"It'll also take time to raise the mercs," Harrtuck added. "They're wintering here, not looking for hire. They'll need to get provisioned."
It would also take time, Tris knew, for him to complete even a fraction of his training, to learn to channel the wild power that was only just beginning to come under his control. At the Library at Westmarch, Tris had learned that his grandmother, the great spirit mage Bava K'aa, had given him as much training as she dared, and then buried those memories deeply to protect him. With the help of the Sisterhood, Royster the head librarian and the other Keepers, Tris had accessed those memories and added what training time permitted.
Though he had been in Principality City for only one full day, word had already come from the Sisterhood, the shadowy council of high mages that Bava K'aa once led, that Tris and Carina were to journey to the Sisterhood's citadel in the city for further training. That summons, and the implication that his own training would require the services of an expert healer, weighed heavily on Tris's mind. In the short time before the Hawthorn Moon, Tris knew he must master what the Sisterhood had yet to teach him. And in that same few months, Kiara and Vahanian would need to gain the skills of climbing a sheer rock cliff, Soterius must find and contact the refugees and Margolan defectors, and he himself had yet to take his fighting skills to the level which he knew he must reach in order to hold his own. It would all take time, Tris fretted, time they did not have but could not do without. Hant nodded. "It can be done." Darrath nodded his assent. "Good." He placed his palms on the table as he stood. "Hant and I will provide anything you require in terms of weapons or armor. Your horses will be the finest in Principality. And you will have gold enough for your mercenaries," he nodded to Harrtuck, "sufficient to stir them from their winter sleep, I think." "Thank you," Tris said.
Darrath's met his eyes evenly. "Make no mistake, Prince Drayke. I am not supporting this out of a love of Margolan. But what you say is true. For Principality to rest safely, we must put down the evil in Margolan, or lose everything." He paused. "I don't doubt that if Jared were to secure Margolan and invade Isencroft, he would eventually turn his eye toward the mines of Principality to replenish his treasury."
Hant nodded. "I agree. For now, Margolan's cause is our own."
"Then it's settled," Staden said from the chair where he had watched the debate for more than a candlemark, his burly arms crossed across his chest. "Until then, you and your companions are welcome in my home."
Tris inclined his head in acknowledgment. "We are in your debt."
Staden waved his hands in dissent. "Now none of that, or you'll be thanking me and I'll have to turn around and thank you again, and we'll be here all night. Now that the decision's made, who'll have a glass of port with me?"
CHAPTER TWO
TRIS PULLED HIS cloak tighter around himself as the king's carriage carried him to the citadel of the Sisterhood. Beside him, Carina looked equally cold. "I'm still wondering-what kind of training requires a healer?" Carina asked, pulling her lap robe closer and rubbing her hands together.
Tris managed a wan smile. "I've been asking myself the same thing. And I can't come up with any good answers."
Carina frowned. "Tris-how sure are you that the Sisterhood is on our side?"
Tris shrugged. "Grandmother always said the Sisterhood was on its own side," he replied. "I got as much out of Royster last night as I could-he's been the Keeper of their Library at Westmarch for almost fifty years. What he said-and he was damn cagey until I pushed him-was that since grandmother's death, there's been a split in the Sisterhood that goes back to the war with the Obsidian King.
"According to Royster, there were so many of the great mages killed in that war that the ones who lived through it were either badly wounded or very frightened. The Sisterhood took very heavy losses. Grandmother was nearly killed." He sighed. "Even after grandmother recovered and became the head of the Sisterhood, Royster says that the Sisterhood split into two groups: one that thought the Mage War proved that the Sisterhood shouldn't intervene, and one that thought careful intervention was the only way to keep the peace." "What about your grandmother?" Tris looked out the carriage window at the cold winter dawn. "Grandmother always said that power of any kind-physical, magical, or political-was a gift from the Goddess to be used for the good of all."
"That's a hard balance to strike," Carina said, burrowed so far into her cloak and lap robe that only her face showed.
"What I could pry out of Royster makes me think that there have been some heated arguments about what to do with me," Tris said. "For now, apparently, the mages who sided with grandmother are winning, and so the Sisterhood has agreed to train me. But I'm not sure that's the same as giving us their full support. I don't think we can count on them to come to the rescue if anything goes wrong."
"But we've heard that Arontala is hunting down mages! Doesn't that make this war the Sisterhood's business?"
Tris shrugged. "Not every mage is one of the Sisterhood. They're a rather elite group. And the
impression I got from Royster was that some of them think that the Sisterhood shouldn't be involved in the outside world at all. They want to study magic and let the rest of us be damned." He paused. "Although Royster didn't say as much, I wondered whether the mages who run the Sisterhood now are as powerful as the Sisters who fought the Mage War. Perhaps they're turning inward because they're not what they once were," Tris speculated. "Maybe they don't think they can go up against Arontala-let alone the Obsidian King reborn-and win, so they don't even want to try."
"But they'll send you? That's not making me feel any better about this training." Carina shivered.
Tris chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not the one being trained."
Carina's concerns only made him more nervous. Though Bava K'aa said little about the Sisterhood, what little she did say was usually about Sisters taking sides or pursuing competing agendas. Now, as the carriage headed for the citadel, Tris wondered whether, in the Sisterhood's game, he was the king or the pawn.
"You said Sister Taru sent the message?" Carina's question stirred Tris out of his brooding.
He nodded. "That's the one bright spot. After training with her at Westmarch, she's someone I trust."
"She knew your grandmother?"
"Taru was grandmother's assistant."
"I trust Taru," Carina agreed. "The others, I'm not so sure about."
THE CARRIAGE TURNED and Tris saw the citadel, a large gray walled area, almost a city within the city. The cut stone that made up its outer walls looked older than the buildings around it, which seemed to keep their distance, giving the citadel a wide span of open area despite the crowding of the rest of the city. Only a few high narrow windows broke the citadel's facade, which rose several stories above the ground. A portcullis opened to admit the carriage, and Tris felt his stomach knot at the thud of the iron gate falling shut behind them.
A robed figure waited for them in the snow as Tris helped Carina down from the carriage. "Welcome," Taru said, pulling back her hood. Taru's chin-length dark hair framed a round face, and her cloak covered an ample frame. Her broad smile was a sincere welcome. Tris felt himself relax, just a little.
Tris gave a courteous bow, and Carina embraced Taru. "Thanks for meeting us," Tris said as they headed up the broad, snow covered steps that led into the citadel. The facade of the citadel was as imposing as any palace, and the archway over the heavy, iron-bound doors was carved with intricate runes and interlocking designs.
Even before the doors opened, Tris could sense old, strong magic. Power seemed to radiate from the stones of the walls, as if they retained the imprint of the workings done within. Tris hoped to pick up the lingering sense of his grandmother's magic, the sense that her rooms at Shekerishet held like old perfume. But there was no familiar resonance, and Tris found that its absence heightened his nervousness.
A footman gathered their bags and followed behind them. "You've come prepared to stay for at least a fortnight?" Tar
u questioned.
Tris chuckled. "We've learned to travel light," he replied dryly. "Since I left Shekerishet with only the clothes on my back, a whole pack seems like a luxury!"
Carina shrugged. "I brought my herbs and powders-and some of the books Royster and I brought from Westmarch. Cam and I lived on the road for so long, I've learned to make do." She managed a grin. "You weren't expecting us to dress for court, I hope!"
Taru smiled. "No dear. We have robes to spare- what you wear underneath them is your business," she added with surprising mischief.
Inside the great doors, a high-ceilinged entrance-way made an imposing first impression. Around the grand entrance room, eight larger than life size marble figures of the Goddess-four light and four dark-encircled the room on pedestals. Tris looked to the statues of the Mother and Childe, Margolan's patron Aspects, but in the kindly gaze of the Mother and the mystical eyes of the Childe, he found no assurance. It was Istra, the Dark Lady, who drew his attention. Istra, patroness of the vayasb moru and the outcast, the champion of lost souls. Tris could not shake the feeling that the eyes of Istra's statue seemed to follow him.
Carina seemed preoccupied as they headed deeper into the massive building. Tris looked around. Tapestries covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and Tris could tell at a glance that they were even older and more finely woven than any he had seen in Staden's palace or in his own home at Shekerishet. Everywhere he looked-at the furnishings, the finely wrought candelabra and torch sconces, at the scrying basins and leather-bound books-Tris saw evidence of wealth and power that would impress any king in the Winter Kingdoms.
For a group that isn't supposed to be involved in mortal affairs, the Sisterhood has done well for itself, Tris thought.
"This citadel was built over five hundred years ago," Taru said as they headed deeper into the building. "It's older than Staden's palace. We can comfortably house over two hundred Sisters, although only about fifty live here at most times. Many come and go, staying for a few months and then moving on to one of our other holdings."
They climbed a broad, curving staircase that can-tilevered from the walls, seeming to rise of its own accord. Down through its center hung a massive candelabrum easily as large as the carriage that brought them to the citadel, and Tris wondered if its dozens of candles could be lit by means other than magic. The stairs narrowed as they reached the upper floors, and Taru led them down a long corridor. Tris felt engulfed by the remnant of old power, as if the lingering tingle of magic would smother him. Even Mageslayer seemed to respond to the magic that surrounded him; the ensorcelled blade drew his attention as if awakened.
Taru stopped in front of two doors that opened off the right side of the corridor. "I've put you in adjoining rooms-I hope you don't mind," she said. "There's a sitting room in between. I thought it would give you some privacy-and make it easier if Carina needs to check in on you."
Tris frowned. "You seem to be taking it for granted that I'll need serious healing. What kind of training-exactly-do you have in mind for me?"
Taru motioned them inside, and gestured to the footman to leave the bags in the sitting room. A fire already blazed in the large stone hearth, and the sitting room, while less lavish than the entranceway, was still the equal to the guest rooms in any palace. A pot for tea and another small cauldron of water simmered in the coals, and several chairs plus a small couch offered ample seating. There was a broad study table with a four-candle candelabrum, and one wall was covered with shelves of books. One glance gave Tris to guess that they were healing tomes, and his uneasiness increased again.
Taru closed the door behind them with a quick glance in either direction down the hallway to assure they were alone. Carina moved to warm herself by the fire, and Tris stretched their cloaks over two chairs near the fire to dry. "There's only one kind of training that can build the skills you'll require in the short time available," said Taru, and Tris could hear concern in her voice. "Simulated battle-both physical and magical."
Carina gasped. "Against whom-the entire Sisterhood?"
Taru met Tris's eyes. "Yes. You'll be led through a series of tests. Some will be quests past the traps in the labyrinth beneath the citadel. They'll test your cunning and your ability to use your magic with precision. Others," she said, "will test your battle skills and your magic for defense and for attack." Taru watched him, gauging his reaction. "In some tests, you'll face a Sister-or two-in person. In other tests, you'll face avatars-golems animated by magic-controlled by Sisters."
Tris looked at Taru. "There's something you're not saying. Something important."
Taru nodded. "When you fight the avatars, they will have the face and form of others. Jared, perhaps. Arontala. And you may find allies-like Vahanian, or Kiara." She paused again. "The magic and the weapons will be real. In the most extreme simulations, wardings will be set that cannot be broken except by completing the task. In the case of a confrontation with Jared's avatar, for example-" "It's not over until one of us is dead," Tris finished tightly. Taru nodded.
"Taru, you can't be serious!" Carina protested. She moved away from the fire to join them.
Taru met Carina's gaze. "If he can't stand up to the Sisterhood, what chance has he against Arontala-or the Obsidian King?"
"And so you thought to do Arontala's work for him?" Carina demanded.
Taru looked down, and began to pace again. "There's been a great deal of debate-heated debate-about whether the Sisterhood should involve itself at all in your training," she said with a glance at Tris. "I suspect the decision to bring you here was made more out of fear that some of us would do it, regardless."
"From the Sisterhood's perspective-and I'm not saying it's my view-the only thing that matters is keeping the Obsidian King from rising again, or at
least, containing the damage if he does." She looked to Tris and Carina. "The Sisterhood is not concerned with the kingship of Margolan, or with undoing Jared's damage-or with healing King Donelan by destroying Arontala." Taru shook her head. "The Sisterhood tends to take a historic view of such things which can be damnably impersonal." "What could be worse than the Obsidian King rising and taking over Arontala's body?" Carina burst out. Even before Taru spoke, Tris knew what she would say, and that knowledge chilled him to the bone.
"It would be worse if he arose in the body of a great Summoner," Taru said quietly. "The Sisterhood agreed to train you because they need to assure themselves that you will not fail. Above all, they don't wish to face the Obsidian King again as he once was, with a Summoner's power."
"Then grandmother was correct-Lemuel was possessed?" Tris said. Taru nodded. "So if I'm not strong enough to succeed, they want me to fail here, even if it kills me?" "Yes." "I see."
"You don't know how much they fear the Obsidian King," said Taru. "You passed one small test when Alyzza found you in the caravan-"
"Alyzza was a Sister?" Carina exclaimed, remembering the disheveled old woman who had traveled with their caravan in Margolan.
Taru smiled. "Did you really believe she was a hedge witch? Many years ago, Alyzza was a great sorceress. When Bava K'aa was taken prisoner by the Obsidian King, Alyzza and King Argus used their magic to enable Lord Grayson to rescue Bava K'aa from the Obsidian King's stronghold."
She shook her head. "The effort killed King Argus, and badly injured Alyzza. Her mind was never the same afterwards. Bava K'aa barely survived. Elam was Bava K'aa's healer, and Elam wouldn't let anyone else near your grandmother, even though it took a long time to heal her. Elam performed the marriage between Grayson and Bava K'aa when your grandmother was barely recovered from her injuries. And Elam delivered Bava K'aa's child-your mother, Serae," Taru said with a glance toward Tris.
Outside, the bells tolled eight times. Taru looked at Tris and Carina apologetically. "I know you've barely had a chance to get warm and put down your things, but we're due in the council chambers," Taru said. "You'll be formally introduced, and Sister Elam will present your first trainers. Your chal
lenges begin today."
Carina took a half step forward. "Who will be in the council chamber?" Tris had the sense, as he had often felt at Westmarch, that Carina and Taru's acquaintance stemmed from somewhere before this present quest.
Taru gave a half-smile that did not reach her eyes. "Some friends-and others I'm not sure about." She paused. "Sister Elam was the same age as Tris's grandmother. She took over the leadership of the Sisterhood after Bava K'aa's death."
"Sister Landis will be Elam's successor," Taru said neutrally, but Tris saw a shadow of distaste color Carina's face. "She was one of the younger mages at the time of the Mage War, and she often clashed with Bava K'aa over the role of the Sisterhood. Landis' assistant, Alaine, may have recently given her reason to reconsider. Alaine was staying with another of our citadels when it was overrun by Jared's troops. She barely escaped."
Taru drew a deep breath. "And then there's Theron."
Carina muttered something that Tris did not catch.
"Theron will be one of your trainers," Taru said. "She comes from Eastmark, and so her style may be similar to what you've learned from Kiara and Jonmarc." Taru frowned. "You may find that compared to Theron, Jonmarc's training style is merciful."
Merciful, Tris thought wryly. An odd word to use. Considering the pounding I've taken in the salle from Jonmarc, that doesn't bode well.
Tris drew a deep breath, fighting his fear. Sweet Chenne, what have I gotten myself into? He knew that his real enemy was time. It was less than a fortnight before the Crone Moon, the last month of the year. The Hawthorn Moon at mid-year was just seven months away. There was very little time to prepare.
Tris knew what his failure would mean. Kiara delivered into Jared's control, a thought that made his blood run cold. Jonmarc and the others hanged for treason. No relief for Margolan, and no justice for the wretched souls under Jared's yoke. War, as Jared and Arontala sought to expand their boundaries among the Winter Kingdoms. If he could prevent that future, Tris was willing to risk the confrontation-even if it cost him his life. But Taru raised the thought that death was not the worst outcome, and the possibility that he might be possessed, his power used against his will, hardened Tris's resolve. He felt a coldness wash over him that had nothing to do with the chill in the corridor. Taru was right-there was no alternative.
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