Free Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) by Gail Z. Martin Page A

Penhallow had indeed realized his fears.
    “You’re more tense than usual,” Penhallow said. “I forget how demanding travel is for a mortal. Please, have a seat and some refreshment,” Penhallow said, snapping out of his thoughts and gesturing for Connor to move with him to a chair near the fire. Penhallow was a gracious host and was always quite solicitous toward Connor after the conveyance of the message, as if he guessed that Connor endured these meetings despite his mortal fear.
    “When does Merrill hear next from his commanders?”
    “A few days, m’lord. Garnoc does not expect a good report.”
    “Neither do I.” Penhallow reached for the goblet beside his chair and swirled the dark liquid. It was as red and rich as cabernet, but it clung to the glass differently, so that Connor knew it to be blood. Connor looked away and availed himself of the repast Penhallow had set out for him, glad his own glass held brandy.
    “I have my watchers at the front,” Penhallow said, his voice as darkly lustrous as the liquid in his glass. “In fact, I’d like you to meet one of my main sources of information.” He paused to sip his drink. “He should be joining us any minute.”
    As if on cue, the door to the study opened. A portly man came into the room rubbing his hands together. His clothing was dark blue, cut in the fashion of a military uniform, though it bore no rank or insignia. The newcomer was in his middle years, balding with a fringe of gray hair. He moved with surprising alacrity for his bulk, and while his manner was jovial, his dark eyes hinted at shrewd intelligence.
    “Good evening, Traher,” Penhallow said. “Please join us. You know where I keep the brandy.”
    Voss grinned. He gave a nod in Connor’s direction, and then went to the sideboard to pour himself a generous slug of brandy before joining them near the fire. “This is the pup you mentioned, Lanyon?” he said with an appraising glance at Connor, who felt himself bristle. “Doesn’t look like much, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
    Penhallow took on a bemused expression. “I believe the term ‘pup’ is yours, Traher, not mine. I beg to differ. I believe Lord Garnoc’s attaché has more to him than we know,” he said. “Bevin Connor, meet Traher Voss. Voss is a man of many talents, one of them being channeling information.”
    Connor’s heart beat faster at Penhallow’s introduction, unsure just what the vampire meant by his comment.
Could he tell from my blood that I might have betrayed him?
Connor wondered. He looked up to see Voss watching him, and felt his temper rise.
    “You look to be a military man, yet you’re not at the front,” Connor said. “But men with your skills are needed badly.”
    Voss guffawed. “The pup can bark,” he said, grinning. “Well, well.” He knocked back the brandy in his glass. “My ‘skills,’ as you put it, go beyond bashing heads together, although I’ll admit to being good at that.” Connor glanced at the sword that hung by the man’s side, a warrior’s broadsword, not a nobleman’s rapier. “I’m also pretty good at things like finding out secrets, which pays much better than being a target.”
    “Connor will bear our warning back to Garnoc, and through him, to the king,” Penhallow said.
    “I don’t envy you repeating what I’ve got to say at court,” Voss said, setting his empty glass aside. “Donderath is losingthe war, and it is likely to lose even with Tarrant’s help.” He held up a hand to forestall Connor’s protest.
    “Meroven and Vellanaj have set a trap for Donderath, and Merrill has taken the bait. Meroven’s mages are behind their army’s success, and we believe that once Meroven’s army has made sure that Donderath can’t turn the tide, King Edgar’s mages will attempt to strike a killing blow.”
    “You expect them to try to assassinate King Merrill?” Connor asked, looking from Voss to Penhallow, hoping the vampire would