Stormcaster

  “That’s just what we shouldn’t do,” Hal said. “While we’re fighting among ourselves, Celestine will be winning territory in the north. Sooner or later she will turn south.”

  “And by the time she does, we’ll have united the empire and can contend with her.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looked at Hal, then away. “Has it occurred to you that the witch in the north has—” He paused, as if reluctant to speak the words. “—has bewitched you?”

  “No!” Hal said, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I am not bewitched. I know what I saw.”

  “Look, I don’t know what was done to you while you were held captive in the north,” his father said. “I have no knowledge or understanding of sorcery. I leave those matters to the church.” He brightened. “It might do you good to speak with the chaplain. Father Menard is with us, and he might have some insights as to—”

  “No,” Hal said. “I don’t want to talk to Menard. I don’t need an exorcism. I need an army.” He tried to quash the doubt that welled up from deep inside him. Could it have been an elaborate ruse, put on for his benefit? Had he been played?

  If it had been a ruse, it was a drama worthy of any stage in Tamron, complete with a cast of thousands.

  “I can’t give you an army, Hal,” his father said. “I will need every sword I have.”

  “Are you really going to march on the capital when the king is holding your wife and daughter hostage?” Without meaning to, Hal had raised his voice.

  “Is that what this is about?” Matelon drained his cup and slammed it down. “You know I do not negotiate with hostage-takers. We did send a message to Ardenscourt after Gerard died, demanding that Jarat release the hostages straightaway as a gesture of good faith. He countered with a demand that we surrender to the king’s justice.”

  If he offered justice, that would be a first in that family, Hal thought. “Has there been any word about the whereabouts of those he’s holding?”

  “They are somewhere in the capital, I presume,” his father said sourly. “The king would want to keep them close. He assumes that we won’t attack as long as he holds that card. And that means he has no incentive to make concessions.” Matelon gave Hal a long, measured look. “Frankly, we are not interested in a peace that maintains the status quo. Why should we reward the son for his father’s bad behavior? There is not a thane in the empire who hasn’t suffered massive losses of land, men, and money under Gerard. If we submit to Jarat, he comes away with everything Gerard has stolen from us, and we’ll go to the block. The thanes don’t agree on much, but we are in agreement on this point—we must negotiate from strength, not as supplicants. So. As things stand, there is no avoiding a fight. If we are going to make our move, this is the time to do it, when he is at his weakest. Why wait until he’s found his footing? As for our families, any harm that comes to them will be repaid in kind.”

  “But . . . that won’t bring Harper or Mother back,” Robert said.

  Their father squeezed Robert’s shoulder. “We are men, Robert,” he said. “Sometimes men have to make hard decisions.”

  Robert twisted away from Matelon’s hand. “If the hostages were freed, wouldn’t King Jarat be more likely to negotiate?”

  “No doubt,” their father said, with a hoarse laugh. “Jarat has an army, but armies need feeding whether they are fighting or not. He has no money and no territory north of the capital. If the savages in Bruinswallow and We’enhaven sense weakness on his part, they’ll be pressing in at the borders. Right now, I’d rather be us than him.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be us!” Robert shouted. “I don’t want to be us at all. If the king won’t let our families go, we need to free them ourselves.” And he stomped up the stairs, leaving Hal and his father staring at each other across the table.

  “It’s hard to be young,” Matelon said, shaking his head.

  “It’s hard, period,” Hal said, pushing his last bite of meat around on his plate. He considered asking for permission to go to the capital to see if he could find out where the hostages were being kept. He still had friends in the Ardenine army that he would trust with his life. But he suspected that Matelon would be reluctant to approve any enterprise that might result in putting one more hostage in Jarat’s keep.

  If he asked permission and his father said no, then he definitely couldn’t go.

  Better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission, Hal thought.

  Matelon cocked his head. “Robert has always been headstrong, but you’ve always been the steady one,” he said. “Enchanted or not, your time in the north has changed you.”

  Hal nodded. That, at least, was something they could agree on.

  “I know that you’re disappointed that we can’t open another front right now, but we have to choose our battles. As you’ve seen, it’s hard enough to persuade the thanes to finish the war we’re in. I’ll tell you right now, there will be no support for coming to the aid of the witch queen.”

  Hal pushed his plate away and drained his cup, knowing there was no point in continuing to argue. “I understand, sir.”

  In the past, that would have ended it, but his father continued to study Hal, as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “I have agents in the north. I promise I’ll get in touch with them and see what we can find out. In the meantime, we need to take advantage of this opportunity to end the civil war. That will make us strong enough to resist outside forces.”

  Lord Matelon paused, and when Hal said nothing, continued. “We’ve been able to persuade a number of soldiers from the regular army to come over to our side. Once word gets out that you’re with us, more will come. I would like to consolidate all of our soldiers under your command. I’ll make that case when we meet with the others tomorrow.”

  Hal nodded. “What about mages? Have any of them come over?”

  Matelon rubbed his chin. “Not many, and most of those are collared, so it’s hard to predict what they might do in a battle situation. It’s hard to argue with a collar.”

  “How are we doing for ordnance?”

  “I’ve been building a stockpile, but our allies have not been particularly forthcoming.” Matelon grimaced. “Each man wants to hold on to what’s his. It’s not just the war with Jarat that they’re concerned about, it’s after. But there’s someone I want you to meet. She’s been sourcing weapons for the crown for a year or two, and she thinks she can help us with magical ordnance.”

  “She’s been working for the crown?” Hal raised an eyebrow. “Do you trust her?”

  His father laughed hoarsely. “She’s a practical sort,” he said. “Our money spends as well as any, and right now we’re the ones who are buying.” He looked toward the door. “There she is now.”

  The girl who’d just entered shook rainwater from her dark curls and looked around the room. When she spotted them at their corner table, she shed her cloak and draped it over her arm, signaled to the barkeep, then crossed the room to them. “Lord Matelon,” she said. “Good to see you.”

  “Barrowhill,” Hal’s father said. “We were just talking about you. Please join us.”

  Years of his mother’s training kicked in. Hal stood, bowed, and pulled out a chair for her. Barrowhill slowly turned her head and looked him up and down as if he were a creature she’d not seen before. Then plucked at her skirts as if they were the fanciest of ball gowns and lowered herself into the chair, ruining the effect by squirming a bit to get settled. The server plunked a pint of bingo down in front of her.

  A pint? Hal thought. That would put any teamster on his back in short order.

  She raised her glass in a toast. “I see that the rumors are true, Captain. Welcome back from the dead. Tell me what it’s like on the other side.”

  Hours later, when Hal went upstairs, he knocked at Robert’s door, hoping to settle him a little. There was no answer. He knocked again. His brother was usually a light sleeper. Finally, he pushed the door open.

  The bed was empty. R
obert was gone.

  25

  POINT AND COUNTERPOINT

  Corporal Talbot’s timely arrival was both a blessing and a curse, as far as Evan was concerned. The news about the attack on Chalk Cliffs supported parts of the story that Evan was telling, but it also meant that his warning had come too late. The fact that Celestine already had a foothold in the east made him feel crowded. It made him want to keep traveling west until he reached the edge of the world. And maybe jump off.

  It also meant that his movements were limited now. It didn’t help that he and his crew were locked up together in a suite of rooms. It was like being penned in with a pack of nervous cats. Not even the ritual of tay would settle their nerves.

  He wondered if Destin knew about the attack on Chalk Cliffs. If he didn’t, he would hear about it before long. Would that make Evan’s job easier or harder?

  Evan was almost grateful when the wetlanders called him into the queen’s small hall for questioning. His crew, not so much.

  “What if you never come back?” Brody said, shifting from foot to foot in his agitation. “What will become of us?”

  “We should fight our way out,” Jorani said, producing a dagger from some hidden place. Evan half-expected her to come up with a bow and a quiver of arrows and a trebuchet as well.

  “If we try to fight our way out, I will be killed, and you won’t,” Evan said. He brushed at his fine breeches, which by now were looking less fine. “How is that helpful?”

  She seemed stumped by that question. After a moment’s pause, she stowed the blade away.

  The bloodsworn turned Stormborn were the fiercest, most loyal crew he’d ever known, but they were like children in some ways. They could be led, but they weren’t skilled at making decisions on their own.

  Celestine probably likes it that way, he thought, but I don’t. I could use a little help.

  When Evan arrived at the small hall, his interrogators were waiting for him. All the faces were at least marginally familiar. The wolf queen. Captain Byrne. The queen’s niece, Lady Barrett. The queen’s sister, the princess Mellony. Lord Bayar, the High Wizard. Hadley DeVilliers. The upland mage, Shadow Dancer. Corporal Talbot, who’d brought the news of the fall of Chalk Cliffs. And, of course, the healer—Prince Adrian sul’Han, who sat in the corner nearest the hearth, his face in and out of shadow.

  In Ardenscourt, sul’Han had always worn drab healer’s colors, so it was a bit of a shock to see him dressed in velvets and satin. The prince had his mother’s eyes, with a bit more blue in them, and a hint of her coppery complexion below his coppery hair.

  Evan was beginning to realize that there was no way to win over the queen if he didn’t win over the healer. Sul’Han was the son of the queen, after all, and blood trumps everything else. Even if she believed what Evan had to say, when it came to a choice, she would choose her own blood. That was the way the world worked.

  But winning over the healer was going to be like climbing a mountain from deep underground. It would help considerably if Evan could convince him that Jenna was still alive.

  Talbot opened the session with a brisk overview of what had happened in Chalk Cliffs. It was all too familiar.

  “This is what the empress does,” Evan said. “For the past five years, she has been systematically winning the free cities of the Desert Coast. First, infiltration by her bloodsworn. Then, the taking of the port, the off-loading of her armies, and an invasion that extends her control as far as the Dragonbacks. Here, let me show you.” He’d brought his maps along, and he laid them out on the table and traced the backbone of Carthis from north to south.

  “Where is her stronghold?” Captain Byrne leaned over the map.

  “Here.” Evan unfurled another map, an older one, of the Northern Islands at the time that they were conquered by the Nazari family. “I found this in your temple library,” he said. “I assume this was brought here by some of those who fled Nazari rule eons ago. It’s out of date, but the geography should be the same.”

  He turned the map so that Byrne could get a better look. “For years, the Northern Islands have been battered by storms that made it difficult even to approach the shoreline,” he said. “In recent years, the weather has seemingly improved. Celestine has been rebuilding the ancient Nazari capital of Celesgarde on one of the Weeping Sisters—I’m not sure which one.”

  “The Weeping Sisters?” The queen cocked her head. “I’m not familiar with those.”

  “They are three islands in the Northern Islands that are known for volcanic activity—like many of the mountains in the Fells. I’ve not been there, but I would expect that the defenses would be formidable.”

  The healer watched silently throughout the geography lesson, taking notes, the scratch of his quill audible now and then when the conversation died.

  “The empress’s ships carried off dozens of prisoners,” Barrett said, “including one of our best officers. Based on past practice, where would she take them and what—what does she intend to do with them?”

  Evan looked from face to face, seeking clues. The atmosphere in the room was fraught, full of tension, unstable, seething with secrets. It reminded Evan of when a storm was about to break, the clouds piling up, the air so thick with electricity that it was difficult to breathe.

  “Would this officer be Captain Gray?” he said.

  The whole room flinched—all except the healer, who went very, very still.

  “What do you know about Captain Gray?” Barrett said.

  “Just a guess,” Evan said disarmingly. “At the reception, Queen Raisa mentioned that a Captain Gray was at Chalk Cliffs, and expressed concerns about his safety. And now, it seems, all your worst fears have come true.”

  From the looks on their faces, he’d struck a vein.

  Who is this Captain Gray, and why is he so important?

  “So,” Byrne said, breaking the silence, “going back to Lady Barrett’s earlier question . . . ?”

  “She might very well take prisoners to Celesgarde,” Evan said. “On the other hand, she controls most of the Desert Coast, now, so it’s difficult to say. It would depend on how she intends to . . . use them. Most of her prisoners go directly into her bloodsworn army.”

  “What does that mean, bloodsworn?” Talbot wore an expression of sick dread.

  “They are bound to the empress in a blood ritual,” Evan said.

  This was met with a collective shudder. Sul’Han ran a finger over his forearm, as if tracing a memory. He exchanged glances with the queen.

  “Have you heard of an order of bloodthirsty priests called the Darian Brothers?” Queen Raisa asked abruptly. “Is there a connection?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no,” Evan said. “I’ve not heard of them.”

  That, at least, seemed to be the right answer.

  “Your crewman Brody says that he was bloodsworn, and you ‘freed’ him,” Bayar said, speaking up for the first time. “Does that mean there is a way to undo the blood-magic charm once it’s cast?”

  Evan struggled to come up with an answer. “I don’t know that you can undo it. Celestine doesn’t let go of anything easily. But it seems that you can replace it with something else. That’s what I did with the Stormborn. That is why their auras are red instead of purple.”

  “So you are a blood mage also,” Bayar said, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  “Apparently, yes.”

  They all looked at one another. After a moment, Barrett cleared her throat and made a show of consulting her notes. “Why is the empress interested in the magemarked, as you call them?”

  The questioning continued, covering much of the same ground as in his earlier meeting with them. Didn’t anyone take notes? He supposed that now they had more reason to be interested in what he had to say. Or maybe this repeat was for Talbot’s and the healer’s benefit. Talbot asked a few questions, but the healer remained silent. Evan kept looking at him, waiting for him to weigh in, make a face, dispute something he sai
d, or provide additional information, but he didn’t.

  That’s when Evan realized—the queen must have told sul’Han to keep quiet. Was it because she was angry with her son? Or was the intent to—what was the expression?—give Evan enough rope to hang himself?

  “How is it that you are the only holdout along the Desert Coast?”

  Evan wrenched himself back to the interrogation, realizing that Barrett had just asked him a question.

  “I have built a fortified stronghold,” Evan said. “And I am one of only a few gifted ship’s masters that are left. That gives me an advantage. But I am under no illusion that we can hold out forever. I have to go to sea in order to make a living.”

  “By attacking our ships and stealing our goods,” the queen said.

  “It’s nothing personal,” Evan said. “We steal from everyone, northerner and southerner, Desert Coast and wetland coast. We are equal opportunity brigands in that regard.”

  This was met with stony silence, finally broken by the queen.

  “For the next series of questions, I’ve asked Lord Bayar to take over the questioning, and use persuasion. Are you familiar with that?”

  Evan sat up straighter. Persuasion? Was that the wetland word for torture? “I am not,” he admitted, his mouth dry. “Could you, perhaps, explain?”

  “I’ll use magic to ensure that your answers are true,” Bayar said. “Don’t worry,” he added. “It’s not painful, but I would ask you not to do anything to interfere with it.”

  “I wouldn’t know how,” Evan said, busily sorting through the secrets he wanted to keep. He should be all right, assuming a partial truth would be enough.

  He and the High Wizard sat on either side of a small table and Bayar gripped his hands. Magic flowed from the wizard’s hands to his own. Evan had expected that it might be similar to the sensation of rum or blue ruin running down his throat. Or that it might be painful, despite the high wizard’s assurances. But no. It was more like a cold river running through Evan’s veins that eventually disappeared as it mingled with his blood, leaving no trace behind.