No one spoke until the door closed behind the guards.
"What the hells was that?" Alle asked. Cerise gingerly hooked what remained of the parchment with the dagger's tip and carefully carried it to the fireplace. As it curled and burned in the flames, they could hear the sound of distant voices in an unknown language.
"Blood magic." Cerise cleansed the blade of the dagger in the flames before returning it to Alle. "Someone broke the warding of the bowls, and placed that charm beneath your bed. Tell me again what you saw."
Kiara repressed a shiver. "I was on a dark plain, like a moor or a bog. There was something searching for me—for us," she said, her hand going to her belly. "It didn't want me. It was looking for the baby, for its spirit."
"The old women of the mountain villages tell tales about dimonns. When a child dies in its crib they say the dimonns have taken its soul. Has Tris ever told you what he sees on the Plains of Spirit?"
"Most of the time, he sees the souls of the dead. Sometimes, he's glimpsed the Lady. But a few times, he's seen something else that left him shaken, things he wouldn't talk about."
"Healers tread close to the Plains of Spirit, although we don't see it as a Summoner does. But we can sense the life force, and we know when it wanes. I woke just before the dogs began to bark. Dogs can see spirits and sense evil. You were quivering all over, your eyes were wide open but not seeing, and then your whole body stiffened. I could feel something draining your life force, like a damper on a candle. I said a charm against darkness, and you woke up."
"What now? I'm no safer asleep than I am awake. How long can I fight something I can't even see?"
Cerise took Kiara's hand. "Tomorrow, we'll call for one of the Sisters to cleanse your rooms. The blood magic charm opened a gateway to the Plains of Spirit. We need to close it. Then, we'll set new charms and wardings. One of us will stay in the room at all times to make sure nothing is disturbed."
Now that the terror had drained away, Kiara felt completely spent. Cerise drew up a chair beside Kiara's bed and took a blanket from the chest. Alle returned to her post by the door, and the dogs left the fire to lie near Kiara's bed. Macaria refused to leave, and took up another chair near the fire. Still numb with grief over Malae's death and exhausted from her struggle with the dimonn, Kiara slept.
"Why have they taken Bian?" In the minstrels' practice room, Macaria paced compulsively, running her hands through her short, dark hair. "How could anyone suspect Bian?"
Carroway shook his head. The guards had taken Bian from the kitchen on Crevan's orders. Rumors about bad food causing Malae's death quickly turned to dark suspicions, and Carroway barely hid his annoyance at Crevan's botched response.
"Bad food comes from the kitchen, and Bian runs the kitchen," Halik replied, his tone making it clear that he, too, considered Bian innocent.
Paiva, a third-year fosterling and the newest addition to Carroway's inner circle burst through the door. "They've shut her up in the guard house. It's too cold in there for an old woman. She'll freeze before she gets the chance to plead her case."
Carroway turned toward the fire, rubbing his hand across his forehead.
"Zachar. Malae. Bian. What if it's not a coincidence? The king leaves the palace—the only Summoner who could question the spirits and know for certain how they died—and within a few weeks, three of the most trusted retainers either die or are sent away."
"You said Zachar had a brain bleed," Macaria said.
"Maybe he did. But we weren't looking for poison before Malae died. We assumed the poisoned cakes were for Kiara, but anyone who's watched knows Kiara hasn't eaten much at all this last month."
"She's spent most of the time throwing up in the garderobe, that's the truth," Paiva declared.
"It was Malae who asked for the cakes. What if Malae was the target?" Carroway said, his eyes wide. "How better to get rid of Bian, who's been our eyes and ears? Crevan's on the edge of losing his mind with the preparations for Zachar's funeral. The king is gone to war, the new queen is vulnerable, we've got a half-competent vice seneschal in charge, and three of our inner circle are either dead or under suspicion. If they can peel away the queen's friends, then the queen will be exposed. We'd better find out quickly who's behind this. Kiara's not the only one in danger. So are we."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LORD CURANE SHOULDERED through the crowded corridors of Lochlanimar. Since the siege began, the tension within the keep had grown daily. Some of it was due to the plague now raging in parts of the village, a plague created by his own blood mages as a weapon against the invaders. Some of the tension could be attributed to the feel of the locked-down keep. And some was certainly due to the army outside that was visibly engaged in building siege engines to bombard Lochlanimar.
He climbed the stairs to the tower and withdrew a key from where it hung on a chain around his neck. Locked within the tower was the war's greatest prize—his granddaughter and her infant son.
Curane squinted as he entered the room. The only light came from the fireplace and from the five slitted windows high on the wall. Lanterns sat unlit on a reading desk along the far wall, and candles were dark in their sconces. The room had been made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, outfitted as a noble's bedroom, complete with a small crib. On the bed, he saw a huddled shape.
Annoyed, he took a candle from its sconce and lit it in the fire, then lit the rest of the candles and a lantern. "Is there a reason you sit in the dark?"
"Why do you care what I do?"
"Your son is the next king of Margola'n. I won't have him brought up like a cave dweller."
"Cave dwellers are free to come and go as they please."
Curane bit back his first response. "We're at war. You're safe in here."
"A locked door is a locked door." Canice's dark hair was uncombed, and she still wore a night gown, although it was midday. She cradled the baby against her, gently jiggling him when he stirred. "We're exactly where you left us. What did you expect?"
"What's wrong with you, girl? I've seen tavern slatterns who took better care of themselves. You're still abed, and you haven't dressed. I've had all I'll take of your self-pity. If you don't shape up, we can find a wet nurse for that baby. I've worked too hard to have this sabotaged by a spiteful child."
"You thought I was woman enough for a king when you sent me to Jared. And between his 'attentions' and the birth, I'll never be suited for another man. You've gotten what you wanted from me. What do you care what I'm wearing? No one but the guards see me. Morgan is fed and clean, and he's finally stopped his colic."
"You'd probably prefer to have the baby taken, wouldn't you? Think you'll go back to the Trevath court and waste your time with that noble trash you call friends. You've got a king to raise. Grow up."
"Why did you come?"
"I'm going to move you to Trevath, back to your aunt's people. Lord Monteith's castle is far enough inside Trevath's boundaries that Margolan doesn't dare move against him."
"Losing so soon? The siege hasn't even started."
Curane's voice shook with anger. "Being cautious. This keep and everyone in it is expendable—except for that baby."
"Do your mages know they're 'expendable?'"
"This is war. The only thing that matters is achieving the objective. There are always necessary losses."
"Maybe Martris Drayke isn't as soft as you thought he was. After all, he killed Jared. That's a plus right there."
Curane snatched a dress from the wardrobe and threw it at the bed. "Get dressed. Clean yourself up."
"Stop shouting. You'll wake the baby."
"I don't give a damn—"
The baby let out an ear-splitting scream, arching and grasping. Canice fixed Curane with a deadly stare and lifted the baby against her shoulder.
"Don't let him scare you. Mother's here. Mother will keep you safe. It's all right. It'll be all right." .
"Did you hear me? I want you up and dressed and present
able. Pack your things. I've made up my mind. You're going to Trevath. I'll let Lady Monteith deal with you."
Canice did not look up. "Hush," she cooed. "Hush now. Mother's here. It'll be all right."
"I'll send guards for you at sundown. You'd better be ready." Curane slammed the door behind him.
His foul mood carried into his briefing. "Well?" he demanded when General Drostan and the fire mage Cadoc entered the room. "Are we ready?"
Drostan nodded. "Nearly so."
"Nearly so isn't enough. Our best chance to strike at the Margolan army will be when it first arrives, before they've had a chance to dig in. If we take the offensive, we might turn them."
Cadoc shrugged. "I doubt they'll be broken quite so easily, even with magic."
"We must terrify them. Teach them that we have the will to endure. Let them understand that we'll hold out."
"Is that why you're smuggling the girl out of the keep?" Drostan's voice was icy. "Hardly proof that you believe this siege to be winnable."
"I learned long ago to hedge my bets. With Canice gone, there will be one less distraction, and it puts one prize out of Drayke's reach before the first salvo is fired." Curane smiled icily. "I'll send you one of the serving girls and her baby. Use your magic to put an illusion on them. We'll lock them up in Canice's place. No one will suspect."
"Even our best strike can't defeat thousands of soldiers," Drostan replied.
"We don't have to defeat them. We need to make them lose heart. Every day the army camps here, my man at Shekerishet moves closer to success. Our people in Isencroft already have Donelan occupied with the divisionists. We have the resources to keep the army tied up here for months. By stripping the land bare, they'll have to travel further for supplies—and we have fighters in place to harry their supply line." He rose and looked out one of the thin windows, toward the plain where the army would camp.
"We'll teach them to be terrified of what comes by night. Sicken them once the harshest days of winter come. Make them hungry. Drayke and his mages will weaken the longer they stay here, while you and your blood mages," he said with a nod toward Cadoc, "grow stronger off the rift in the Flow. They're not a real army, not professionals. Just a ragtag band of volunteers out for an adventure. How long until those volunteers decide to go home?" Curane smiled. "No. We don't have to defeat his army. We have to break their will. Then Trevath will see the opportunity and come to our aid. We'll he rid of Drayke, rid of his heir, and both Margolan and Isencroft "will be ours."
"Everything will be in place, m'lord," Drostan said. "Our scouts expect the' army within two days. We'll strike them hard their first night, before they're ready to respond. We'll see how long Drayke's army can stand its ground."
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Margolan army moved with greater speed than Tris had imagined. It would take a week to reach the Southern Plains where Curane's holdings were located. His horse nickered and snuffled. Surrounded by bodyguards and soldiers, Tris was better sheltered from the wind than the men who rode on the outer edge of the formation. They took turns, moving from the outer edge to the inner ranks as the cold wind buffeted them.
Tris could see the mixture of excitement and apprehension in the Coalan's face. Going to war had not been part of Soterius's plan to keep his nephew safe.
Tris sighed. Going to war hadn't been part of his own plans, either. Soterius gave him a sideways glance.
"Skrivven for your thoughts."
Tris managed a smile. "I was thinking that at least now we can make a fire when we camp."
"And this time, we know where the Mar-golan army is."
Most of the soldiers now under colors were the deserters, stragglers, and rebels Soterius had gathered to remove Jared from the throne. Pell, Tabb, and Andras, three of Soterius's first converts to the rebellion, were now captains with their own commands. Tris's generals, Senne, Palinn, Tarq, and Rallan, rode with their troops.
All day, the troops had marched across snow-covered hills and deep valleys, criss-crossed by half-frozen streams. At the edge of the forest, they made camp for the night. The' further south they traveled, the more Tris's gut told him something was not quite right. Since he had come into his power, he had grown accustomed to the continual presence of his magic, deep in a corner of his mind. The closer they got to Curane's holdings, the more his magic felt brittle and fragile or pushed nearly out of reach. It's the Flow, Tris thought. It's getting worse. Now, only a day's march from their target, the sense of discomfort had become physical, giving him a headache and draining his energy.
Setting up camp for the night made Tris's caravan experience pale in comparison. The sheer number of tents and wagons necessary to move a small city of soldiers seemed almost beyond reckoning. Barely a year ago, he, Carroway, and Soterius had been the ones rigging the tents. Now, soldiers scurried to set camp, and Coalan watched over Tris's tent personally. Supper fires were lit, and Tris found that the prospect of a hot meal, even if it were to be beans and salt pork, was the highlight of the day.
"The supplies we've brought with us will only last a little over a month once we reach Curane's holdings," Soterius said as they stood near a fire, watching the preparations around them. "I've organized foraging parties, but I'm expecting that Curane's stripped the land, knowing that we'd come. Goddess knows, there aren't many villages in this area, and the scouts I sent to see what the villagers could spare came back with little. It's a lean year."
"That'll make the supply line back to Shek-erishet all the more important."
"Fielding this army is going to be a strain. Sparing the troops to keep the supply line open will cost us men who won't be available to fight. Keeping the army afield will just make the spring's harvest worse unless we can get them home to their farms by planting time. Thank heavens the winter crops are still in the fields." He chuckled. "We may have our fill of turnips and potatoes, but it's better than noth-ing."
Tris looked out over the barely organized chaos of the camp. In Bricen's day, Margolan's army had been one of the strongest in the Winter Kingdoms. Now, there were fewer than ten thousand men under colors, and some of those had to be left behind to keep the peace throughout the kingdom and secure the castle. Most of the troops were mortal: only three score at best were vayash moru. The majority were volunteers from the ruined farms and villages Jared's troops left in their wake, men and women who had welcomed the opportunity to even the score. While Curane's forces were likely to be even fewer, they were seasoned fighters, drawn from the old army ranks, secure within strong fortifications. It would not be an easy fight.
"Father always said that going to war took such a toll on your own people you barely needed an enemy," Tris said, watching the glow of the camp fires. "I'm beginning to understand what he meant."
"Wake up sire! We're being attacked!"
Tris scrambled to buckle his breastplate before he ducked from the tent. Sister Fallon, one of the mages, was running toward him. "Good. You're up. We need you."
The camp was already in motion. Soldiers grabbed their bows and pikes and ran for the camp's perimeter. Tris could hear Soterius and the generals shouting to gain order. Tris and Fallon ran for the wagons in the center of the camp and climbed to where they had a clear view of the action. In the open ground between the camp and the dark forest rim, a hazy green light glowed, like low-hanging smoke. From within the shadows of the trees, the sound of groans carried on the night air.
A shadow grew at the edge of the forest, spreading rapidly across the plain toward the camp. Fallon raised her hands, and a burst of fire streamed from her fingertips, illuminating the night. It dispelled all but the growing darkness racing at them from the forest's edge.
Tris stretched out his power toward the darkness. Magic that normally came quickly to his command now seemed a struggle, as if the power were being pulled away. Tris doubled his effort, and felt the magic yield to his command. On the Plains of Spirit, he sensed the energy of the land around him. Darkness clustered in s
ome places just as clearly as good fortune was drawn to others. Within the forest lay a bog, thinly covered with snow. Bogs were filled with decay, where dark energies fed darker creatures that shrank from the light. Still further beneath the parts of the bog, Tris could feel the Flow, damaged and tainted, its shattered energy feeding the malevolence.
Bogwaithe. Neither ghost nor vayash moru, a bogwaithe was old, tainted power.
"Show yourself!" The image that formed in his mind was of a washer woman hunched over her tub. She turned and straightened. A cadaverous face was pale beneath her ragged cowl, eyeless and evil. Without warning, the hag stretched to twice the height of a tall man, a dark, cold presence with arms much longer than any living being. The bog lights began to coalesce, gathering around them until the crossroads was bathed in an eerie green glow. Tris felt the shadow lengthen toward him as the long arms stretched out.
On the front line, archers sent a wave of flaming arrows toward the fast-moving shadow. The arrows flew toward their target, then winked out suddenly, swallowed whole by blackness. A line of men bearing torches advanced shoulder to shoulder. The darkness consumed them. Their screams filled the cold night.
"Fall back!" Tris heard General Tarq order. "Leave this to the mages!"
Around them, men broke ranks and ran from the darkness. Mages sent balls of flame lobbing into the shadows. The darkness drew back, but did not yield.
Tris stretched out on the Plains of Spirit, gathering his power. He extended his senses, feeling for the bogwaithe's soul. The bogwait-he was a creature of the Plains of Spirits, a sentient being neither dead nor alive, but soulless. Some of the things on the Plains of Spirit had never been mortal. They were dark beings that envied the warmth of human life and the spark of human souls. Tris felt the brush of its long, shadowed arms seeking his life force. On the Plains of Spirit, he saw the being behind the shadows; a pallid thing, partially decomposed, surrounded by the green glow of the bog lights.
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