CHAPTER SIX

IN WESTBAIN’S TATTERED PARLOR, LANYON PENHALLOW paced, hands clasped behind his back. “There’s no other way,” he said.

“Surely, there are alternatives.” Aldwin Carlisle, talishte lord and formerly the Gold-masked member of the Elder Council, frowned worriedly. “It seems… extreme.”

The Wraith Lord was present only as a disembodied spirit, but his outline was clear and recognizable. Kierken Vandholt had existed for over one thousand years as man, mage, talishte, and wraith. Connor could remember few circumstances when the Wraith Lord looked so concerned.

“Thrane is a menace,” the Wraith Lord said. “A powerful menace. And with the assistance of some of the Elders—as well as the sizable broods he and Reese and the others created—we need to take drastic steps.”

“I don’t like it.” Garrick Dalton, the Brown Elder, shook his head. “The Elgin Spike was best forgotten, or better yet, destroyed. We risk all our safety by bringing it to light.”

“Thrane and Reese are already risking the safety of all talishte,” Penhallow said sharply. “The situation in Donderath is fluid. What happens now determines the fate of the kingdom for decades to come. If the mortals experience the full horror and devastation of a talishte war, something that has been half-forgotten as history or legend, we will see massive efforts to wipe out our kind. Thrane cannot win, but all of us can lose.”

Bevin Connor, the only mortal in the room, listened in silence. He was assistant and liegeman to Lanyon Penhallow, bound by the kruvgaldur blood bond as well as by honor and an odd friendship. And as a powerful medium, he was the ofttimes vessel for cloaking the Wraith Lord in a human body. That meant he was frequently privy to conversations and events about which other mortals remained blissfully, comfortably ignorant.

“Our numbers are hardly sufficient to do damage anywhere near the scale easily inflicted by mortal warfare,” Carlisle argued.

“Mortals will forgive the excesses of other mortals,” Penhallow replied. “They believe, rightfully or not, that armed equally, they could either hold their own or do the same. But they can never be armed equally to talishte. Open war between talishte will remind them that our kind can be true monsters. And they will, understandably, band together by the hundreds and thousands in daylight to destroy all of us.”

“I gave up faith in magical objects’ ability to change the world long ago,” Carlisle said. “The Spike is a symbol, a shortcut to something we can do by other means.” He paused. “You don’t even know if it still works after the Cataclysm. For all we know, Thrane could be immune to its power, or it might be tainted—or inert.”

The Wraith Lord’s scowl deepened. “Perhaps. And we are developing alternatives in case the Spike fails. But the Elgin Spike has potent magic, and its use would solve our problem. Other means would require vastly more effort, take much more time, and come at a far greater cost.”

Connor watched the play of wills while trying to remain unnoticed. Although he had gained strength and other benefits from his kruvgaldur bond with Penhallow and his connection to the Wraith Lord, he was under no illusion that he was in any way in the company of equals. The last time he had seen Carlisle and Dalton, they had been masked and robed in the circle of the Elder Council, a group of the oldest and most powerful talishte who until recently held the power of destruction over all talishte in Donderath. He was, quite possibly, the only mortal to have witnessed the gathering and lived. And while before the Cataclysm, his role as aide to the late Lord Garnoc had brought him to court in the presence of kings and nobles, their power, and their potential for large-scale destruction, did not compare with the power of the talishte in this room.

“We have tried to solve the problem with more limited means,” the Wraith Lord replied. Over the year of playing host body to the Wraith Lord’s spirit, Connor had become highly attuned to the ancient talishte’s moods. Now, he realized how hard the Wraith Lord was trying to rein in his impatience and court the agreement of the recalcitrant former Elders.

“Penhallow and I testified to the Elders about the danger of Reese’s desire for power. We committed our troops and our broods, as well as our own blades, to fight against Reese and his mercenaries,” the Wraith Lord recounted.

“What of the Knights of Esthrane?” Malin Jarett asked. She was the only woman in the room, thin, beautiful, and imperious, and a former Elder who had hidden her features behind a Silver mask. As she spoke, she turned to look pointedly at General Dolan, who stood at rest just inside the doors to the parlor.

“My Knights have already played a sizable role in this conflict,” Dolan replied with a faint tone of disapproval. “More so than we have played in a mortal conflict for quite some time. At the behest of the Wraith Lord, we provided safe passage to Blaine McFadden from Valshoa, when he attempted to bind the magic there. The Knights fought in the Battle of Valshoa, on McFadden’s side. We have just returned from playing an equally large role in the Battle of the Northern Plains, and in McFadden’s successful re-anchoring of the magic at Mirdalur. Yet we are few in number. There are limits to our ability to directly change the course of events.”

“It worries me that Thrane returns now, after being gone so long from Donderath.” Dag Marlief had been the Elder known as Onyx. “We have only rumors about what he did in those decades, who sheltered him, what alliances he might have built.”

Penhallow nodded. “Those questions worry me as well, and I fear we’re about to discover those answers. I don’t think we will like what we find out.”

“Do you really believe that Thrane has built himself a secret army?” Jarett asked.

Penhallow turned to meet her blue eyes. “Thrane’s never ‘built’ anything himself. But do I think it’s likely that he has co-opted, conscripted, borrowed, or stolen an army by promising mountains of spoils? I would say that’s in character—most likely with allies in Meroven, where we believe he spent much of his exile.”

“I concur.” The Wraith Lord’s voice commanded attention, even though he was incorporeal. “Thrane has never played fair, even by talishte terms. He will do whatever it takes to win. And since he has announced himself in the game by his return, I think we need to take him seriously as a threat. Without Thrane, Reese had been defeated. Thrane’s return changes everything.”

“What would you have us do?” Dalton asked.

“Summon your broods,” Penhallow replied. “Brace them for war. Rally them to the cause against Thrane, or compel those who will not rally to stand down and give no aid to Thrane’s forces.”

“You expect us to go to battle?” Carlisle replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I expect that the next major conflict will be a human battle masking a talishte civil war,” the Wraith Lord rumbled. “The winner will decide the fate of the Ascendant Kingdoms for generations, perhaps centuries.” He turned his gaze over the group in turn, and even the oldest of the Elders shrank back from his intensity.

“Don’t fool yourself that neutrality is possible,” the Wraith Lord warned. “Thrane will keep score, and he has shown himself to be particularly unforgiving. And don’t believe that Thrane’s vision of a kingdom where we rule openly and brutally is preferable, or even possible. Thrane’s vision leads to a few, short years of carnage and madness, followed by extinction.”

Something in the weight of the Wraith Lord’s words gave Connor to suspect that over the course of a millennium, Kierken Vandholt had experienced those consequences. And although the Wraith Lord was quite good at hiding his thoughts away from Connor whenever he possessed Connor’s body as his proxy, Connor had gleaned bits of memories, shadows of experiences that gave him glimmers of insight into Vandholt’s history. Connor shivered. The purge Vandholt warned about was something he had survived personally, something he had seen destroy his brood and everything he cared about. Although the memory was a borrowed one, and incomplete, Connor felt its terror. The Wraith Lord was right. Devastation was imminent, and there was nothing that Connor could do about it.

“You think that Thrane can be defeated simply by besting him in a war?” Jarett asked incredulously. “Nothing short of the final death will dissuade him. Many powerful talishte have tried to pass that judgment. None have succeeded.”

“That’s why you want the Elgin Spike,” Dalton said. “To make sure that Thrane and all his brood are destroyed, once and for all.”

Penhallow crossed the room to where a large, yellowed map of Donderath and the rest of the Continent hung on the wall. Before the war, the combined crowns of the Continent had dared to call themselves the Ascendant Kingdoms, as if they had reached the pinnacle of achievement. Meroven and Donderath took up most of the land mass as the Greater Kingdoms. A handful of smaller states toward the south were the Lesser Kingdoms. On the other side of the Ecardine Sea were the Cross-Sea Kingdoms, once prosperous trading partners. No one had heard from those lands since the Cataclysm. To the far north lay Edgeland, a colony of convicts, and Velant Prison, now a ruin.

“Thrane and Pollard control Solsiden,” Penhallow said, pointing to a small knife stabbed into a location to Westbain’s north. “Hennoch’s army has the surrounding territory, to the Meroven border. Our spies confirm that he’s taken in survivors from the defeated lords, and any of Quintrel’s mages who didn’t burn.

“Voss has the territory south of Westbain, and the Wraith Lord’s protections extend around Lundmyhre. McFadden’s army and allies hold Castle Reach and Quillarth Castle,” Penhallow said, indicating an arc to the west. “Birgen Verner’s army holds from Mirdalur to the Riven Mountains, and the Solveigs have the western end of the kingdom, stretching as far as they care to exert control.” He paused. “The Gray Elder, Bayard, has gone to rally the Plainsmen, and with luck, ally them to Blaine McFadden and the Solveigs. That should free more troops to deal with the Meroven raiders.”

“It would appear that McFadden and his allies already control Donderath,” Carlisle observed.

“For now,” Penhallow replied. “Bayard has gone to help put down uprisings among the Plainsmen. Blaine and his allies must now focus their troops on Thrane and the Meroven threat if they’re to hold the kingdom.” He paused. “If we’re correct about Thrane’s intent, he likely spent much of his time in Meroven maneuvering for a successful return. He may have built a network of supporters, outfitted an army, backed a warlord he thought likely to win. These northern raids are likely his doing, and we can’t overlook the possibility that this new Meroven warlord, Nagok, may be Thrane’s man.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Dalton said. “It’s doubtful that Thrane went to ground in a crypt for nearly a century. He would have found patrons in a city, enriched them, then enslaved them. That’s his pattern.”

Jarett nodded. “Wasn’t that part of why he was exiled in the first place? Crimes not only against mortals but against talishte as well. And even then, he had supporters among the Elders, enough to make him outcast without destroying him.”

“With Thrane in Meroven during his exile, then the possibility exists he may well have had a hand in bringing the war—and the Cataclysm—down on both kingdoms,” the Wraith Lord replied. “It would be like him.”

“What do our scouts tell us?” Dalton asked.

Penhallow turned away from the map and sat on the corner of a large, wooden desk. “Kierken and I sent scouts into Meroven after the Battle of the Northern Plains. They only just returned. They found Meroven in even worse condition than Donderath: burned, flooded, reeling from magic storms and unstable magic. When Blaine McFadden restored the magic, the effects reached at least as far as Meroven. That much we know.”

“We assumed they lost their nobles and many of their mages, as we did,” Jarett said. “Was that true?”

Penhallow nodded. “Yes. The king and the nobles are dead, manors and cities destroyed, power split among squabbling bandits and warlords. Mages on both sides targeted the leadership; the difference was that Meroven unwittingly destroyed the bond of magic when they destroyed the Lords of the Blood. But now, Meroven is rebuilding. Power is coalescing in the hands of a few successful military leaders. And magic works again for them as it does for us.”

“Donderath was always the more prosperous of the two kingdoms,” the Wraith Lord replied. “It’s in Meroven’s blood to look toward Donderath with resentment. They believe Donderath has more fertile land, a better harbor, and more plentiful herds. Whether or not that’s true isn’t the point. Meroven has always seen Donderath as a treasure to be plundered. And whoever does so successfully would win great standing, perhaps a crown.”

“Which Thrane would be willing to promise, even if it wasn’t in his power to bestow,” Penhallow added drily.

“We have enough problems, without worrying about Meroven phantoms that may not come for a long while, if ever,” Jarett said.

“Meroven is not a someday threat,” Dolan replied. “Two of my Knights were among the scouts. Meroven has rallied troops not far from the border.”

“Mobs are of little use without a leader,” Carlisle observed. “They’re easy to rally, and easy to crush.”

Dolan shook his head. “Meroven has not been quiet this past year and a half. Factions there have battled for power, as they have here. Interestingly, the man who has emerged at the top was no one of consequence before the war, though he rose fast in its aftermath.”

Dalton shrugged. “One could argue the same of Blaine McFadden.”

“Many a man has risen to power from such beginnings,” Penhallow chided. “Among mortals, and even more, among talishte. Birth is a temporary advantage. Will, cleverness, and ruthlessness matter much more in the long run.”

“Our scouts have told us a leader has emerged in Meroven,” Dolan continued. “A general who goes by the battle name of Nagok has already sent raiding parties across the Donderath border, as spies.”

“Nagok,” Carlisle mused. “In the Meroven language, that means ‘night.’”

“Nagok appears to have the loyalty of his troops,” Dolan continued. “More of interest is that he also appears to have the help of powerful talishte.”

“Thrane and the rogue Elders?” Penhallow asked sharply.

“Maybe,” Dolan replied. “We haven’t identified where all of the Elders went after that last meeting. “Other than Bayard, and those of you gathered here.”

“We’ve had reports of Red being seen at Solsiden,” Dalton said. “And Aubergine was originally from Meroven, as I recall, so having him decide to slip across the border to fight for their side wouldn’t surprise me.”

“But you’re right—we have no idea where Sapphire, Jade, and the others are, other than not here,” Jarett said, curling her lip. “So it’s entirely possible that some of the Elders who sided with Thrane have gone to Meroven to line up allies.”

Connor remembered the masked figures in the standing stone circle. Thirteen Elders, before the council disbanded. Seven had supported Thrane, and that still left Saffron, Amber, and Emerald unaccounted for. Six, including the Wraith Lord, were allied with Penhallow. Onyx and his brood had the solemn responsibility of assuring that Pentreath Reese remained bound in the oubliette beneath his manor.

“What of the Meroven talishte?” Carlisle asked. “They weren’t governed by our circle of Elders.”

“Meroven had its own Elder Council,” the Wraith Lord replied. “On occasion, there would be a formal meeting between the leaders, so we could communicate.”

“We were never apprised of that,” Carlisle bristled.

The Wraith Lord turned to him, unfazed. “You did not need to know.”

“Was the Cataclysm a sufficient enough ‘problem’ to initiate communication?” Dalton asked, not attempting to hide the edge in his voice.

“Yes,” the Wraith Lord replied. “But our summons has gone unanswered. We have heard nothing.”

“So they either have no intention of working with us or they were destroyed or disbanded,” Carlisle said.

“That was my conclusion,” the Wraith Lord said. “We can’t count on help from that side.” And we don’t know whether Thrane played a role in breaking up their Circle, like he did here, Connor thought.

“So we’re on our own, against the renegades from the Elders and their broods, as well as Thrane, his brood, and the armies of Pollard and Nagok,” Carlisle summarized.

Penhallow nodded. “Now you see why I believed circumstances warrant use of the Elgin Spike.”

Jarett, Carlisle, and Dalton exchanged glances. They did not speak, but their expressions conveyed grudging acquiescence. “To use the Elgin Spike, one would have to know where to find it,” Dalton said quietly.

Penhallow and the Wraith Lord nodded. “Yes,” Penhallow replied.

“You know,” Jarett confirmed.

Penhallow raised an eyebrow. “I hid it.”

Carlisle reddened with anger. “And we were not told?”

“The Elders could not be trusted with the knowledge,” the Wraith Lord rumbled. “As we have seen, the Elders were of divided loyalties, even back then.”

“You go too far, Kierken,” Dalton challenged.

“On the contrary. It’s only now that we finally have the will to go far enough,” the Wraith Lord replied. Something about his power shifted, becoming larger and more potent, filling the space with an uncomfortable fullness, although the translucent form never changed its size.

Dalton felt the shift, and inclined his head. “I meant no offense, my lord.”

Interesting, Connor thought. Even now, when the Circle of Elders has been disbanded, they still defer to him. It was not the first time that Connor had felt a frisson of sheer terror when he realized the enormous power of the ancient spirit he allowed to fill his mind and possess his body.

“How will you reclaim it?” Jarett asked.

“I intend to send a trusted team,” Penhallow replied. “Connor and the Wraith Lord will lead them. Nidhud from the Knights of Esthrane will also go with them. And Blaine McFadden has already sent several of his best people, ones with special skills, to accompany the group: a far-seer, one of the former convicts, and two warriors who have been changed by the wild magic of the storms.”

Zaryae, Connor thought. Along with Borya and Desya. But where are we going?

“You choose not to accompany them?” Dalton asked, raising an eyebrow.

Penhallow shook his head. “I dare not leave Donderath, especially without the Wraith Lord present. Thrane is dangerous enough, even without other allies. We are the bulwark to hold him back until the others can return.”

“Meaning he’ll need more than your lip service,” the Wraith Lord snapped. “He’ll need you on the battlefield, along with your broods, ready to put steel to flesh to back up your fancy words.”

“Where is the Elgin Spike?” Jarett asked.

Penhallow met his gaze. “Edgeland. Where it has been for more than a century. In the care of my servant, Arin Grimur.”

“Edgeland!” Connor’s voice rose. “You’re sending me up to Edgeland?” The rest of the Elders had gone, leaving only Connor, Penhallow, and the Wraith Lord. Dawn was not far off, which would end the conversation. Connor had plenty of questions before then.

“Edgeland was the safest place I could reach,” Penhallow replied with a shrug. He poured a goblet of deer blood from a decanter and swirled it before taking a sip. “A century ago, it was a true wasteland. Velant did not exist, and neither did Skalgerston Bay.”

“I thought Arin Grimur was exiled,” Connor challenged.

“It was a convenient lie,” the Wraith Lord replied.

Connor had met Arin Grimur when fate and a drifting, damaged ship landed him in Edgeland right after the Great Fire. Theirs had been one of the few refugee ships to find a safe harbor, if one could call Skalgerston Bay ‘safe.’ It had been then that Connor had met Blaine McFadden and his friends and gotten mixed up with McFadden’s efforts to restore the broken magic. Arin Grimur had saved their lives, more than once.

“Do Zaryae and the others know where we’re going?” Connor asked. Making one round trip to Edgeland and surviving it was already pushing his luck. The idea of a second such trip frightened him to his marrow.

“Perhaps not yet. Blaine and I agreed that the fewer who know in advance, the better for our chances of success. I left it up to Blaine how much to share and when,” Penhallow replied. He poured a glass of real whiskey, one of the few bottles that remained from before the Great Fire, and handed it to Connor. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Connor let the whiskey burn down his throat, savoring the rare luxury. He doubted the contents of the entire bottle would dull his dread of returning to Edgeland. “You’re just going to spring it on them when they get here?”

Penhallow chuckled. “If necessary. More likely, Blaine will tell them before that. Verran is also being asked to go, to reestablish trade with Edgeland,” he said. “I’ve already gathered provisions for your trip: weapons, clothing, supplies, and a ship. Blaine is making sure you take plenty of highly desirable and useful goods to share with the colonists.”

Connor frowned. “It’s a month’s trip one-way,” he said. “I doubt even magic could change that. What happens here, while we’re gone?”

“I work with Voss and McFadden to hold back whatever Thrane unleashes against us,” Penhallow replied matter-of-factly. “Which is why Kierken is accompanying you and I am not.”

Another thought occurred to Connor, and he frowned. “Does the kruvgaldur reach to Edgeland?”

“The kruvgaldur reaches you where you are,” the Wraith Lord replied. “Alive or dead. And you think distance matters?”

“The last time I was in Edgeland, the bond seemed weak,” Connor challenged.

Penhallow raised an eyebrow. “Much has happened in the time since then. How many times have you needed my blood to heal? Each time you take my blood, it binds you more tightly and strengthens the kruvgaldur.”

Connor had some experience of his own with the ‘alive or dead’ part, and it had been his kruvgaldur bond and Penhallow’s blood that had brought him back again. The thought of returning to Edgeland was terrifying, but less so knowing he would be going with friends and with the lifeline of the kruvgaldur.

“When do we leave?” Connor asked. It was easier to just begin planning than to dwell on the dangers.

“Verran and the others should arrive in the next few candlemarks. We’re preparing the ship to leave in the next day or so,” Penhallow replied. “Given the time it will take to get to you Edgeland and back, I don’t think we dare delay.”

Maybe it’s better not to spend too much time thinking about it, Connor thought. Still, it takes some getting used to.

Two candlemarks later, the doors to the parlor opened to welcome five travelers. They were dusty with the grit of the road, dressed to attract as little attention as possible. Connor rose to meet them, genuinely pleased to see his friends again.

“So this is where you spend your time when you’re not getting knocked flat on your ass.” Verran Danning hooked his thumbs in the waist of his trews and looked around.

Connor clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. “Just don’t make off with what’s left of the silverware, all right?” he bantered.

Verran made a face at him. “That takes all the fun out of it,” he said with a wicked grin.

Zaryae moved up to greet Connor with a hug. “We’re just glad to be here in one piece,” she said, giving him a friendly squeeze before she released him. “We ran into bandits on the way here.”

“She means that we had some fun,” Borya said.

“Rather more than we expected,” Desya seconded. The twins reminded Connor of ravens, with their dark hair and somewhat prominent noses.

Connor and Penhallow exchanged a glance. “Do we need to dispatch troops?” Connor asked.

Borya chuckled. “You can’t kill them deader than they already are,” he replied. “Desya and I considered it a warm-up.”

“After all, it’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve been in a good, death-defying battle,” Desya drawled sarcastically. “We were starting to get soft.”

Nidhud was the last to enter. He was a stocky man who was no taller than Connor but built heavier, like a bull. His dark eyes showed the shrewdness of centuries of battle. Nidhud was one of the Knights of Esthrane assigned to support Blaine McFadden. “Apologies for our delay,” Nidhud said. “We were unavoidably detained on the road.”

“He means that we had to stop to muck out the stables—in a manner of speaking,” Borya supplied with a smirk.

“Come in and sit down,” Penhallow said, welcoming them. “I’ve sent word for food to be brought. You’ve come a long way. Rest.”

Connor resisted the urge to blurt out what was on his mind. Might as well rest now, because we’re being shipped off to the end of the world in a few days. Instead, he took a sip of his whiskey, then poured glasses of whiskey or brandy for the newcomers, who found seats near the darkened fireplace. It was late summer in Donderath, dramatically warmer than Edgeland’s ‘mildest’ season. Connor tried to still his apprehension and focus on the moment, where he was safe, comfortable, and still on dry land.

Servants brought plates of rabbit with stewed parsnips, onion, and radishes. Borya and Desya dug in with their usual gusto. Zaryae sipped tea and picked at her food, while Verran savored his whiskey before starting on the hearty meal. Nidhud was content with a goblet of blood.

“How are Blaine and Kestel?” Connor asked, anxious for news.

“Still besotted with newlywed bliss, when they’re not fighting a war,” Verran replied with his mouth full.

“They’re both doing well,” Zaryae replied with a reproving glance at Verran and the twins, a look that was openly and pointedly ignored. “There’s been trouble on the Solveigs’ border with raiders from the west. Blaine and the twins just got back from fighting out there.”

“And the fight—was it successful?” Penhallow asked, sipping a goblet of deer blood as the others ate.

Borya nodded and swallowed before answering. “Thanks to Bayard. With luck, the alliance will hold.”

Verran finished his food and leaned forward. “So, can we talk about why I’m here? I understand requesting the others. They’re actually good in a fight. But me? I’m only an amateur spy compared with someone like Kestel.”

“Your music could send the enemy screaming in pain,” Desya needled.

“Or surrendering to end the torment,” Borya added before Zaryae elbowed him, hard, in the ribs.

Verran took the teasing good-naturedly. “See what I mean?”

Nidhud’s expression had grown solemn. “Except that you’re one of Blaine’s original companions,” he said quietly. “One of the Velant prisoners and Edgeland colonists. And of the original group, the easiest to spare from present responsibilities.”

“Yeah, expendable,” Verran said with a sigh. “Can’t send Blaine, he’s busy being a warlord. Can’t send Kestel or Piran, because they’re watching his back. Dawe’s about to get married, and he’s a lousy fighter anyhow. At least I can throw rocks. Dawe’s likely to get himself captured even if we leave him in Donderath,” Verran said, looking first to Connor and then to Penhallow. “Please tell us why you’re sending us back to that icy godsforsaken place. Blaine wouldn’t say—only told me what he wanted me to do when we got there.” His gaze locked with Connor’s. “Come on, Connor. You’ve been there. No reason at all for a sane man to go back.”

Connor sighed. “Yes, I’ve been there. But you’re the real expert. You lived with the people. They know you and trust you.”

“I understand why you would not want to return,” Penhallow said quietly. “And if there were another way, I would not risk your lives. But there’s a weapon secreted away on Edgeland that might be our only chance to defeat Thrane. I not only need to send a team I trust to retrieve it, but they need to know the people and the place for the best chance of success.”

“You mean, in order to have a prayer of surviving the trip,” Verran replied, arching an eyebrow.

Penhallow gave a dry chuckle. “Yes, if you want to put it that way.”

“What is it that we’re supposed to find and bring back?” Desya asked, all trace of humor gone. His golden eyes were completely serious. “What do you consider to be worth our lives?”

Penhallow nodded, as if he had expected the question. “You are certainly right to ask. And when I tell you, I believe you’ll understand why the item is so dangerous—and so important—that it has been worth Arin Grimur’s voluntary exile for decades.”

“Grimur?” Verran said, frowning. “He was the talishte-mage who lived way out on the ice, the one who had Valtyr’s notebook.”

Penhallow nodded once more. “Yes. Arin is one of mine. And he has kept a very lonely vigil over one of the most dangerous weapons in the world.”

“I thought Grimur was exiled for killing mortals, or something like that,” Verran countered.

“What kind of story would you create if you wanted your person to be left alone?” Penhallow replied.

Verran thought about that and then nodded. “I guess so. But what could possibly be so bloody important?”

“The means to kill a specific talishte and his entire bloodline,” Penhallow replied.

Everyone except Nidhud sat for a moment in stunned silence. Connor noticed that Nidhud winced at the description, but did not look surprised. Although Connor had heard the earlier debate between Penhallow and the former Elders, they had not bothered to describe the Elgin Spike’s purpose. Now he could understand why.

“Pardon my asking, but why in Raka do talishte have such a weapon for other talishte?” Verran asked, eyes wide.

“We often speak of the threat to talishte posed by mortals,” Penhallow said finally. “For an older, stronger talishte, it might take a mob of mortals to make a killing strike. But two talishte of equal strength can destroy one of us all alone.”

“Like wolves, fighting for territory,” Borya said.

Penhallow nodded. “Something like that. The only thing a top predator has to fear is another top predator.” He grimaced, as if speaking of such things bothered him deeply. It’s hardly the kind of thing a talishte talks about with mortals, Connor thought. For a good reason.

“Does it actually work? The Elgin Spike?” Zaryae asked.

“The Spike is made of obsidian, layered with powerful magic,” Penhallow replied. “It was created by mages long ago and thought lost, but then the Spike was found and presented as a way to put down the last talishte war. It passed through many hands, with dire consequences, before the talishte discovered its hiding place. At that point, the Spike was secreted away from the king’s vaults.”

He paused for a moment, staring into the blood in his glass. “By this point the Knights of Esthrane had already vanished, the Wraith Lord was a legend not seen in many years, and mortals had turned against us. I thought that the Spike was too much of a temptation, and worked with my allies to make it disappear once more. I sent Arin, who is both talishte and a mage, to guard it, for however long required.” He gave a sad smile. “Don’t feel too bad for Arin’s ‘exile.’ He’s been quite happy in Edgeland.”

“How’s he going to feel about being bothered now?” Connor asked. “As I recall, the only way we met him was because we nearly died in a blast of magic and an avalanche.”

Borya looked at him, grinning. “Really? That’s a great story. And it sounds like something that would happen, especially if Piran was there.”

“So you intend to use the Spike to destroy Thrane and Reese and all their progeny? Do you think it will still work? After magic was lost, a lot of artifacts either didn’t work or turned dangerous,” Connor asked quietly. The potential for destruction was breathtaking, and for one talishte to consider wielding such a weapon against others meant that Penhallow and the Wraith Lord saw Thrane as a truly dangerous enemy.

“We can only hope—it was made long, long ago. But we believe it’s worth the risk. Thrane is raising armies, both mortal and talishte,” Penhallow replied. “And if he wins, he’ll put Pollard on Donderath’s throne—and I wouldn’t doubt that he’s promised Nagok the throne in Meroven.”

“So you think that Thrane and a bunch of really old, really powerful talishte with big families are going to start slaughtering mortals?” Verran asked. “That’s scary.”

“Actually,” Nidhud interrupted, “you’ve got it a bit wrong. Thrane and his supporters won’t begin with the mortals. They will come after any talishte that dares to oppose them, and once we have been destroyed, there will be no one of equal strength to stop them from doing whatever they would like to the mortals.”

Verran drew in his breath. “Well. You just managed to make something that was already terrifying so much worse.”

“The Wraith Lord will go with you,” Penhallow said. “He and Nidhud, along with Grimur, can protect the Spike against most threats. Remember, they’re mages as well as talishte.”

You might have been talishte in your own body, but I draw the line at gnawing on someone’s neck for the cause, Connor warned the Wraith Lord silently.

He heard Kierken Vandholt’s deep laughter, as if from a distance. I have demanded a great deal from you, Bevin, but I have no desire to have you ‘gnaw’ on necks. I believe, should the circumstances warrant, Nidhud and Grimur will be quite capable of that.

“Blaine and I chose you because you had the best set of skills for the task,” Penhallow said.

“And we could be spared without anybody missing us too much,” Verran added.

“If we succeed, it could be the decisive strike of the conflict, ending the war before it truly begins,” Nidhud said.

“How and when?” Borya asked.

“We’ve outfitted the Nomad, the merchant ship Connor and Blaine sailed back from Edgeland, for the journey,” Penhallow said. “The Nomad is seaworthy and can take all of you and the provisions easily. I’ve already outfitted the ship for the voyage. We don’t want to take the chance that Thrane and his followers might guess our intent.”

“There is a threat, but it’s not Thrane,” Zaryae said. They turned to look at her, and Connor knew from her glazed expression and the soft, distant tone of her voice that she was seeing a possible future. “There is no time to wait. Enemies approach.”

Just then, the doors to the study opened. Dolan stepped in. “We need to rethink waiting to launch,” he said tersely. “Scouts have spotted ships on the horizon. Pirates are the best of the possibilities. If they close the harbor, you won’t be going anywhere.”

“Gather your things,” Penhallow said. “You’ll sail as soon as Voss can gather the crew.”