she asked quietly. “If you see another alternative, now’s the time to say something.”

Kestel knows there isn’t anyone else, Blaine thought. And she’s right—we’ve fought so hard to put things back together after the Cataclysm, I can’t just let it all fall to pieces again. That’s what will happen without a strong king. So help me Charrot, I’d hand this off in a second if I could. But still, king?

“Can I give the allied Elders assurance that you’ll accept the crown, assuming we win the war?” Penhallow prompted, rousing Blaine from his thoughts.

Kestel gave his arm an encouraging squeeze, and Piran nodded soberly. “Yes,” Blaine said, although his voice sounded distant and strange to him, as if it belonged to someone else. “I’ll do it. You have my word—if we all live to see the end of this war.”