"I am Nexus. Bound by blood and wrought by will, the spirit remains to conquer."
And in that same moment, his power touched something within the blade that flared to his sight in the Plains of Spirit and he saw a ghostly image of his grandmother. The blade remembers magic,he heard her voice in his mind. But beware. The price is a breath from your soul.An image formed in his mind of the blade making a cut across his palm.
Well aware that his wardings were weakening fast, Tris took a deep breath and drew Nexus across the open palm of his right hand. The blade glowed white for an instant, and Tris felt a shift in his soul. Nexus now appeared in his hand as he saw his essence on the Plains of Spirit.
Tris focused on the gleaming sword blade and let his magic call out to the Flow. No longer wild and damaged, the river of power undulated in his mage sight like the Spirit Lights. Using Nexus, Tris drew the Flow toward him, twining his own power with that of the river of energy, concentrated into a blue-white stream of magic that erupted from the tip of Nexus' blade as Tris's inner warding shattered.
The heat of the fire Elemental seared his lungs and blistered his skin. An instant later, the combined power of the sword and the Flow's energy created a shield wall that enabled Tris to stagger to his feet. And while he was holding the Elemental at bay, Tris knew that the cost of channeling the Flow through his body was burning him out quickly.
One desperate idea formed in his mind. He remembered Soterius's recount of defeating the air Elemental by distracting the mage who called it. Tris's head ached so badly that it was becoming difficult to form his thoughts, but he called out to the ghost Mohr within Lochlanimar.
Can you find the mages who called the Elemental?
At first, only silence answered him. Finally, he felt Mohr's spirit. Aye.
Throw something at them. Anything. Break their concentration. Do it now!
Power unlike anything he had wielded before coursed through him and found its vent in Nexus until Tris felt as if his entire being had ceased to be flesh and bone and existed only as raw, pure magic. Without the newly-healed Flow, Tris knew he would have been consumed by that untamed power, but the glistening energy of the Flow sustained him, though he felt the effort draining him badly.
A sudden flash of white light over Lochlanimar lit the cold night air. The Elemental flared blindingly bright, and then rushed back like a storm tide toward the embattled keep with a deafening roar. The wall of flames hit Lochlanimar all at once, sending its energies the length of the walled fortress and lancing high into the night sky like a beacon.
A wave of unbearable pain forced Tris to his knees as the last of his warding shattered. From the burning wreckage of Lochlanimar, Tris could feel the souls burn loose from their cindered bodies as the fiery cataclysm reduced every living thing within the fortress's walls to ash. Wrenched with them onto the Plains of Spirit, Tris saw the souls stream into the Nether bearing the charred flesh and the blackened skin of their death wounds; men, women, children and elders. As flames consumed Lochlanimar, Tris despaired at the hundreds of lives claimed by the Elemental as it returned to its place of sending.
Their blood is on my hands, Tris thought as the innocent dead fixed him in their baleful glare. Goddess help me. There was no other way.
No longer certain whether he was alive or dead himself, Tris did the only thing that remained within his power as Summoner to do; he began to speak the passing over ritual. In the distance, he could hear the faint strains of the Lady's soulsong. As his power opened up the gateways to the Aspects, the dead began to drift away toward their rest. Yet of the mages, Cadoc and Dirmed, there was no trace, nor did Tris sense the presence of Curane's soul. For the first time, his own spirit feared the judgment of the Goddess. He tensed, awaiting the Dark Aspects, but soon the Plains of Spirit were empty and the sweet soulsong faded into nothing.
Conscience is its own inquisitor. Tris heard a voice say in his mind, and he knew that the terror and pain he felt from the murdered residents of Lochlanimar would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
Just as suddenly as he had shifted onto the Plains of Spirit, Tris felt himself return to his own body. Nexus fell from his hand, and the supporting magic of the Flow swept away from him. Tris crumpled to the scorched ground, completely drained.
Chapter Twenty-four
Carroway listened to the city bells chime as he paced in his room above the Dragon's Rage Inn. He had tried-and abandoned-several distractions. Neither music nor books could still his restlessness or dispel the sense of foreboding that filled him. The smell of roasting mutton filled the air from the kitchen below as the inn filled with patrons for Candles Night. And although Carroway was certain the innkeeper would reserve a plate of the evening's fare for him, even the delectable smells could not overcome the knot in his stomach.
When the door to the passageway opened unexpectedly, he spun to face it. Paiva's eyes widened as she and Bandele closed the door behind them. "Sweet Mother and Childe, Carroway! You're jumpier than an old hen."
"You're early," he said, ignoring her comment. "Does that mean you have news?"
Paiva smiled conspiratorially and gestured for them to move to the corner farthest from the guards' post outside the door. She set the basket of food she had brought on the table. "I broke into Crevan's office."
Carroway felt the blood drain from his face. "You did what?"
Paiva shushed him. "Keep your voice down. Bandele watched the corridor while I picked the lock." She shrugged at his sideways glance. "I was on my own for quite a while before Macaria brought me to the palace. You learn things. Anyhow, we knew Crevan would be tied up down in the kitchen seeing to Candles Night. So it was the best chance we were going to get."
"And?"
Paiva withdrew two stacks of sealed parchments from beneath the food in her basket, each tied with twine. She handed them to Carroway, who felt his hands begin to shake as he recognized the writing on the first stack. "That's Tris's handwriting," he whispered. "And the other stack is in Kiara's hand. I don't understand."
"You know how Kiara has been pining because she hasn't received a letter from the king since he left for battle?" Bandele said, her eyes flashing. "Turns out, that's not exactly true. Count the letters in that stack-all sealed with the king's signet and addressed to her. There's one there for each week. Only they never got further than Crevan's office."
Paiva lifted the other stack. "These are the queen's letters-but they never got put in the packets that went to the king. I found them in a false bottom beneath the trunk he keeps in his office." She looked rather proud of herself. "Still have the touch," she said, dusting off her hands as she returned the unopened letters to Carroway.
"Want to bet Crevan didn't want the king to know what's really going on here-the attacks on Kiara, locking up you and Mikhail and Bian? Zachar and Malae dead. Kiara would have mentioned all of that and Crevan couldn't take the chance," Bandele added.
Carroway nodded slowly. "I can see that. But what of Tris's letters for Kiara?"
Bandele met his eyes. "What better way to make her feel completely alone than to make her think her new husband can't be bothered to write to her? Besides, Crevan couldn't take the chance that Tris might say something in one of his own letters that made it clear he wasn't getting Kiara's letters."
"That's not all," Paiva said smugly. "I found something else in Crevan's desk." She reached into her pocket to withdraw a small item wrapped in rags. An oddly-shaped metal implement spilled out onto the table. It had two sharpened conical points attached to a ring big enough to fit over a man's two fingers.
"What's that?" Carroway said, reaching out to touch it before Paiva smacked his hand clear.
"Watch out! They're sharp. Take another look at them." She picked up a stale roll from the table and slipped the metal ring over her two fingers, then stabbed the points into the roll. "Look like anything to you?"
Carroway swallowed hard. "Puncture marks. Like a vayash morumight leave in a vic
tim's neck."
Paiva nodded. "Mikhail said the marks didn't look right. But at first glance, if the shape and spacing was about right, who's going to look harder? People see what they want to see." Her face darkened. "There was one other thing, but I couldn't bring it. I found it in a locked box in Crevan's drawer. Managed to get the lock opened, but even I could tell the thing inside had some kind of curse on it, and I've got no magic in my bones at all. I'm not scared of much, but you couldn't have paid me enough gold to set my hand on that awful thing!"
"What was it?"
"A dagger, the likes of which I've never seen. Had a handle made from what looked like human bone. But it was the blade that caught my eye. The steel had lines in it, wavy and folded, as if someone had made a design in it. The lines seemed to blur and move when I looked hard at them, and I could swear when I listened closely, I could hear voices in the distance." She shivered. "I couldn't tell what they were saying, and I didn't want to know. I was scared to death. Never put anything back where I found it so quickly in all my life."
Carroway walked across the room to pull down a book from the shelf near his bed. He flipped through the yellowed pages until he came to the drawing he sought. "Did it look like this?" he asked, pointing.
Paiva nodded. "That's it. Good as its twin, it is."
Carroway's hands were shaking as he set the book aside. "Was Crevan still at Shekerishet when you left?"
Paiva and Bandele exchanged puzzled glances. "Yes, but he was just getting ready to leave. He was going up to the hunting lodge to take the feast night dinner to the queen." Carroway gave a low groan and they looked at him in alarm.
"He's going to use that dagger to kill Kiara tonight. The evil you sensed from the blade must be blood magic." Glancing nervously toward the door, Carroway read them the passage from the book in a low tone. Bandele covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her exclamation.
"What can we do? Halik and Tadghe haven't returned yet with Harrtuck. No one will believe us-and that goes double for you," Paiva said, gripping Carroway's arm.
Carroway shut the book and set it aside. "I've got to stop him."
"You can't! You go anywhere near the queen and the guards have orders to kill you on sight," Bandele whispered.
"There's no one else to do it. How can I stay here, knowing what's going to happen? That would be a true betrayal." He shook his head. "If Crevan hasn't left yet, I just might make it in time to warn Kiara and Macaria before he arrives. I might be able to slip past the guards so that no one sees me except Kiara. If they're warned they can defend themselves. I can be safely back here before anyone knows I'm gone."
Bandele cleared her throat. "Nice plan, except for the guards at the door. They're friendly enough, but I doubt they'll let you out of here, even with a story like that one."
"Then again... " They turned to look at Paiva, who had a guilty expression on her face. She reached beneath her cloak into her bodice, drawing a small vial of indigo liquid from between her breasts. "It's sleeping potion. I got it from the hedge witch when I was asking around about the herbs we found in the kitchen. Thought it might be handy to have on hand, just in case."
"Just in case of a jail break?" Bandele hissed.
Paiva unwrapped the food in the basket she had brought from the palace. Inside was a warm meat pasty, fresh pastries with cheese and a bottle of aged Cartelasian brandy. "Nicked the bottle on the way out of the kitchen. Figured the guards might have some good food from the inn given the feast night, but no one pours a brandy like this for the help."
"Did you have anything in mind after you put the guards to sleep?" Bandele asked with an edge to her voice.
"I figured Carroway could improvise something."
Carroway grinned at Paiva's audacity. "All right. Here goes. I tie the two of you up, so that if this goes wrong you can say I overpowered you. Then I take Bandele's cloak-she's tall enough that it should cover most of me. With the feast crowd, no one should give me a second look if I hunch over and keep the hood up. I'll slip down the back stairs and steal a horse. I should be at the lodge within a candlemark."
Bandele looked appalled. "They hang horse thieves in Margolan, you know."
Carroway fixed her with a sideways glare. "If I get caught, I'll have an arrow through my chest or a knife in my back. Hanging's the least of my worries." He fetched two mugs for Paiva and watched as she poured a liberal draught into each one and then emptied half of the vial into the cups in turn.
She gave each a swirl and looked up with a guileless smile. "Shall we give the boys their feast day treat?"
Carroway and Bandele hung well back from the door as Paiva fixed a plate for the guards to go with the brandy. She tugged at her dress to make the bodice scandalously revealing, flirting coyly with the guards as she teased and joked before giving them their drugged repast. She closed the door and leaned against it, all coquettishness gone from her manner. Paiva put a finger to her lips and kept her ear to the door. Before long, there were two heavy thuds from the other side.
"You're dangerous," Bandele said, only partially joking. She stripped off her heavy woolen cloak as Carroway looked around the room for a belt and a sash to tie them with. He dug into the trunk that held his things to find the daggers that were hidden in the lining, and slipped them into his belt. Within a few minutes, he had bound and loosely gagged both of his friends and wrapped himself in Bandele's cloak.
"Hurry," Paiva said, her voice muffled through the cloth. "Get out of here before the innkeeper decides to bring up your supper."
"Wish me luck," Carroway whispered with more certainty than he felt as he slipped from the room, locking the door behind him.
"That's the sixth hand of tarleyou've won tonight!" Macaria exclaimed. Kiara set her cards down triumphantly. "Honestly, if you weren't queen you could earn a living as a card sharp!"
Kiara, Macaria and Cerise sat around a low table near the fire in the great room of Bricen's hunting lodge. Compared with Shekerishet, the room was closer to the size of a parlor, sufficient for a hunting party to feast on the spoils of their hunt. Kiara grinned at Macaria.
"I spent a large part of the winter cooped up in a library in Principality last year," she said. "While Tris trained, all the rest of us had was salle practice and card games to pass the time." She laughed. "And if you think I play a bloodthirsty game of cards, don't ever make a bet with Berwyn of Principality. She actually beat Jonmarc a few times."
When the laughter subsided, Macaria stretched and sniffed the air. "I don't know what Alle has the cook making for dinner, but it smells wonderful." As if on cue, the mastiff that sprawled at Macaria's feet stretched and stood, wagging its tail. He padded to the door, and the two wolfhounds followed him, heading in the direction of the kitchen. On the hearth, Jae lifted his head and looked around, then curled back up and went to sleep.
Kiara sighed. "Candles Night was a minor holiday in Isencroft, but it was still an excuse for jousting and bonfires."
"Name one holiday in Isencroft that isn'tan excuse for jousting and bonfires," Cerise replied drolly. "Now that I've heard more about how the other kingdoms celebrate, I've started to think that Isencroft is ever-so-slightly less than creative."
"You're probably right. Between the jousts and the legends of the warriors of yore, we do seem a bit focused on things military."
"Really? Hadn't noticed," Cerise deadpanned.
"On the other hand," Kiara said, enjoying the harmless sparring, "I haven't seen quite so good a joust since I left Isencroft. Maybe all that practice makes perfect."
"I don't miss freezing my rump off watching grown men beat at each other with sticks," Cerise rejoined. "But I've been hungry for the mincemeat pie and for Cook's mutton roasted in ale since the snow began to fall."
Kiara leaned back in her chair. "If I'm going to have mutton, I like the little balls Cook made with dates and cloves and currants in them. It covered up the mutton taste!"
Outside, the bells in the distance chim
ed the eighth hour. "I thought Crevan said he'd be out with some of the palace goodies," Macaria said. She stood and moved away from the fire, walking to the window and pulling back the heavy draperies. "He's quite late. I thought he'd ride out before nightfall."
Kiara shrugged. "He probably got detained taking care of one issue or another. Honestly, with the feast going on, I'm surprised he planned to come at all."
Just then, Alle came to the door with a pleased expression on her face. "Ladies," she said with a flourish, "dinner is served."
Alle joined them and they took their places at the table as the cook and her assistant began to bring out the food. A platter of crispels in honey and pokerounce with a thick spread of dates was served with mugs of warm watered wine, followed by an almond egg custard and spicy stuffed eggs. Two steaming crocks followed, one of peas porridge and the other of stewed cabbage and onions. Finally, the cook presented a platter of roasted lamb seasoned with wine and currants and Kiara and the others gave a round of applause. When the cook reappeared a few moments later with ramekins of warm almond rice milk with cinnamon and fig pies basted in spiced honey, Kiara and the others exchanged glances at the bounty.
"A magnificent groaning board!" Kiara pronounced, and the cook beamed at the praise. "But surely, you didn't expect four women to eat all this?"
"You're eating for the young prince as well, m'lady," the cook said with a glance to Kiara's belly.
"Fair enough," she laughed. "But there's only one in there, not a hungry legion! You've done yourself proud. I promise there will be more than enough for you and the guards to feast as well."
"Thank you, m'lady," the cook said, smiling broadly at the praise. "Now please, enjoy while it's hot. There'll be a round of wassail to drink with the desserts."
Alle and Macaria made certain that Kiara's plate was heaping full. They laughed and talked, remarking on the ingenuity of the cook to put so fine a meal together without the resources of the full castle kitchen.
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