You’re sure this is the right road?” Rhistiart fidgeted in his saddle.
Cam glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sure. I used to live in Brunnfen, you know.”
Rhistiart shrugged. “You said yourself that that was a long time ago.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you forget.”
“You’re reasonably sure they aren’t going to try to kill us again, aren’t you?” This time, Cam detected a hint of true nervousness in the voice of his silversmith-turned-squire. He couldn’t really blame Rhistiart. The two had met as prisoners of the Divisionists. Cam had enabled Rhistiart to escape with a message for King Donelan, and then had managed to make his prison explode, warning the king of the traitors’ position and nearly getting himself killed in the bargain.
“Reasonably.” The truth was, Cam wasn’t entirely certain. He and his twin sister, Carina, had been forced from their home twelve years ago by their father, a man who despised magic in any form.
“I thought your brother was one of Leather John’s friends,” Rhistiart added.
“Alvior was.” His eldest brother, Alvior, had supported the Divisionists against King Donelan, then managed to escape, barely eluding the king’s guards. “But it’s Renn who’s been in charge since Alvior sailed off across the sea, and Renn was always partial to Carina and me. He was just little when we were sent away.”
“Think it’s a trick?” Rhistiart fingered the hilt of the sword that hung at his belt, but Cam guessed that in a fight, Rhistiart would do better throwing crockery than trying to score with a blade.
“Maybe. I hope not. We’ll be careful.”
“So if Renn’s letter is true, you’re the new Lord of Brunnfen?”
Cam gave a harsh laugh. “Wait until you see the place before you get too impressed. Brunnfen is one of the oldest manor houses in Isencroft. It’s cold and damp both summer and winter. Brunnfen was built for defense, not as a home, so it’s got precious few windows and it’s dark. Has its share of ghosts, too, and more than a few have bad tempers. I didn’t have the chance to ask Renn, but if Mother died pining away for Carina and me, and Alvior murdered Father, the place might have two new ghosts-just what I need.”
“Do you think Lady Carina will ever come home?”
Cam sighed. Rhistiart was loyal and had proven to be unexpectedly brave, but the former silversmith had a penchant for talking day and night. Cam, who was used to the company of soldiers or to traveling with his twin sister, doubted he’d spoken as much to anyone in the last ten years as he had to Rhistiart, mainly because the man refused to accept silence as an answer. “Her home is in Dark Haven, with Jonmarc. If anything brings her for a visit, it’s Renn. She practically raised him when he was little. They were very close.”
Cam paused, then turned to look at Rhistiart. “So what made you decide to leave Dark Haven? You had a good offer to apprentice with a vayash moru silversmith. I saw his work-each one was a masterpiece. He sells his creations to every palace in the Winter Kingdoms-and to the nobles who can afford him. You could be home in a warm bed and safe.” He grinned. “And don’t try to tell me it’s my winning personality. Carina set me right on that long ago.”
Rhistiart smiled wistfully. “I expect I’ll go back to Dark Haven in a year or two and take him up on the offer. He’s immortal; he’s not going anywhere. But this,” he said with a sweep of his arm to take in the road ahead of them. “This kind of adventure comes once in a lifetime. How could I pass it up?”
Cam grimaced. “If you recall, ‘this kind of adventure’ nearly got the two of us killed a few months ago.” Cam’s injuries from the fight with the Divisionists had almost cost him a leg and had sent him to Carina for healing. Even now, he walked with a limp that would probably never go away, and he would be minus one finger on his left hand forever.
Rhistiart’s eyes got a joking gleam. “Besides, Dark Haven isn’t exactly a great place to meet women. But at the palace…”
Cam chuckled. “I don’t know. I saw some mighty fine vayash moru ladies who seemed to think you were interesting.”
Rhistiart shivered. “No thanks. Nothing against the vayash moru, but I prefer my women warm, and I’d rather take them out for dinner than be the dinner.”
Cam laughed. “Don’t expect a lot of choices at Brunnfen. The moors are a cold place, and it’s thinly settled. Most of the women are hardworking farm girls, although they’ll likely warm your bones.”
Rhistiart drew his cloak more closely around him. He and Cam were an unlikely pair; Cam was medium height and stocky, with a broad chest and thick, strong arms. A cloud of dark, curly hair framed his face and could make him seem as forbidding as storm clouds. Rhistiart was slim and spare, with lank, yellow hair and finely boned hands suited to the work of an artist. He was short enough that they’d had to search for a horse that was a comfortable height for Rhistiart to climb into the saddle unassisted, and had settled on a roan mare that seemed petite compared to Cam’s large warhorse.
“You’re going to wed once you get back to the palace!” Rhistiart protested. He grinned. “Now, I figure if you can snag a girl with your obvious charm and breeding, there might be someone who’d favor me.”
Cam chortled. “Rhosyn has no illusions about my ‘charm’ and ‘breeding.’ Her father’s the brewer for the palace, so she’s seen me well into my cups, and bless her, she seems to love me anyhow.”
He grew pensive at the thought. Although messengers between Isencroft and Dark Haven were few-and with the plague in Margolan, becoming more rare-Rhosyn had bargained and badgered seemingly every trader headed to Principality to carry a letter or a keg of ale to Cam in the six months he’d been recovering. Thanks to Jonmarc, vayash moru headed to Isencroft were willing to carry Cam’s messages back to Rhosyn. Rhistiart was quite right; when Cam returned to Aberponte, there’d be a handfasting within a fortnight.
“That’s well and good for you, but I’m a free man and I plan to enjoy it!”
Cam gave Rhistiart a sideways glance. “Last I knew, you were a ‘wanted’ man thanks to your late employer’s wife.”
Rhistiart screwed up his face and spat. “Crone take her soul. Although, in a perverse way, perhaps I owe her some gratitude. After all, if she hadn’t cheated me out of my share of the partnership when her cuckolded husband died, I wouldn’t have been hiding in that old fuller’s mill. And if I hadn’t been hiding there, freezing my balls off, I wouldn’t have met you and nearly been murdered by the Divisionists. But then, I wouldn’t have saved you or met the king, and while you were drugged and recuperating, King Donelan formally pardoned me for ‘service to the crown.’ So,” he said with a grin, “I’ve been a fugitive, an outlaw, and a hero, all in less than a year.” He stretched. “Life is good.”
After that, they rode in silence for a while. Cam glanced back, surprised at the lull in conversation, to find Rhistiart dozing in the saddle. He chuckled. Annoying as the silversmith could be at times, Cam had to admit he was good company, and Rhistiart kept him from brooding overmuch on the challenges that awaited him when he returned to King Donelan’s service.
It had taken more than three weeks to ride from Dark Haven to Isencroft. Along the way, Cam had gotten a good look at what a combination of war, famine, and plague had done to Margolan in the wake of Jared the Usurper’s brief, violent reign. It would probably take a generation to restore Margolan to its former prosperity, even under King Martris’s fair and judicious hand. The thought that civil war and poor harvests could wreak the same havoc in Isencroft chilled Cam and made him restless to return to Aberponte. But first, there was Brunnfen to deal with.
By midday, they crested a small hill. In the distance, Cam saw Brunnfen, and beyond it, the Northern Sea. Brunnfen was just as he had described it to Rhistiart: a fortresslike box of gray stone looking out over a high cliff across the cold sea, as unwelcoming in appearance as he remembered.
“You weren’t kidding,” Rhistiart said, bringing his horse up alongside Cam’s. “Looks more like a prison than a manor.”
Too many memories crowded in on Cam at once. “It often felt like a prison, even before things went badly with Father,” Cam said quietly. “Ah well, no use putting it off. Let’s get this over with.” Cam jerked the reins and his horse started down the road toward Brunnfen.
Before they had closed half of the distance, Cam saw a figure running toward them, waving its arms. Cam’s hand fell to the pommel of his sword out of habit, although he wasn’t quite close enough to hear what the man was shouting. His eyes widened as the runner grew closer.
“Cam! Cam! You came! I didn’t think you’d really come, but you did! Welcome home! Welcome home!”
The runner was breathless, stopping just a few paces before Cam’s horse. He was a young man, a few years more than twenty seasons old, with straight, long brown hair caught back in a messy queue. Most of the strands fell into his eyes, eyes that were unmistakable in their resemblance to Carina’s. The man stood a little taller than Cam but was of an entirely different build, almost painfully thin, with an angular face and intelligent green eyes.
“Renn?” Cam breathed.
Out of breath, the runner could only nod. Cam slipped down from his horse and approached Renn slowly, and then clasped him tightly in an embrace. “You were barely waist high when we left,” Cam said, his throat tight. “Just a kid.”
Renn managed a grin. “Yeah, and now I’m a skinny, overworked stand-in for the real lord of the manor.”
Cam took another look at Renn. Alvior had imprisoned Renn in the dungeon when Renn had discovered his older brother’s disloyalty. Although a summer outdoors had restored some color to Renn’s skin, the young man’s eyes had a hauntedness Cam knew too well was a lasting reminder of captivity. It was also clear from the sinewy muscles in the young man’s arms that he had been truthful about taking an active role in keeping the manor afloat in the absence of an “official” lord.
Renn glanced at Rhistiart and seemed to look down the road behind them. Cam could guess what he sought. “I warned you Carina wouldn’t be coming,” he said gently. “Just Rhistiart-he’s kind of my squire-and me. Carina’s due to have twins late this fall.”
Renn met Cam’s eyes with a sad smile. “Twins. That’s what got you two into the mess with Father in the first place.”
Cam nodded. “Aye. Father might have suffered the ill omen of twins for Mother’s sake, but it was Carina’s magic that he couldn’t abide. And if you’re wondering, Carina believes that it’s likely that at least one of the babies will have her healing talent.”
“Is she really married to Jonmarc Vahanian? The outlaw?”
Cam clapped Renn on the shoulder. “Jonmarc’s still the most fearsome fighter the Winter Kingdoms have seen in a long while, but he’s a legitimate businessman these days, amazingly enough.” He chuckled. “Well, as legitimate as any business is in Principality, if you know what I mean.”
Renn laughed. “I haven’t traveled the kingdoms like you and Carina, but if the tales I’ve heard at the pub have been true in half, my sister’s descended into a shadowy place filled with rogues, vayash moru, and scoundrels.”
“Yeah, and that’s just the manor house,” Cam said and chuckled. “You ought to see the rest of the place!”
Cam got back on his horse, and Renn walked between Rhistiart and Cam as they headed toward Brunnfen. To Cam’s amusement, Renn chattered enough to silence even Rhistiart. Cam was unprepared for the rush of emotions that swept over him. Returning to Brunnfen after nearly twelve years in exile, he was surprised by the intensity of his feelings, as he rode across the threshold of a place he never expected would be his home again.
“Unfortunately, you won’t know most of the servants,” Renn said. “Some of the older ones, like the nurse who would have looked after you and Carina, died. Others were driven away when Alvior became lord.” Renn grimaced. “As you can imagine, he wasn’t easy to get along with-even before he took up with the Divisionists. It got bad enough, just before he threw me in the dungeon, that we barely had enough staff to run the kitchens and look after the stables.
“Then, when King Donelan’s men set me free, I had a manor with no staff, since they’d all fled for their lives, thinking the king was going to arrest them for helping Alvior. I had a terrible time convincing them to come back in time to get any planting done.”
Renn sighed, suddenly seeming much older than his years. “I’ve managed to get the manor back up almost to full staffing, although we’re practically penniless.” He grimaced. “Alvior apparently gave quite a bit of Father’s money to the Divisionists. Whatever he did with it, it’s gone. But with crops in the fields and the herds gathered, we won’t starve, and that alone was good enough for most of the servants, plus the guarantee of a roof for the winter. They’re scared that Isencroft might get the plague, and Brunnfen is out of the way enough that I guess they thought it was better to come here than to try their luck in the city.”
“You’ve done a great job, Renn,” Cam said as a stable boy ran out to take their horses. Cam looked around at the familiar courtyard. The buildings were the same, but when he inspected them more closely, he could see the toll that neglect had taken. Despite Renn’s efforts, Brunnfen looked shabby and down on its luck, and while it had always been a forbidding place, it had never before looked impoverished.
Renn smiled weakly. “I mostly made it up as I went along, but I wanted to keep it from falling apart before you could get here.” He paused. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?”
Cam met Renn’s eyes. “I can’t, not right now. Donelan needs me. The Divisionists dispersed, but they’re not broken. If plague does come, along with a lean harvest, there could be riots. There’s nothing like hunger and fear to bring out challengers to the throne.”
“So it’s true,” Renn murmured. “You really are the King’s Champion.”
Cam nodded. “Aye, although I’m a rather busted up old warhorse these days, I’m afraid. But Carina fixed me well enough to soldier, and as long as I have breath, I’m sworn to Donelan’s service.”
“Did he tell you he’s getting married?” Rhistiart blurted. It was so unexpected Cam suspected Rhistiart was about to burst from his long silence.
Renn raised an eyebrow. “A potential lady of the manor?”
Cam laughed. “The daughter of the Brewers Guild master in the palace city.” He pursed his lips as he thought. “Although… that gives me an idea. Someday my bones won’t bounce back from battle, and then I imagine I’ll need a place to retire. It would be nice to have good ale. Tell me, how is the grain harvest looking?”
Renn grinned. “If you want something to ferment, you’ve come to the right place. We’ve got a good crop of grain in the field, and a bumper crop of apples and plums. Not to mention fields of potatoes.”
Cam’s smile widened. “And in my experience, no matter how bleak it gets, men will always find coin for something to drink. Perhaps I can borrow someone from Rhosyn’s father’s guild to set up shop in Brunnfen. With a percentage coming to the lord, it might work out well all ways around.”
“See, thinking like the lord already,” Renn said, clapping Cam on the shoulder. “Come on inside, both of you. I won’t promise you the kind of dinner you get at the palace, but the cook’s been working up a welcome home meal and I don’t want it to get cold!”
Two servants appeared in order to carry the travelers’ saddlebags upstairs and take their cloaks. Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the great room. After the long ride, Cam’s limp was pronounced and his injured leg ached. Renn seemed not to notice the limp. The room was much as Cam remembered it, a long, cold hall with a huge fireplace at one end. It was too warm to have the fire lit, though come winter, a bonfire would scarcely heat Brunnfen’s cold stone. A layer of candle smoke hung near the ceiling from the tallow candles. The unmistakable smell of roasting goose filled the air, along with the scent of leeks, onions, and fresh bread. Cam’s stomach growled, and even Rhistiart looked hungry.
Three places were set on the long, empty table. A pitcher of ale and tankards sat next to pewter dishes that were dented and dinged from hard use. Cam looked at the bare walls and frowned.
“I remember there being tapestries,” he murmured.
Renn sighed. “There were. Alvior had them burned after Father’s death, Crone take his soul. Not that I was necessarily fond of the pictures on the tapestries, but they did help keep down the chill. Quite a few things disappeared like that-either destroyed when Alvior was in one of his moods or, more likely, sold off to raise money for his pet rebels.”
They sat down at the table and a plump woman in her middle years brought out a roast goose on a platter. Cam could tell the woman was trying to get a good look at him without staring.
“I hope this is to your liking, Lord Cam,” she said with an awkward curtsey. “Master Renn told us you’re used to the fancy food they serve at the palace.”
Cam eyed the goose and the baking dishes full of vegetables that two serving girls placed on the table. He met the woman’s gaze. “Believe me when I tell you that after three weeks on the road, no meal has ever smelled or looked as good.”
The plump woman blushed. “Thank you, m’lord. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was a kitchen girl when you and m’lady Carina were just little. You used to nip dried fruit from the pocket of my apron and I pretended not to notice.”
Cam laughed. “I do remember!”
The woman chuckled. “Now that you’re home, I’ll bake up some fresh cakes for you by evening.”
There was silence as the three men ate. Even Rhistiart paid more attention to his plate than to conversation. When they were finished, the servants brought out a warm plum pudding and a pitcher of mulled wine, then left them alone once more.
Cam leaned back and sipped at his drink. “So what made you suspect that Alvior had thrown in with the Divisionists?” he asked, watching Renn.
Renn was quiet for a few moments, with a sad expression. “Looking back, I should have guessed sooner. I didn’t even realize at first that Alvior had murdered Father. Made it look like an accident, but later, I could see that he’d arranged it.” He knocked back the rest of the wine as if it were brandy, a gesture that told Cam quite a bit about how hard the years had been for his younger brother.
“You have to understand, after you and Carina… left, there was no one to take my part against Father-or Alvior.” He turned his face in profile so that Cam could see the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow down onto his cheek. “Alvior gave me that one night when I got in his way. Must have been about twelve years old. Cracked me over the head with a pewter goblet for something that annoyed him. Father never said anything.”
Cam felt old anger rise, but said nothing. Rhistiart looked down, silent as the brothers talked.
“I learned fast to stay out of Alvior’s way. Spent as much time as I could out in the fields. Although I’ve got to say, all that has come in handy since Alvior ran away. At least I knew how the manor really operated. I even slept in the barn when I could, just to be out of his reach. But I was around enough to notice that something strange was going on after Father died.
“Alvior started getting visitors from across the sea. And he started bringing strangers to Brunnfen who weren’t from around these parts. The men who came in boats looked highborn. Some of the other strangers, those who came on horseback, were ruffians. They never seemed to do anything but talk, so it wasn’t as if he was entertaining them with wenching and dice.”
Renn grinned ruefully. “One night, I decided to find out what was going on. They caught me eavesdropping. I guess Alvior could have made me ‘disappear’ but maybe he was afraid of getting caught after Father’s death. So he threw me in the dungeon and locked me down there.” He shrugged. “Once in a while he also remembered to feed me.”
“And when Rhistiart helped me escape from the Divisionists, I told Donelan what I’d overheard: that Alvior was backing the traitors,” Cam finished. “So Donelan’s men came to Brunnfen, and they let you go.”
Renn nodded. “If you think I’m skinny now, you should have seen me when they let me out of the dungeon. Pale as a vayash moru and skin and bones. I was scared to death that the king’s men would assume I was on Alvior’s side, but they heard me out and left me be.”
“Any idea where Alvior went?”
Renn shook his head. “I asked the servants if they’d seen anything. One of the men said that Alvior headed down to the beach beneath the cliffs and that a boat with big sails left the inlet that day. There’s nothing but islands off the coast until the other side of the sea, and I doubt he sailed toward Margolan or Eastmark, so I assumed he went across the sea.”
Cam yawned and stretched. “Tonight, I want nothing so much as a soft bed. But tomorrow, will you show me Alvior’s rooms?”
Renn nodded. “I thought you’d ask. Yes, I can show you. And I’ll take you down to the caves by the beach. We can’t make it down and back tonight before dark, but I think Alvior’s ‘friends’ had plans to return and I think Alvior was making ready for them.”
“Now that’s a cheery thought,” Cam said, finishing off the last of his mulled wine. Beside him, Rhistiart looked as if he would fall asleep at any moment. “Let’s get some sleep. Then I’d like to have a look around in the morning.”
The next morning was clear and bright. Brunnfen was far enough north that although the sun was shining, even on a late summer day, there was a chill in the air. After a cold breakfast, Cam, Renn, and Rhistiart began the climb down the steep cliffs to the shallow beach along the sea. The spray from the waves was cold, and at low tide, the water was still a distance from the base of the cliffs. They reached the bottom without mishap, although Cam’s bad leg was already starting to ache.
“Did you and Carina explore down here?” Renn asked as they picked their way through the rocks.
“Many times. Like you, we were happy to stay out of Alvior’s way, and father minded Carina less when we were out of sight,” Cam replied.
Renn jerked his head toward the cave openings that dotted the cliffside. “Come take a look over here.”
Cam and Rhistiart followed Renn into the caves. Sconces were set into the rock, with torches awaiting a fire. Renn took down one of the torches, struck a spark to light it, and motioned for Cam and Rhistiart to follow him. The caves were cold and damp, and the passageway fit Renn and Rhistiart better than Cam, who had to turn sideways to make it through the narrow spots. The passage opened up into a large room. Renn’s torch barely illuminated the space, but Cam could see that it was filled with boxes and supplies.
“I’ve been down here a number of times when I could steal away from the work,” Renn said, making a slow tour of the room with his torch so that the others could see. “The boxes are full of armor and weapons. There are rooms like this in several of the other caves. That’s just what I’ve found; I haven’t gone a lot deeper because I haven’t had that much time to explore.”
The magnitude of Alvior’s betrayal stunned Cam. “He was going to provision an army,” Cam said quietly. “Against Donelan. Against his own king. The Divisionists were just a diversion. Alvior was playing them for fools while he assembled the real invasion, with help from… somewhere.”
Cam turned to Renn. “Are Alvior’s rooms as he left them?”
Renn nodded. “The king’s men only seemed interested in Alvior himself. Far as I could tell, they didn’t take any of his things.” He paused. “Just so you know-Alvior moved into Father’s rooms right after Father died.”
Cam’s eyes widened. “Father’s rooms? Did you look in the secret room behind the wardrobe?”
Renn frowned. “What secret room?”
“There was a secret chamber that opened from a door in the back of the wardrobe in Father’s room. Carina and I found it when we were little. I don’t think Father ever used it. It was full of dusty old trunks and papers, and Carina and I pretended we were adventurers, discovering lost treasure.” He smiled sadly at the memory. “We never talked about it because Father probably would have thrashed us. So I don’t know if Alvior ever found it. But if he was brewing up a revolution… it would have been just the thing.”
They made their way out of the cave with a renewed sense of urgency and climbed back up the cliffs before the tide came in. Cam led the way back into Brunnfen, up the stairs to the largest room in the manor house. Cam hesitated for a moment with his hand on the door knob. Although he knew his father was dead, a long-ingrained caution urged him to run. Cam drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The room was shadowy, even in daylight. Renn and Rhistiart lit candles, but they made a small improvement in the gloom. Brunnfen’s windows were narrow slits, excellent for defense but poor for offering either light or view.
Cam looked around the room. The furnishings were the same as when his father had lived: a massive, four-poster bed hung with heavy bed curtains, an equally large desk and paintings of ships at sea. Wrought-iron candle stands and a large iron candelabrum would have made it possible to light the room well enough for reading or writing. The desk looked as if it had been rifled through, with papers strewn about.
“I did go through the desk after the king’s men left,” Renn said. “The papers were ordinary. Just accounts and such.”
Cam nodded, chewing his lip as he thought. He headed for a door in the back that led to the valet’s room and the large standing chest where Asmarr stored his finest court outfits. Letting memory guide him, Cam dropped to all fours, crawling to the back of the cabinet and feeling for a catch along the floor. A quiet snick answered his touch and Cam smiled. “Got it.”
A panel swung open. The opening was large enough for a man’s shoulders, but Cam had to shimmy to get his bulk through. “I guess I was a bit smaller the last time I did this,” he grunted. Renn passed a lit candle to him, and then he and Rhistiart crawled through without a problem. Cam lifted the candle high and caught his breath.
A work desk had been assembled in the room and on it lay mortars and pestles, a scrying ball, and a number of bulging velvet pouches. The room smelled of herbs and candle wax. Along the walls were shelves filled with vials and jars, some of which held organs, severed fingers, and small animals suspended in a clear liquid. Yellowed bones were stacked along the wall; more lay on the desk.
“Alvior wasn’t just planning an invasion,” Cam said quietly. “He was working with a mage. A blood mage by the look of it.” Another thought chilled him. “And if those bones mean what I think they do, maybe even a dark summoner.” He looked toward the others as horror registered on their faces. “We may have ruined their plans to use Brunnfen, but they’re out there, somewhere. And they’ll come back.”