The summoner cotn-1

by Gail Z. Martin

  "What happened?" The voice that broke the stillness was Carina's, and from the baffled look on the healer's face, Tris was sure she had no idea of what transpired, nor why she found herself in his arms.

  "What do you remember?" Carroway breathed, rejoining them. His face was ashen and his eyes wide.

  Carina pushed back a little from Tris, then a look of complete exhaustion crossed her face and she did not struggle to break away. "I heard someone calling me," she said, looking at Tris searchingly. "Maybe I dreamed it, but it seemed so real. I got up and walked over to the well, but no one was there." She shuddered, remembering. "I looked into the well and saw a face staring back at me." She paused. "That's all I remember," she said, leaning hard against Tris as Carroway helped them to their feet. Reflexively, Tris put his arm around her, and patted her hair as if he were comforting a small child. A strange look crossed Vahanian's face in the instant before the fighter turned away.

  "Let's get out of here," Vahanian said roughly.

  "Tris, what happened?" Carina asked once more, stepping back and looking at him search-ingly. Berry ran to her and flung her arms around the healer, burying her face in Carina's robe.

  Tris glanced away, unsure how to answer. "A ghost called you," he began, telling the tale as best he could with Berry jumping in from time to time to fill in the gaps. Vahanian and Carroway loaded up the horses as they talked, refusing resolutely to look over to where the sundered corpse lay in the morning light. A look of horror crossed Carina's face as she looked from Tris to the body of the girl, then to the well, and for a moment, she was silent.

  "But how-" she started and stopped. "How did her body come back to life?"

  Tris forced himself to stare at the corpse. "I don't know for certain," he admitted. "When I pushed her spirit away, all I cared about was throwing it clear," he said in a hushed voice. "They say that at dawn, the spirit world is closer to our own. Maybe it was close enough for her to try to take back her own body, and close enough for Jonmarc to be able to strike her down."

  "Thank you," Carina managed finally, looking first to Tris and then to the others. "Thank you so much."

  "All in a day's work," Vahanian replied sarcastically. "Now can we get the hell out of here?"

  Tris took a step toward the camp, felt his knees buckle, and stumbled. Carroway caught him as his head swam, pounding with a headache from the working.

  "What damn good is magic if you feel like shit after you've used it?" Tris swore under his breath, struggling to walk with Carroway's assistance.

  "If it's any consolation, Carina doesn't look any better. Can you ride?" Carroway asked.

  "Give me a cup of kerif and a candlemark to collect my writs," Tris asked as Carroway helped him to a seat by the fire. "And then we'll ride, even if you have to tie me to the horse."

  Vahanian went to calm their mounts, and Carroway pressed a cup of the strong, bitter drink into Tris's hands, then made sure Carina had a warm cloak and a cup of her own. Tris could feel the way they were staring at him, as if he had suddenly become nearly as strange and fearful a thing as the corpse in the glade behind them. Carroway went to help Vahanian, and Carina settled into a seat beside Tris, saying nothing for a while.

  Mercifully, Carina did not ask the questions he knew she must be thinking. With the headache that pounded behind his eyes, Tris doubted he could supply more than one-word answers. He had only been partly joking about the need to be lashed to his horse. While Vahanian might have had the experience of riding back from battle more dead than alive, Tris felt as spent as if he had completed an exhausting day's labor without food or a night's sleep.

  Sweet Lady, if this is what a real working takes, then I better get it right the first time when I take on Arontala, because I'm hardly likely to survive it, Tris thought. For the first time, he considered the possibility that magic and not battle might kill him before he could take the crown. Even if I don't live to be king, they can hardly find someone worse than Jared if I can just take down Arontala, he thought, before the pounding in his head made thinking too painful.

  Though no one mentioned the incident for the rest of the morning, of one accord they rode more slowly. Tris managed to stay seated on his horse without lashing himself to the saddle, but only just, and he doubted that he could have kept his seat at a gallop. Carina was too unsteady to ride unassisted, and accepted Vahanian's offer to share his horse without her usual barb. They rode as hard as they dared, anxious to put as much distance between themselves and the haunted well as they could.

  By late morning, when Carroway's time riding point was over, he let his horse drift back to match the stride of Tris's mount. They rode side by side in silence for a while, until Carroway finally spoke.

  "Are you all right?" he inquired awkwardly. "You look a bit worse for wear."

  Tris managed a haggard smile. "I'll get over it."

  Carroway looked as if he were about to say something, thought better of it, and began again. "Tris," he started, "before your grandmother died… did she ever tell you that you were-"

  "Her mage heir?" Tris supplied with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "No. But then again there are things I see in dreams, workings that I did with her that I didn't remember at all." He paused, staring at his hands.

  "Are mages born or made?" he continued. "You know, I've been able to see the ghosts at the palace, talk with them-not just on Haunts, but all year- ever since I can remember. But this…" his voice drifted off, lacking the words to continue.

  "Your grandmother was the greatest summon-er of the age," Carroway replied thoughtfully. "I often wondered why no one in her line seemed to have her talent. I guess we have our answer."

  Tris's head still ached, but he could sense that Carroway needed to understand. "When I was little, grandmother let me tag along, watch her do her workings. When I got older, she let me help-simple things like calling a flame to light a candle or the fireplace, small workings. There were some that she let you help with, too," he said, and Carroway nodded.

  "I always thought it was her way of giving me something special, since I was the second son." Tris gave a lopsided smile. "We all know second sons are only spare parts," he added. "When she swore us to secrecy, I figured that was because Jared would pitch a fit if I got to do something and he didn't."

  Tris paused, waiting out a stab of pain from his throbbing head. "Then right before I went for fostering, she brought you in on more workings, and we did some complicated magic. When I came back from fostering, grandmother was ill." He looked off at the horizon, remembering. "Don't you remember? She asked that I be the one to serve her. I guess they didn't have any better use for me, so they let me. I was with her when she died."

  "Did anything… unusual… happen?" Carroway pressed gently.

  Tris looked at him, frowning against the headache, and against the blank in his memories. "I don't remember. That's the problem. I never noticed before, but there seem to be whole stretches with her that I don't remember. Goddess, I've tried! But I can't." He looked down at the reins in his hands. "Back with the caravan, Carina and Alyzza helped me with some basic things. Grandmother came to me in a dream, told me that I would remember the training she made me forget-for my own safety-until it was needed." He gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. "Well, I can't think of needing it more than now, but so far, I still can't remember."

  Carroway listened in silence, as if he were carefully weighing what Tris was saying. "Perhaps," he said finally, "things will seem more clear when we reach the Library."

  "I hope you're right," Tris said fervently, closing his eyes as his head throbbed again, "because there's far too much at stake to try to make this up as I go."

  Breakfast was eaten cold as they rode, and they would have done the same for lunch had Carina not begged them to stop. For once, she and Vahanian did not spar the entire morning. The morning's battle had cast a cloud over all of them, Tris thought as he sat by the small fire. He was thankful when the evening came with no further sur
prises awaiting them, and they made a cold camp that night, just a few days' journey from where the river set the boundary between Dhasson and Principality.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  TRIS AND THE group rode in silence as the road wound toward Westmarch. A cold rain fell. It was Tris's turn to ride point, and he found himself jumpy and irritable. Neither Carina nor Carroway were talkative, and twice, Vahanian waved the group ahead while he waited, sword ready, sensing something that did not materialize. At least, Tris thought moodily, he was not the only one with a feeling of foreboding.

  Westmarch was near the borders of three kingdoms-Principality, Margolan and Dhasson. Mindful of Gabriel's warning about the magicked beasts, the group chose a more northerly route, one which took them further from the Dhasson border. Unfortunately, Gabriel's warning did not indicate just how far Arontala's border spell extended. Though it was still daylight, each of them rode with a torch. A bucket of pitch hung from each saddle. Carroway carried two quivers of arrows with burlap-covered, pitch-soaked points. Carina wrapped the tip of her stave in burlap and pitch, and Tris counted on his ability to conjure fire. Berry, riding close to Carina, had her own weapon. She had tinkered with the bard's recipe for the pellets he contrived for smoke and colors to accompany his tales. A slight adjustment to the proportions yielded small balls that burst into flame on impact. Armed with a slingshot, Berry had a surprisingly accurate aim.

  Vahanian, the only one with actual experience with the beasts, was clearly the most nervous. He rode with a crude lance, fashioned from a sturdy pole, its tip wrapped in pitch-soaked rags. It was longer than Carina's stave and sharp-ended. From the fighter's grim expression, Tris knew Vahanian felt the same foreboding. The further they rode, the darker Vahanian's mood grew and the shorter his temper became.

  At this rate, we'll all be wrecks by the time we reach Westmarch, Tris thought. By agreement, they rode as hard as their horses could tolerate, stopping only when the animals needed food, water or rest.

  "Do you hear that?" Vahanian asked.

  Tris frowned. "Hear what?"

  "Exactly," the mercenary said, settling his lance in front of him. "It's too quiet." They passed no one on roads that should have been well traveled by traders and farmers. "I don't like this."

  Carroway brought his horse up closer. "I couldn't catch what you said," the bard interjected, "but it's too damn quiet out here."

  Tris smiled tightly. "Looks like we're all thinking the same thing." His horse nickered, reminding Tris that a stop and some water was overdue. He sighed and patted his mount's neck. "The horses need to rest," he said, and looked around with concern. "The problem is, where?"

  "Over there," Carroway pointed toward a village at the crest of the next hill. "I smell supper fires. Maybe we can buy a hot meal for us and some food for the horses."

  "Look sharp," Vahanian warned.

  They approached the village cautiously. As they drew closer, it became clear that supper fires were not the source of the wood smoke. The village lay in smoldering ruins, its buildings blackened shadows.

  "There!" Carroway pointed. A body lay crumpled beside a burned-out tavern. Tris nudged his horse closer, then dismounted, sword in hand. He rolled the corpse over with his foot. Whatever had killed the man, it was not flame. Great gashes rent the man's face and tore open his throat.

  "What creature hunts like that?" Carina exclaimed, reining her horse closer.

  "I've got something over here you need to see," Carroway called. Tris and Vahanian joined him, with Vahanian in the rear, warily eyeing the streets, his weapon ready. Carroway pointed at a heap near the door of one of the burned buildings. Tris realized that the body was not human. Tris rolled the thing over and gasped.

  The beast would have stood taller than a man. Its hind legs were strong, and thin arms ended in wicked talons. Its thickly muscled legs attested to speed, and its massive shoulders spoke of inhuman strength. But it was its face, if one could call it that, which took Tris's breath away. The gray-skinned creature's face was a fearsome thing. Huge, sunken eyes were located on the sides of its head, above a large, snout-its mouth filled with rows of glistening teeth. Tris swallowed. The beast was obviously burned, and a warning tingled in Tris's mind. Perhaps it was not the beasts who had burned the village, he thought. Perhaps it was the work of desperate villagers, who even with their sacrifice were not able to save their lives. Vahanian said nothing, but for the first time, Tris thought he saw a flicker of fear in the fighter's eyes.

  "Let's get that water and get out of here," Carroway said, swinging back up on his horse.

  "I think that's a good idea," Tris replied. He turned, and stopped short. In the center of the street, between them and the village's well, stood a man.

  Carroway's bow was raised, trained on the man's heart, as Tris took a step forward. "We mean you no harm," Tris said, advancing open-handed.

  "Have you come for the fire?" the man shouted, drawing a few steps nearer. He was old, with wild white hair framing a gaunt face, caked with dirt and blood and streaked with the spittle that

  drooled from a corner of his mouth. The stubble of a white beard shadowed his face. Torn rags hung from his body, which bore the marks of an encounter with the beasts in the long claw marks that raked across one shoulder and down his chest-claw marks that unmistakably resembled Vahanian's scar. His dark eyes were bright with madness. "Have you come for the fire?"

  "What happened?" Tris asked. Behind him, Vahanian cursed under his breath.

  The man spread his arms wide. "The spirits came," he said, turning to take in the village with his gesture. "They came for us, only we hadn't been good. No," he said, shaking his head, "we hadn't been good. So they weren't good spirits. Dark spirits, they were, with wings of fire."

  Tris looked at the man with a mixture of horror and pity. "The fire," he said slowly, trying to reach through the man's madness for answers. "What started the fire?"

  The man brightened. "Oh, we did," he replied. "To see them better. Because fire sends them home, don't you know?"

  "How did you survive?" Tris pressed.

  The old man began to laugh. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, one filthy, gnarled hand reaching beneath his tunic. Vahanian and Carroway readied their weapons, but when the man withdrew his hand, he held only a charm on a worn leather thong. Behind him, Tris heard Vahanian gasp a potent curse.

  "I wanted to die, but it wouldn't let me." Grief overtook him and he began to sob as he tore the talisman from around his neck and threw it at Tris's feet. "I tried. I attacked them with my bare hands, ran at them with swords, walked among the flames," he sobbed in a singsong voice. "But it wouldn't let them take me, and now I'm all alone," he repeated. His hand slipped to his belt and drew a dagger, raising it purposefully. "But I'm going now," he said, his mad eyes clear with purpose. "I'm going home," he said, and before any of the three could stop him, he plunged the dagger deep into his chest. A smile lit his ravaged features as he stiffened. "There are no fires," he whispered, "no fires at all," he rasped as he fell dead and his hand slipped away from the knife hilt.

  "Leave that cursed thing and let's get out of here," Vahanian cried as Tris bent to pick up the talisman. It was a small, simple design worked in a burnished gray metal with a pattern of parallel and perpendicular lines, a circle embedded within them. As they sprinted for their horses, Tris slipped it into his pocket.

  "Look!" Carina warned as the things came into view. Tris scrambled for his horse and Carroway moved into position, his bow at the ready. Three of the gray beasts loomed just beyond the well, their heads inclined to scent out living blood. Carroway held steady until they ventured closer, then lit and loosed a flaming arrow. His aim was true, and the missile struck its target. The thing howled as its claws tore at its own chest while dark ichor flowed from its gaping mouth. It fell forward, dead. Carina cried a warning from behind.

  "Carina and Berry, stay between us," Vahanian shouted as the group retreated. Their horses whinnie
d, terrified by the smell of the beasts. Carroway picked off one more of the beasts. Carina and Vahanian lit their weapons, and Tris lobbed a fireball toward the lead creature. Two more staggered from the wreckage toward them.

  "We can't hold them at bay for long," Carroway shouted, loosing another arrow. Although he dropped three of the beasts, two more appeared from the shadows to take their places.

  "Ride for it!" Tris commanded. "I'll hold them as long as I can, just get out of here!" Carina wheeled her horse and the others followed, their panicked mounts pounding down the village street as Tris lobbed fireballs.

  Behind him, he heard a horse's terrified cry and Berry's scream. "Berry!" Carina shouted. Berry's horse reared and bolted, leaving the girl on the road.

  "They're gaining!" Carroway shouted, firing off two more arrows.

  Vahanian leaned into his horse and kicked its sides, riding down on Berry, his lance leveled. He snatched the girl up by her cloak with his left hand and she clambered onto his horse behind him, hanging on for her life.

  A guttural howl split the twilight as two more of the beasts appeared, blocking Carina's path. As Tris flung fireballs and Carroway fired arrows, the beasts began to circle.

  Carina screamed as one of the beasts lunged for her horse. She poled it in the chest with her flaming stave, but her mount reared and nearly threw her. With a battle cry, Vahanian leveled his lance and rode for the thing at full gallop. Berry ducked her head and clung, white-knuckled, to his back.

  Vahanian's lance scored a direct hit on the beast closest to Carina. His lance impaled the writhing creature, enveloping it in flames as it shrieked, charring with an acrid stench. He shook the dead thing free of his weeapon and wheeled his horse, wrestling it against its fear, rearing on two legs to bash his lance down on another beast.