War of Shadows by Gail Z. Martin Page A

wind had been brisk on their trip into Castle Reach. Now it lashed the waves into whitecaps and swept down the cobblestone streets, driving leaves and debris in front of it. The waves pounded against thenew seawall, splashing nearly to its rim. Rain fell, and from the look of the sky just a little farther out to sea, the isolated drops were likely to become a torrent very soon.
    “I think the mages were right about the storm—and wrong about the timing,” Kestel murmured. “I don’t like the look of those waves.”
    Blaine shook his head. “I spent too long out on the boats in Edgeland. That’s a storm sea.” He looked to Folville. “We need to start getting people to shelter.”
    Folville stared out at the angry sea. “I think you’re right.” He climbed on one of the benches and clapped his hands loudly.
    “There’s a storm coming,” he shouted. “A bad one. Get inland, or up high. Don’t wait.”
    The Rooster and Pig’s patrons gave Folville an incredulous look. “I’m not afraid of a little rain,” a man said, lifting his tankard. “And besides, where better to sit out a gale than with plenty of ale?”
    Most of the others chuckled at his joke, but Blaine heard the nervousness beneath the laughter. A few of the pub’s customers headed out the door, fighting against gusts of wind to make their way up the street.
    Folville turned to Blaine. “Whether you planned to or not, you won’t be going back to Quillarth Castle tonight. You wanted to warn us. Well, m’lord, we’re warned. And I’d be much obliged if you and your men can help me save my people.”
    “Get inside! Go now!” Blaine shouted to be heard above the howling wind. His voice was raw and he was soaked to the skin. Kestel stood near the door to the tall brick building, encouraging dazed city dwellers to move more quickly.
    “How many more can you fit in there?” Blaine shouted.
    “A few dozen more, not a lot,” Folville replied. “This is our last building. Anyone who doesn’t make it in here is going to need to head farther north, to the warehouses.”
    Folville was drenched, hair clinging to his thin face, his cloak a sodden mass of wool. Captain Hemmington and his men were farther down the plaza, helping a stream of miserable men, women, and children make their way through the high winds and sleeting rain toward shelter. A thin scrim of ice coated everything, making footing treacherous.
    Blaine eyed the warehouse. It was an old building, sturdy enough to have escaped the Great Fire largely intact. A soldier jogged up through the rain to where Blaine stood. “Captain Hemmington sent me to tell you that the water is getting higher, m’lord. We’ve evacuated people from the lowest streets.”
    Blaine nodded. “We’re going to have to get to shelter ourselves soon.”
    “Aye, m’lord. I’ll let him know.” The soldier headed back toward Hemmington’s position, nearly losing his footing several times on the slick pavers of the plaza.
    Blaine eyed the stragglers. Over the course of several candlemarks, Folville’s people, along with Hemmington’s troops and Larson’s garrison, had urged thousands of residents to get to safety. Blaine was unsure that the high winds might not drive the storm surge high enough to pose a danger even to those on the second floor of buildings within sight of the sea.
    “The third floor is full,” Kestel reported. Her hooded cloak had kept her relatively dry, but Blaine could see that her lips were tinged blue with cold. “Fourth floor still has some room.”
    Kestel eyed the people still trying to make their way across the plaza.
    “I think they’ll be the last,” Blaine said, following her gaze. “I suspect everyone else has found somewhere to batten down.”Blaine glanced at the sky. “Not any too soon, I wager. We haven’t seen the worst of this yet.”
    An intrepid bell ringer had stayed at his post. As the last of the bells tolled the candlemark, Captain Hemmington and his