CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE AFTERMATH OF THE BATTLE STRETCHED into the predawn hours. Blaine and Kestel finally relented and got some sleep after Niklas and Geir insisted they rest before taking on Pollard. The remaining candlemarks passed far too quickly, and in the morning, Ayers, Niklas’s second-in-command, was already waiting with fresh horses and a squad of fifty men.

“No telling what you’ll run into,” Ayers said, handing off the reins. “About a third of our troops are still in the field chasing down deserters, so the last sighting the talishte had of Pollard put him at Rodestead House.” He paused. “One piece of news you’ll find interesting. A talishte messenger came for Geir after you and Kestel finally went to get some rest. Hennoch won’t be a problem. Once Thrane’s talishte were destroyed, Hennoch surrendered to Folville and Piran outside Castle Reach.”

“Now, that’s interesting,” Blaine remarked. “So Geir is sure that all of Thrane’s get were destroyed?” It was what they had hoped from the Elgin Spike, but Blaine had experienced enough unwanted surprises from old magical objects that he welcomed confirmation.

Ayers nodded. “He’s being pretty damn cagey about the whole thing, but yes—he’s sure. And I guess if there’s a way to destroy that many talishte at one time, I can understand not wanting the method to be widely known.”

Blaine frowned. “Pollard and Hennoch served Reese and Thrane. I can’t imagine that they weren’t marked with the kruvgaldur. Was Hennoch harmed when Thrane’s talishte were destroyed?”

Ayers shrugged. “Geir said Hennoch was weakened by the strike, but was expected to recover. Pollard served Reese longer and was also bound to Thrane, so you may find Pollard was more badly damaged when you catch up to him.”

Someday, Blaine vowed he would ask Penhallow more about the kruvgaldur. If I’m to be king, I need to know exactly how beholden I am, he thought. “Pollard would be dangerous even if he were dead and cremated,” Blaine remarked. “What about Nilo Jansen—his second-in-command?”

Ayers brightened. “That’s where we had a bit of luck. Turns out Jansen had brought some of Pollard’s troops up to fight for Nagok. Our men and Geir’s talishte made mincemeat out of his soldiers. Our men caught Jansen slinking away on foot and deserting what remained of his army,” he added with disdain.

“Interrogate him, and then hang him,” Blaine ordered. “He’s caused enough trouble already.”

Ayers nodded. “General Theilsson has the hanging tree ready. The mages have already had a go at him. Didn’t get much out of him that we didn’t already know. But the talishte haven’t had their chance at him yet.” By now, he had walked with Blaine and Kestel to where their horses and the soldiers waited.

Ayers gave a wan smile as Blaine swung up to the saddle. “Charrot go with you,” he said. “Maybe soon, we can put all this fighting behind us,” he added as Blaine and the others turned and rode away.

It took three days of riding for Blaine and the others to reach Rodestead House. The fire-scarred manor belonged to Penhallow and had been badly damaged in the Great Fire. Voss had been overseeing the rebuilding, and had left a contingent of soldiers at Rodestead House when he took the bulk of his army south to Castle Reach.

Blaine had no idea what to expect. For all he knew, the fighting could have ended in the days it took to ride from the northern battlefield. But when he and the others arrived, they found the battle still raging, with two small, equally matched forces dug in and fighting to the finish.

Bodies covered acres of ground: men, horses, and beasts. Carrion birds picked at the remains, and misty wisps drifted here and there, ghosts powerful enough to make themselves seen without the help of a mage. Vultures and crows tore at the bodies, and there would be enough to gorge on for days, given the battle’s toll. Here and there, a few soldiers moved among the dead, looting the bodies and administering the deathblow to those still lingering.

“Looks like our side has been giving as good as it’s gotten,” Kestel observed. She looked as tired as Blaine felt, but she flashed him a courageous grin like a blood-splattered warrior queen. Before long, Blaine heard the clatter and shouts of battle, and as they crested a rise, saw two forces still hard at war.

Voss’s soldiers fought against a decidedly smaller army that had been pushed back to defend a copse-lined rocky hillside, the attacking army’s last redoubt.

Pollard won’t give up so long as he breathes, Blaine thought. He’s wanted the crown too badly for too long.

Blaine and his soldiers rode down toward the battle, only to be intercepted by a line of rearguard defenders.

“Halt! Identify yourselves!” the young officer shouted.

Blaine reined in his horse and signaled for his soldiers to come to a stop. “Lord Blaine McFadden and troops, come to help you finish this up so we can all go home.”

“Lord and Lady McFadden,” the officer acknowledged. “Glad to have your help.”

Reinforcements gave new vigor to the fighters as a cheer went up in greeting. Blaine and Kestel fought their way toward the front lines as Blaine tried to find Pollard amid the combatants.

“He’s not on the field,” Blaine muttered to Kestel. “I’d know him if I saw him, and he’s not here.”

“Do you think he’s ducked out on them?” Kestel asked, wiping her blade clean on a dead man’s cloak.

Blaine shook his head. “There’s nowhere for him to go.” His gaze settled on a small stone structure nearly hidden among the trees in the section most vigorously defended by Pollard’s troops. “I think he’s badly wounded, and they’re hiding him.”

“Take the copse!” Blaine shouted, pointing toward the small stand of trees. “We want what’s in that building!”

Blaine and Kestel rode into the battle, swinging their swords with renewed vigor. His troops followed him, and Voss’s soldiers sent up a cheer, heartened at the reinforcements. A young captain appeared to be the ranking enemy officer, and as Blaine and Kestel rode toward him, the captain dealt a deathblow to his opponent, and wheeled his horse to face his new challengers. His mouth twisted into an ugly snarl as he recognized Blaine.

“Throw down your weapon,” Blaine shouted. “Nagok has lost. Jansen is dead, and Hennoch has surrendered. Thrane and his get have all been destroyed. You cannot win.”

The captain’s expression was contemptuous. “We will not yield! I’ll see you in Raka!” the captain screamed, charging toward Blaine, his sword leveled like a lance. Blaine jerked his reins, managing to get out of the way of the killing strike, but the sword took his horse in the neck, spraying them with warm crimson blood. Blaine leapt from his dying horse, landing in a squat as the captain rode for him again, but before Blaine could strike, Kestel neatly removed the captain’s head from his shoulders.

Pollard’s troops seemed to sense that their final hour was at hand, because they fought like madmen, intent on dying with valor if they could no longer win the war. He was certain that they knew death awaited them, whether they fought or surrendered. Blaine’s soldiers were happy to oblige, and spurred on by the knowledge that the battle was nearly won, they attacked Pollard’s troops with abandon.

Shouts, curses, and battle cries rose in a deafening cacophony, along with the clang of steel. The final assault was a blood-drenched free-for-all, and then, as the last of Pollard’s men collapsed from their wounds, the battlefield was eerily silent. It was all over within a candlemark.

“Cover us!” Blaine ordered the soldiers closest to him. “I’m going in,” he said, jerking his head toward the windowless stone building at the center of the copse.

“I’m going with you,” Kestel said, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

Blaine approached the small building carefully, wary of traps or magic, but with the soldiers dead, nothing blocked his way. Now that he was closer, he could see that only three of the four walls were still standing, and part of the roof was gone. That left enough light inside for him to see the building’s sole inhabitant, a gaunt man in bloodied armor sitting on the ground and leaning against a wall.

Blaine barely recognized Vedran Pollard. Pollard’s skin was ashen, and his eyes looked shadowed and sunken. Still, his gaze burned with hatred when he recognized who had found his hiding place. Blaine did not venture closer, certain that Pollard, no matter how badly injured, would not be unarmed.

“If you want the crown of Donderath, you’ll have to fight for it, boy,” Pollard grated. “Then again, you’re twice the murderer your old man ever was.”

Blaine knew Pollard was baiting him, trying to push him into an attack. Far too much was at stake to make that kind of error, though Blaine struggled to rein in his anger. “You can’t win. Thrane and Reese have been destroyed, and Reese bound you tightly enough to take you with him.”

Pollard gave a cold laugh. “Sure I can win. I can kill you, just like I drove that worthless cur of a brother of yours to slit his own wrists. With you dead, I still win.”

Pollard moved to hurl a dagger. Just as he was about to strike, a glowing form took shape between Blaine and Pollard. The ghost was unmistakably Carr McFadden, and for a moment, the steel of his blade looked almost solid, real, and deadly. Carr’s ghost passed right through Vedran Pollard, lingering just a second as he overlapped the man who murdered him, so that Pollard’s eyes widened in fear and his entire body trembled.

Now, Blaine!

Whether he heard Carr’s voice or imagined it, Blaine charged forward, and his sword took Pollard in the heart. Pollard’s body crumpled beneath the death strike, but his gaze remained unrepentant until the light vanished from his eyes. “It’s a better death than you deserved,” Blaine muttered, withdrawing his bloodied sword.

For a moment, the battlefield was eerily silent. After the din of battle, the silence was jarring. Blaine stared down at Pollard’s bloodied corpse. It’s finally over, he thought, looking from his bloodied blade to the body at his feet.

Carr’s ghost took shape one last time, standing next to Pollard. Now that his death was avenged, the ghost no longer manifested with its wounds, and Carr gave Blaine a rakish, bittersweet smile, then raised a hand in farewell, and vanished.

“Carr’s gone,” Blaine said as Kestel came to stand beside him. “His ghost was just here. We got our vengeance together.” His throat was tight, and he stared at the empty space where Carr’s ghost had been until he was sure that his brother’s spirit was not going to reappear.

Behind him, the soldiers were cheering wildly, shouting his name over and over, and celebrating the unexpected good fortune of being alive. Blaine heard little of it, his attention still focused on the empty space where Carr had been.

“He made it up to you,” Kestel said quietly, slipping an arm around his waist. “And he’s at peace. The war is over. Now we can rebuild.”

He leaned down to kiss her, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat, as the fury of the fight turned to utter amazement that he had survived. “It’s not quite over yet,” he murmured. “There’s still one thing left to do.”