The citadel smelled of candle wax and herbs, with the musty scent of long-unused rooms. Taru stopped in front of two iron-bound double doors. The sound of raised voices carried through the heavy doors. While the words were not clear, the passion of the women's voices was evident. One voice, higher in pitch, sounded angry. The other voice, low-pitched and measured, seemed resolute. Taru grimaced and rapped loudly at the door. The voices stopped abruptly, and Taru gestured for the doors too open.
Creaking heavily on their hinges, the doors slowly swung backward. Inside, the council chamber was hung with heavy tapestries, lit by a bank of torches and two fireplaces which were each the length and height of a tall man. Above the long table of dark wood hung two multi-tiered candelabra, each holding dozens of candles. Even that light did not seem to completely dispel the shadows. Despite the roaring fires, Tris shivered as he stepped into the room.
Four robed Sisters were seated at the table. At the center, facing Tris, was an old woman, cadaver-thin and very wrinkled. He guessed that she was Elam. At her right was an empty seat, and Tris assumed it was for Taru. To the thin woman's left was another Sister in her middle years with a determined expression. Landis? He wondered. With gray short hair and a serious expression, she looked as if an inner dialogue continued the discussion they had overheard from the hallway.
At Landis's left was a younger woman who watched Tris intently. With dark blonde hair pulled back into a plain braid, she looked haggard. Tris guessed this was Alaine, Landis's assistant. To the right of the empty seat was another young mage, a woman perhaps ten years Tris's senior, whose lean form and strong arms seemed more fitting for a fighter than a sorceress. Her dark hair was cut short so that it stood up, brush-like, on her head. She seemed to be sizing Tris up like a sergeant-at-arms appraising a new recruit. He had no doubt that she was Theron. The Sisters did not seem to be concerned with Carina. She stepped behind him, as if relieved to be overlooked.
"Worthy Sisters," Taru said when they stood before the table. "I bring to you Martris Drayke of Margolan, and with him, Carina Jesthrata."
"Welcome," said a figure at the center of the table. "I am Sister Elam," the old woman said. Her voice was strong, at odds with how she looked, and Tris knew better than to judge a sorceress by her appearance.
"Do you accept our offer of training?" Elam asked.
Tris steeled himself. "I accept."
Elam smiled mirthlessly, showing yellowed teeth. "As you may know, the Sisterhood does not lightly involve itself in the affairs of kings."
At least, not openly, Tris thought.
From the stony expressions and stiff postures of some at the table, Tris surmised that Elam had greatly understated the amount of discussion that preceded the Sisterhood's offer of training. He guessed that, at least for some at the table, the argument was not yet over.
"Taru told me of your training at Westmarch. When you won Mageslayer from the ghost of King Argus, you passed one test." A "test" Tris had barely survived.
"If you are to be ready to face Arontala-and possibly, the Obsidian King himself-by the Hawthorn Moon, there is little time," Elam said. "We don't train from books. You'll face a series of trials, not unlike what you encountered with King Argus. Real magic, sent against you with the full strength of our mages. Traps and obstacles that will push your body to its limits. We'll see just what you're willing to pay to win back the crown."
"If I die here at the citadel, it seems rather pointless," Tris countered.
Elam's smile chilled him in its ruthlessness. "It would be worse for all of us should you confront the Obsidian King and fail. Pain is often the most powerful teacher of all. Your training begins today."
AFTER THE MIDDAY bells, Tris was taken to a salle deep in the lower levels of the citadel. Despite Carina's protests, Taru took the healer in a different direction, promising that Carina would be close at hand if needed. Carina gave Tris a wad of rope vine to hold in his cheek, a way to lessen the effect of the wormroot poison that could push his magic out of reach. Tris was dressed to skirmish, with a studded leather cuirass and Mageslayer in the scabbard at his belt. Theron was waiting for Tris in the windowless salle. She was nearly his own height. No longer dressed in her council robes, Theron wore the studded leather armor of a fighter. She carried herself like a seasoned soldier.
"I wish to see you fight."
"Very well," Tris's hand fell to Mageslayer's pommel.
Theron launched herself at him, moving so quickly that Tris barely had time to draw his sword. Their blades clashed; Theron's strength was easily equal that of any man Tris had fought. Parrying took all of his concentration as they traded blows that could cleave a man shoulder to hip.
Theron swung into an Eastmark kick, and seemed surprised when Tris blocked her, although the force of her kick almost knocked him off balance. Sweating hard, gripping Mageslayer two-handed, Tris saw the ensorcelled blade flare a brilliant green as Theron's lips moved in the words of a spell. A streak of fire blazed from her left hand. The blade's warning was all the time Tris had to summon his shielding, while deflecting another sword stroke that nearly tore the sword from his grip. Theron's fire bounced away, only to be replaced by darkness so complete that only Mageslayer's glow enabled Tris to see Theron's attack.
He thought he saw a glint of approval in Theron's eyes as he cast away the darkness, and before it cleared he swung into an Eastmark kick of his own, almost knocking her sword from her hand. As Theron's lips moved once more, Tris felt blinding pain sear through his body. For an instant, he thought Theron had run him through.
He staggered, and Theron scored a gash on his forearm. Reeling, Tris held on to Mageslayer, gasping as he struggled to counter her magical assault. As he focused his power to dull the pain, the gash on his forearm began to burn. Wormroot! Tris thought, managing to deflect the worst of another thrust from Theron's sword. This time, she scored his thigh, a deep cut that burned with the poison on her blade.
Tris nearly fell, swinging his blade wildly to keep Theron at bay as he drew on Mageslayer's power to neutralize the effect of the poison. Even with the rope vine, the wormroot was beginning to take effect. Another wave of pain swept over him, as if he were being burned from the inside with hot coals, and his eyes stung. But he kept his grip on the sword, battling Theron's press.
The tip of Theron's blade opened a deep cut on Tris's shoulder and he fought to retain control of his magic. His heart hammered and his palms sweat as he countered her blows, slowly losing control of his magic. Theron murmured another spell, and this time the pain seemed to be crushing his skull. Tris cried out, resisting the urge to drop his weapon and clasp his head in both hands.
Focusing all of his remaining power on Mageslayer, Tris saw in his mind an image of blue fire streaking from the sword's tip, engulfing Theron and ending the pain. A heartbeat later Mageslayer blazed with light, fire streaking from its tip. He heard Theron gasp, her shields barely snapping up in time to deflect the attack.
Tris stumbled. The wormroot was making it difficult for him to stay on his feet. With a predator's smile, Theron whispered another spell. Mageslayer was torn from his hand by an irresistible force. With the blade's magical protections gone Tris fell, unable to counteract the wormroot. As the worm-root pushed the magic beyond his reach, Tris felt his power fail him. Another wave of excruciating pain swept over him, and he nearly blacked out. Theron kicked Mageslayer beyond his grasp.
"Is that the best you can do?" she taunted, standing over him. "Without your magic, you're just a man, and a mage can break a man with a thought." She whispered and the pain came again, worse this time. Tris's screams echoed in the stone vault. The wormroot burned in his veins, and his magic was far out of reach.
Theron raised her sword over his neck like an executioner, and Tris rolled, scything his legs and bringing Theron down with him. She hit the ground hard and gasped. Tris dove for Mageslayer, barely able to keep his concentration against the pain. But as he struggled to his feet, his wou
nded leg folded under him. Theron rolled to her feet and swung her sword at his neck. For an instant, time seemed to stand still. Tris knew that her blade, if it connected, would kill. It stopped just short of its mark as he collapsed to the floor.
"That's nothing compared to what Arontala can inflict," she hissed, laying the blade across his neck for emphasis. "And with the power of the Obsidian King, he can torment you past the point of death, past madness, and strip your soul to shreds."
She might have said more, but the pain and the wormroot overwhelmed Tris, and darkness took him.
TRIS AWOKE IN a darkened room, utterly spent. He could still feel the wormroot in his blood, and knew that his power was out of reach. The void it left was unsettling to the point of discomfort. He remembered Carina telling him that a mage could be killed or driven mad by constant dosing with wormroot. He did not doubt it.
Tris shifted, and revised his assessment. While the torment of Theron's spell was gone, his body ached of its own accord. Where Theron cut him the deep gashes were expertly bandaged, but even Carina's healing had not completely removed their pain. He wanted to retch, and gauging from the taste in his mouth and how sore his stomach muscles felt, he ruefully gathered that he had probably already brought up anything he could, and more.
He sank back against the bed, angry at himself for his failure. I'm sure by now they've reconsidered training me, he thought. I'll be lucky if they don't just decide to kill me before Arontala does.
He heard a rap at the outer door to the sitting room, and the rustle of someone moving to answer. "You can't go in there," Carina protested. "He's not ready."
From the sound of the approaching footsteps, their visitor was undeterred. Tris forced himself to open his eyes and turn his throbbing head. Theron was approaching in the dim light. She wore her council robes, and her expression was of sincere concern.
"How long did it take for him to come around?" Theron asked Carina, who was clearly unhappy with the intrusion.
"Three candlemarks," Carina clipped. "Most of the time, I was busy keeping him from choking on his own vomit. Just how much of this 'training' do you think he can take?"
Theron looked closely at Tris. "Just three candle-marks?" she asked. "And he's only been hit with wormroot once before?"
Tris thought Carina might explode with the anger that seethed in her voice. "Three candlemarks is an eternity," she said between gritted teeth. "And compared to how much wormroot you managed to get into his system, what he had before was hardly anything."
Theron nodded. "Exactly. He's adapting. Learning to work around it. The last time-how did he react?"
"We'd just been attacked by soldiers. He barely stayed on his horse, and he collapsed when we got to the cell."
"Um hum." Theron moved to take Tris's pulse and look into his eyes.
"I'm awake and alive," Tris managed through parched lips. "You can speak like I'm here."
"You kept fighting, after three doses of poison," Theron remarked. "Your Eastmark kick needs some work, but given your condition, it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. We've got to work on your control. You didn't effectively counter the pain spell."
"I know."
"And your magic got wobbly after you lost Mageslayer."
"Wobbly?" Tris echoed hoarsely. "It was out of reach."
"Not immediately. For an untrained mage, you hung on to it-at least a little bit-for quite a while." Theron managed a smile. "I'm glad you weren't at full strength when you sent that blast my way, or we might have needed a new trainer."
"I can teach you to counter that pain spell-and some other nasties that you might encounter." She chuckled mirthlessly. "You may not choose to use them on someone else, but it can be damn handy-knowing how to deflect them. And we've got to build up your tolerance for wormroot." "Build up a tolerance!" Carina exclaimed angrily. "We know Arontala uses it on other mages. As a vayash moru, it has no effect on Arontala himself. It's likely he and Jared will take some kind of precautions, and wormroot could be part of them." She gave Tris a crooked grin. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."
Tris swallowed hard and nodded. "I thought you might say that," he said, surprised at how spent his own voice sounded.
Theron spared a glance at his bandages. "Looks like Carina's got you patched up."
"Even with deep healing, he's not going to be good as new overnight," Carina replied tersely.
Theron met her eyes. "Whatever he's got will have to do," she said matter-of-factly. "We don't have time to wait." She looked down at Tris. "See you at the salle tomorrow morning. We'll work on that kick." Without another word, Theron turned away. Carina followed her to the door and might have said something more to Tris, but as the healer closed the door behind Theron, Tris felt the world waver around him. He closed his eyes as consciousness once again slipped out of his grasp.
CHAPTER THREE
"You HELD YOUR own today." Sister Theron offered Tris a hand up from where he lay on his back in the salle floor. He smiled ruefully and accepted her offer.
"If you mean that I managed to stay on my feet longer and I didn't lose my breakfast right away, then thank you." He steadied himself, fresh from a dosing of wormroot and a bad gash on his shoulder. Warm blood trickled down his arm underneath his sleeve, and the leather cuirass he wore seemed to weigh him down as he fought the poison in his system. His right leg throbbed from a bad wrenching after Theron pushed him to practice his Eastmark kick. In all, Tris could not recall ever feeling worse.
Theron seemed to guess his thoughts. "Your kick is getting cleaner," she said. "For a prince, you've picked up some interesting street fighting techniques."
Tris managed a chuckle. "Thank Vahanian." He tried to take a step and staggered. Theron caught him, getting under his left arm for support and draping it across her shoulders as he limped toward the door.
"I know you won't believe me, but you're learning to handle the wormroot," she said. Nothing about Theron was coddling. Tris knew that any praise he wrested from the skilled fighter was hard won.
"It's hard to remember that when I'm puking my guts out." Tris was leaning far more heavily on Theron than he wanted to admit.
"I don't think you understand," she said as they made their way toward the salle door. "A mage of middling power would be unconscious from the dosing you've had. Many strong mages take longer to recover their power after they've been poisoned. In between dosings, your power came back at full strength. And you've hung on to more control for longer each time."
"I still feel like shit," Tris muttered as they began the painful climb to the top of the spiral stairs.
When they reached the upper floors, a brown-robed sister ran past them, sobbing. A knot of robed mages huddled in conversation along one wall, and a small crowd had gathered around the doorway to one of the bedrooms. Tris and Theron exchanged worried glances.
"Go ahead," he said, leaning against the wall as she removed his support. "I'll get there. Looks like something big is going on."
Theron nodded and made her way through the crowd. Tris limped behind her through the cluster of Sisters, some of whom were weeping. At the doorway he saw that Carina and Taru were both already in the room, which was a bedchamber. With a shock he recognized Elam slumped at a table near the fire.
Carina ran to him. He waved off her assistance, finding that he could stand if he leaned against the wall. "What happened?" he asked, trying to take in the scene through a throbbing reaction headache.
"Elam's dead." There was a catch in Carina's voice. "Her heart-" She shook her head. "She was almost seventy years old." Carina moved past him to close the door, bolting the door to assure their privacy.
Landis was already in the room. Alaine was cleaning up Elam's spilled tea. Landis and Taru were deep in conversation. From their expressions, Tris could see that the two Sisters were not in complete agreement.
Something familiar tugged at the frayed edges of his power and Tris closed his eyes, struggling to control his magic th
rough the fatigue and the poison. Carina laid a hand on his arm, but he shook his head, focusing all his will on the spirit that was trying to reach him through his fogged mage sense.
He opened his eyes. "It's Elam," he said, and the others in the room turned to look at him. "She's quite insistent-but the wormroot is making this difficult…" He closed his eyes again, willing his power past the poison in his veins. What should have been a simple working took all of his concentration, but he brought the spirit closer, and then, with effort, made the revenant visible to the others.
Carina gasped. Elam's ghost stood before them.
"I was murdered," the spirit said in a voice audible to all. "We have a traitor within the Sisterhood."
Taru stepped forward. "Elam-who did this?"
"I don't know. Something I picked up had a triggering spell. It stopped my heart. Every mage in this citadel has the power for such a spell. And many had the access to place the trigger." Elam looked at Tris. "Someone does not wish you to succeed in your training."
The image of the spirit wavered as Tris felt the wormroot unravel his control. Theron pushed a chair under him as he began to fall. Tris's power slipped beyond his grasp, and the visible image of Elam's ghost disappeared. In his mage sight, Tris could see Elam standing at a distance, her expression serious.
"Beware the avatars," she warned in a voice that only he could hear. "Whoever killed me will come for you next." Her spirit faded completely as the wormroot pushed even mage sight beyond his control.
Tris opened his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself not to pass out. Landis crossed the room and stood before him, her arms folded. Carina took a half step forward protectively, putting herself between Landis and Tris. Landis, easily ten years Elam's junior, looked haggard, and her eyes were tired.
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