Near dusk on the first day they glimpsed a dozen soldiers riding together not far from the river. The well-armed men lacked both flag and livery, raising Tris's suspicions. Tris and Vahanian poled their raft toward the shallows and waited in the thin cover of dead reeds and overhanging branches until the guardsmen were gone. They traveled the rest of the night in silence, scanning the riverbanks. Though they saw no more guards, the camps of ragged sojourners dotted the forest's edge, more refugees fleeing Margolan for whatever the road might offer. By night Gabriel traveled with them, his enhanced sight aiding Nyall through the shallows and rocks of the swift river. By day Gabriel disappeared, leaving them to their wits to navigate the difficult river.
The deeper they traveled into Margolan, the more Tris felt the ghosts of his homeland tugging at his senses. Their restlessness became mirrored in his own. The rivers' ghosts drifted near the raft, substantial enough that the others glimpsed them through the spring fog. Fearing the dreams that plagued him nightly, Tris slept little, pushing himself until Carina chided him and exhaustion gave him no choice. But he could not evade the dreams, the sound of Kait's plaintive call in his mind, the memory of the desperate look in her eyes. Worse, the images of the dark sending haunted him most nights. He finally let Carina use her healing magic to put him into a deep sleep while Gabriel stood watch. It was the first dreamless rest he could remember in a fortnight.
They beached the raft on the banks of a deserted fishing village in the waning light of the moon. A feeling of dread settled over Tris as he helped Carroway wrestle the heavy boat far enough onto the beach that the horses could be unloaded safely. Without Sakwi, Carina had been preoccupied for the journey keeping the horses calm on the raft. Now she led the animals one by one down the gangplank and onto dry land, working in relay with Vahanian until the horses were safely ashore.
The wind changed, and a foul smell drifted down toward the river. Nyall waited nervously near the raft, making it clear by his stance that he would go no further. Tris dug into the pouch he carried beneath his tunic for gold, and added half again to what was promised to the river pilot.
"Thank you for your trouble," Tris said, pressing the coins into the boatman's hand. With a mumbled word of blessing and a nervous glance in Gabriel'-.
direction, the river pilot sprinted across the gangplank, pulled the boards up behind him, and poled back into the current.
"He certainly didn't waste any time," Kiara said.
Tris shrugged. "Why should he? He already got a lot more than he bargained for."
"You could say that," Carroway observed.
"What happened to this place?" Carina said, heading toward the ruins of the village.
"Smells like someone left all of last year's catch out in the sun," said Vahanian. The others held their scarves over their noses as the foul smell returned, stronger now. What remained of the small cabins and stone houses was gutted by fire, so that only portions of the walls still stood, open to the sky. Abandoned nets hung from the trees and bushes where they had been stretched to dry, swaying in the wind like ghostly moss.
Even without consciously stretching out his senses, Tris could feel the restless dead. Their anger washed over him like a cold wave, and he struggled for control against the unseen presences that buffeted him. Without warning an image of the slaughter came to him, then another and another, the testament of eyewitnesses sent with a fury that battered his control.
Soldiers, in the livery of the King of Margolan, wielded swords and battle axes against villagers armed with hoes and sickles. No quarter given, even as women and children begged for their lives. Terror, as the soldiers took their pleasure of the village's young girls before casually slaughtering them. On the Plains of Spirit, the ghosts' emotions washed over him, as hungry for vengeance as the spirits in the Ruune Videya. Tris staggered and clutched his head, closing his eyes. He dropped to his knees, overcome, reinforcing his war dings. The brutal images continued, and the ghosts cried out for justice.
"Tris!" Kiara cried. Tris opened his eyes to see Kiara and Vahanian with swords drawn, ready for a cautious advance.
"I can feel what happened here," he said, struggling for composure.
"Look there." Carroway pointed. In the twilight, a man's ghost stood ahead of them.
Tris, Kiara, and Vahanian stepped forward to follow the beckoning ghost, swords unsheathed and ready. Tris saw the glint of a dagger in Carroway's hand, and noted that Carina gripped her walking staff a bit more tightly. Jae flew on ahead, his leathery wings making the only sound as the ghost led them toward the large common barn. Gabriel took the rear.
"Wait for us!" Kiara hissed at Jae as the ghost vanished. With the others just a pace behind, Tris swung open the barn door and recoiled. The smell was overpowering. Inside, barely visible in the dim light, hung what remained of dozens of villagers, their corpses suspended by nooses from the barn rafters.
Tris called hand fire to his palm and used it to light their way as he and Vahanian pushed forward, swallowing hard against the stench. A sword thrust up from the barn floor and from it hung a bit of cloth: the royal standard of House Margolan.
"Nice touch," Vahanian said acidly. "Just in case someone didn't get the message."
"Such messages have become common in recent days," Gabriel said from behind Carina. The vayash moru seemed unaffected by the carnage, though he had unsheathed his sword. "Arontala has grown bolder, and the list of crimes that prompts such vengeance grows by the candlemark. Come. We must find sanctuary."
"Not yet," Tris said. "Not until I've given them their peace."
"Do it fast," Vahanian muttered. "I don't want to meet up with those guards on their return trip, if it's all the same to you."
It took two candlemarks to cut down the corpses and carry them to a nearby cave. When the bodies were laid out and covered with makeshift shrouds, Tris lifted his hands in farewell as the ghosts once more made themselves visible.
"I can't give you your lives," Tris said, "but I bid you rest. I am oath-bound to the Lady to destroy the one who caused your deaths."
A bearded man who bore himself with the dignity of a village elder stepped forward from the silent line of specters. "We don't want to rest yet," the elder said. "We want to fight. Give us the power, Lord Summoner, and let us hold this ground and this river crossing so that none of the usurper's soldiers can pass."
Tris nodded, and stretched out his hands in blessing. "By the crown of my father, King Bricen, I honor your service. Take your vengeance on Jared's troops, but let no harm come to innocent travelers who pass this way."
The elder bowed in acceptance. "Your word is a bond upon us, m'lord. We'll do as you command."
Gabriel and Vahanian moved a large boulder into place to block the entrance, burying the unfortunate villagers in a rough cairn.
"Can we go now?" Vahanian asked. Carina opened her mouth as if to chastise Vahanian, but at the look on his face, she said nothing. Tris guessed that it was the memory of Vahanian's own village, destroyed by the magicked beasts, which loomed in the fighter's mind.
No one spoke as they retraced their steps to where the horses were tethered. Tris looked over to Vahanian, trying to appraise his companion's condition. While Vahanian had made a valiant effort aboard the raft to keep up, it was apparent that he had not yet fully recovered from his injuries.
"Ready to ride?" Tris asked.
"Never felt better," Vahanian lied blatantly. To prove his point, he swung up into his saddle. Tris saw him wince as pain flickered across his face. So did Carina, who made sure that she rode where she could keep an eye on him.
"Welcome back to Margolan," Carroway said as they rode. They kept a brisk pace, alert for any signs of patrols.
"This way," Gabriel directed. "We must hurry."
Tris rode in silence in the darkness. The story they heard from the old man in Sakwi's village, the murdered villagers in the fishing town, and the desolation they saw along the road wore heavy on him. Margolan, so prosperous and peaceful under Bricen, had been reduced to starvation in less than a year. Tris's anger against Jared warred with Alyzza's warning about power used in hatred, and as they rode, Tris bowed his head, letting his cow; hide the tears that streaked down his face for his homeland and his people.
Kiara rode up beside him, and he was grateful that she did not try to talk. She seemed resolved to comfort him just by her silent presence. He doubted she could guess just how much that gesture meant. His heart was long past breaking for his land, his people, his lost family. He knew that he must quiet his anger, master his hatred, or risk being turned by the Obsidian King. Tris focused on the pathworkings that Alyzza had taught him, the small magicks for bringing calm and clearing the mind. Gradually, he felt some of the tension ease, although the fresh grief he felt still ached.
They finally slowed to a stop; silhouetted in the moonlight were the ruins of a temple. Tris felt a tingle of old sorcery as they approached. One look at Kiara confirmed that she, too, sensed that ancient and powerful magic had been worked here long ago, the traces of it dimmed by years.
•"Want to put in a few prayers for luck?" Vahanian jibed, and Carina gave him a withering glare.
Gabriel secured their horses in the shelter of a ruined stable, out of sight of casual passers-by. "This way," the vayash moru beckoned, leading them amid the ruins. In the gray just before the dawn, it was almost possible to imagine those broken arches soaring toward the sun, buttressing high stone walls, awash in the brilliance of stained and beveled glass. Nothing remained of that former splendor, save some of the marble flooring and broken walls.
At the very front of the ruins, Gabriel pushed aside a heavy stone altar. Underneath, steps descended into darkness. "Here," fee indicated, standing aside.
Kiara gave him a skeptical look and Jae squawked in agreement. "You want us to just... go down there?"
"You'll be safe. Hurry. The sun is about to rise."
Vahanian moved to lead the way, drawing his sword.
"That won't do you any good," Gabriel said.
Vahanian glanced over his shoulder. "For luck," he said, stepping carefully into the darkness.
Tris, Carina, and Carroway followed, then Kiara, with Gabriel behind them to pull the heavy stone back into place. Tris conjured hand fire, which lit the tight corridor with a blue glow. The darkness smelled of mold and rotting cloth, and the metallic-sweet tang of fresh blood. Even without a conscious effort, Tris could sense other beings near them, not living but not dead, restless spirits neither mortal nor at peace. He raised wardings around the group, unsure what he would do should Gabriel's estimation of their hosts prove incorrect.
Tris felt a rush of wind, heard the scuff of leather on stone. Carina gasped and Vahanian cried out as something lunged for them in the darkness. Gabriel moved faster than sight, blocking the creature that grabbed for Tris. Tris sent fire to flare in the torches on the walls around them. A door at the end of the corridor opened, and more torchlight flooded into the corridor. Framed in the doorway stood Riqua, and behind her, dozens of vayash moru.
"Hail, Riqua," Gabriel said, making a low, courteous bow. "I have brought you the Lord of the Dead and the new Lord of Dark Haven. We seek sanctuary for the night."
Reluctantly, Tris and the others followed Gabriel into the next room, a large vault with a catafalque in one corner. Although the crypt was freezing cold, it was otherwise appointed like a fine salon, with comfortable chairs, rich tapestries, and fine furnishings in the most current fashion. Riqua returned Gabriel's bow, and held out her hand in greeting to Tris. Without hesitation, he took it and kissed the back of her ice cold hand, making a courtly bow.
"Our deepest gratitude, Lady Riqua, for your welcome and sanctuary," Tris said. The deference seemed to please Riqua.
"Hail, Lord of the Dead," she said in a tone that walked an indistinguishable line between true respect and sarcasm. "And which of you, might I inquire, is the Lord of Dark Haven?"
"I am," Vahanian answered, stepping up behind Tris, his hand still near his sword. The move seemed more for Tris's defense than as an indication of comfort with his new title.
"Well, well," said Riqua as she circled Vahanian, taking his measure. "A long way from Chauvrenne and Nargi, aren't you, Lord Vahanian?"
"It's been an interesting road."
Riqua exchanged glances with Gabriel. "So it is always with the will of the Lady."
She looked at the others, who stood in silence, alert and still braced for an attack. Riqua paused for a moment in front of Kiara, staring intently at the Isencroft princess. Even Jae seemed to shrink at the inspection. "I knew your mother in the court of Eastmark," Riqua said, watching for Kiara's reaction. "Her spirit was as wild as the stallions she rode. Welcome, Viata's daughter. You'll be safe here."
Whatever Kiara's misgivings, her court training served her well. She made a gracious courtesy. "Your hospitality is most appreciated, m'lady Riqua." Kiara's hand never strayed far from the pommel of her sword.
Riqua's attention moved to Carroway. "I've seen you in Bricen's court," Riqua said with a faint smile. "You're far from home, Bard Carroway."
"Thank Jared," Carroway replied. "Until Tris takes back the throne, I'm where I should be—at his side."
Riqua looked at Carroway a few seconds more in silence, and Tris wondered again whether Gabriel had told him the whole truth about vayash moru's ability to read mortal minds. While he suspected that his own power as Summoner afforded him unique protections and Vahanian seemed to have unusually good shielding for a non-mage, Tris wondered if the same was true for the others.
"When this is over, Bard Carroway, look again to Glynnmoor, and your lands. The plague that took your family is gone. My brood has watched over the manor house, as a favor to your father these ten years past. It is free to be claimed again by mortals."
Carroway tried and failed to cover his astonishment at Riqua's knowledge of his past, something Tris himself had not heard Carroway speak of in years. But before he could say anything, Riqua's attention turned to Carina.
"And who are you, lady healer?" Riqua asked.
"Carina Jesthrata," Carina replied.
Riqua's eyes narrowed as she struggled to place her. "King Donelan's court healer, yes? I heard some time ago that you went to the Sisterhood to find a cure for Donelan's sickness. Yet here you are."
Carina gave Riqua a defiant look. "Foor Arontala is the cause of the king's illness. Until Arontala is destroyed, Donelan won't fully recover. This is my proper place."
"Well, well, well," Riqua said, directing her comment this time to Gabriel. "You've certainly assembled the players. I can say we've not seen the like here, at least, not alive. You are most welcome here. These are my lands. In better days, I would have received you in the manor house, but it burned. So here we are."
"Is it true, that you are a spirit mage?" a young man barely out of his teens asked Tris. When Tris met the eyes of the vayash moru, he saw centuries, not decades, in the dark gaze.
."A Summoner," Gabriel replied. "The Blood Council itself promised him sanctuary among our kind."
"All but Uri." Tris turned to see Elana, the blond vayash morn who had been with Riqua at the Council meeting.
A faint glimmer of annoyance crossed Gabriel's face. "As usual, our esteemed colleague takes a somewhat different view of circumstances. But the Council has ruled." Together, they walked into the midst of the other vayash moru, who watched Tris and the others with barely concealed hunger.
"You may rest here until nightfall," promised Riqua. "I give my word you'll be safe."
Although none of his companions spoke, Tris knew that they shared the same skepticism. Riqua's offer looked good only compared to the certain dangers outside.
"Thank you," Tris replied with a slight bow. "We're grateful."
A cold smile touched her lips. "If you can stop Arontala, it is we who will be in your debt, son of Bricen." Riqua turned abruptly. "Kolin," she said to the young man behind her, "bring extra cloaks to warm them. Fetch wine from the casks. Make them comfortable." She turned back to Tris, clearly acknowledging him as the group's leader. "We have no need of your food here," she said, her sharp, white teeth clear in her smile. "But there is old wine in the cellar you might find acceptable."
Tris nodded. "We brought provisions with us."
"Elana," Riqua called.
"At your service, m'lady." The blonde vayash moru might have appeared demure had it not been for the complete lack of innocence in her blue eyes.
"Show our guests to the inner chambers. They've traveled far. We must make them as comfortable as we can."
"Of course," Elana answered. "Follow me."
She led them down a narrow corridor, from which branched dozens of rooms filled with shrouded and mummified dead. The corridors of the necropolis reeked of decay. Carina put a hand to her face, covering her nose and mouth with part of her shawl.
"These look like the tunnels underneath Isencroft's palace," Kiara said.
"You've been there?" Elana inquired.
Kiara and Carina exchanged glances. "Yes, many times."
Elana glanced back at Kiara over her shoulder. "I've taken refuge there more times than I can count. It is a well-known sanctuary."
"I never knew," Kiara murmured.
"There's much your kind does know about us." Elana opened the doors to two empty crypts that branched off the corridor. Carved into the stone, they were furnished as comfortable bedrooms, with stone slabs where beds might have been. "Here are your rooms."
"For the ladies." Elana gestured to the smaller crypt off the main hall. "It was built for two," she said with an unsettling smile. She turned to the men, "And you may sleep here." She pointed to the larger crypt across and down the corridor. "We have no other rooms that are not... occupied."
Her gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary on Tris. "Kolin will bring anything you need. You won't be disturbed. We too, will rest until nightfall. Then, we go hunting." And with that the vayash moru left them, no longer troubling to move at mortal speed, disappearing in the blink of an eye.
"If we ever travel together again," Carroway mumbled, "I'm choosing where we stay." He moved to the doorway of the second crypt, and shuddered. "Forgive me for not being grateful, but this wasn't what I had in mind when I thought of a safe place to sleep."
"Where's Gabriel?" Kiara asked, looking for their guide.
"He stayed behind with Riqua," Vahanian replied, positioning himself so that he could look down the corridor. "I'm not crazy about being split up like this."
"Neither am I," Carina agreed. "I'd feel better if we could stay together."
"So would I," Tris agreed, "but the rooms are too small for all of us, and I don't have the feeling we've been given permission to wander around."
"You're the Lord of the Dead," Vahanian tossed back. "Aren't they supposed to listen to you?"
"Royster was a bit obscure on that point. As far as the vayash moru go, I have the distinct feeling it's an honorary title," Tris replied.
"They're bound by the Blood Council's ruling, aren't they?" Kiara asked, pulling her cloak more tightly around her.
"So I'm told. Let's hope Gabriel is reading his people correctly."
They gathered in the larger crypt, which was barely big enough for them all to find a seat. Tris lit the torches. Here beneath the ground, it was cold enough that Carina began to shiver, gratefully accepting Vahanian's offer to share both his seat and his cloak. Kiara also drew close to Tris. After a while, body heat together with the torch fire helped to warm the small room.
Carroway distributed food for them out of the packs from their horses. Kolin delivered extra cloaks and wineskins filled with an old, sweet vintage, then left them to their meal. Jae was quiet, picking at the bits of meat and cheese Kiara put out for him. The group ate in silence, each deep in thought. Or perhaps, Tris mused, the uncertainty of how close their hosts might be lingering and how well the undead could hear. He was sure that each of them was putting off sleep just as long as their exhausted bodies could remain awake.
He knew his own opportunity to rest would have to wait. Here among the bones of the dead, the restless spirits clustered around him, so thickly that he was amazed his companions could not see them. He couldn't resist their pleas for intercession and release, and so he worked until his head throbbed and he could no longer fend off sleep.
Tris's companions waited until finally fatigue won out over fear. Carroway took the first watch.
"Sleep with one eye open, all right?" Kiara joked nervously.
"I don't think you need to worry about that," Tris assured her, seeing the uneasiness in her eyes as he kissed her forehead. From the moment they had approached the ruined temple, the whispers of the dead brushed his mind, like a hushed conversation just beyond hearing. The presence of the ghostly watchers was likely to keep him from getting any restful sleep, even if he could banish the memories of the murdered villagers from his thoughts.
Kiara and Carina disappeared into their crypt, and Carroway took up his post at its door. Just then, Riqua appeared from the shadows of the corridor. "I see you haven't yet gone to your rest," she said to Tris.
"Forgive me, but that sounds a bit ominous, given where we are," Tris said with a thin smile.
"Come with me, Prince Drayke. I have something for you, a gift from Bava K'aa."
Tris exchanged a glance with Vahanian. "Get some sleep, Jonmarc. You need it more than any of us."
"I don't sleep well in crypts," Vahanian said. "And I'm sworn to keep your royal hide in one piece. So if it's all the same to you, wherever you're going—I'm going."
"As you wish," replied Riqua. She led them down a maze of corridors. Tris called hand fire to light their way, and Vahanian carried a torch from their crypt, pushing back some of the tomb's darkness. They followed Riqua to an older part of the necropolis where dust and the smell of death permeated the air.
Riqua stopped at a mausoleum wall, where the dead were laid to their rest in stone drawers behind intricately carved slabs that depicted their likeness and the dates of their life. Vahanian hung back, keeping watch on the entrance to the corridor. Riqua moved to one of the plainer slabs and effortlessly opened a heavy drawer that might have taken three strong men to close. She reached inside, undeterred by the old corpse that lay shrouded inside. From beneath the body, she drew a small, thin book.
Tris felt his heart begin to pound as he recognized the binding.
"Do you know what this is, Lord Summoner?" Riqua asked, handing him the slim volume book-marked with a yellowed, thick envelope.
"The missing diary of the Obsidian King."
Riqua gave a short, harsh laugh. "Missing? Is that what the Sisterhood told you? It's never been missing. Bava K'aa gave it to me, years ago, for safekeeping. Do you know why? Why she chose to keep its location secret, even from the Sisterhood?"
"Because it contains something so powerful, with such a great potential for misuse, that she couldn't trust it to anyone else."
"Because it holds a secret of life and death," Riqua said. "It's time for you to hear the whole story about your grandmother, and why her love nearly cost the Winter Kingdoms their freedom. But first, pay heed to that envelope, and the page it marks. You hold in your hands something beyond the wealth of kings, beyond the greatest spoils of war. Tell me what's written on the page—mind that you do not speak the words aloud."
Tris read over the yellowed handwriting. His hands began to shake as he realized the meaning of what he saw. He looked at Riqua, ashen. "It's a spell to separate the soul from the body," he said quietly. "Gray magic, if it belongs at all to the light."
Riqua took the fragile envelope from his trembling hands, and withdrew a sturdy vial on a strong leather strap. Riqua slipped the strap over Tris's head, so that the vial hung around his neck. "What could equal the importance of the spell?" Tris asked,
"Before her death, Bava K'aa made one final potion. Doing so weakened her, and hastened her passing. What you hold in your hand was created at the peril of Bava K'aa's very soul, because its working is indeed gray magic. It's a potion capable of curing a mortal wound. Such a potion requires the power of a very great sorcerer, and drains the maker of such power that those few powerful enough to create it can only do so once in their lifetime. Think, Prince Drayke. How much would a dying man pay for such an elixir? How many people would a desperate man kill?"
"I don't understand," Tris said, staring at the vial as if it might burn him. "What does the combination mean?"
"There's one more item you have not seen," Riqua said. Tris realized that there was a sealed note slipped into the back of the book. He was shaken to see his own name written on the envelope, in the unmistakable hand of his grandmother.
"Read it."
Within the envelope was a small sheet, and on it, one sentence: "You must do what I could not, because you have what I did not," he read in a voice just above a whisper.
"Before his fall, the mage who became the Obsidian King was in love with your grandmother." Riqua said. "His name was Lemuel, and he was one of the most gifted Summoners of his age. Like your grandmother, he rose on his gifts alone, without a noble name or a wealthy family. And like your grandmother, he became the advisor to kings and almost without peer in mortal influence."
"And that power corrupted him. He presumed to the rights of the Goddess."
"That's what the Sisterhood told you, and it's true—in part. Lemuel pushed the boundaries of knowledge within that gift farther than anyone— even Bava K'aa—had ever gone. But something went wrong when Lemuel attempted a very old working. Bava K'aa, who was with him when it happened, believed that an ancient, evil spirit took possession of Lemuel. She blamed herself for not being able to intervene. That spirit called himself the Obsidian King, although the Sisterhood believes that he has been known by many names throughout the ages, taking and abandoning human hosts as it suits him."
"Possessed by the Obsidian King, Lemuel took Bava K'aa prisoner," Riqua continued, "and the Obsidian King used him to inflict great suffering, trying to get Bava K'aa to give up the secret of this elixir. Lord Grayson, a great warrior who was friend to both Lemuel and Bava K'aa, risked everything to free her from the prison of the Obsidian King. Bava K'aa never spoke of those dark days, and neither did Grayson nor the Sisters who took Bava K'aa in and healed her. Grayson, who had secretly loved Bava K'aa but stood aside because of his friendship with Lemuel, wed Bava K'aa in private during her recovery. Before long, her only daughter—your mother—was born.
"Even after all the pain that the Obsidian King— in Lemuel's body—inflicted on her, Bava K'aa couldn't destroy him," Riqua said, remembering. "She believed to the end that Lemuel's spirit remained a prisoner within his own body, tortured by the evil the Obsidian King forced his body to perform."
"That was why she imprisoned him in Soulcatcher," Tris murmured, thinking of the deadly red orb. "Because she believed that somewhere Lemuel might still exist. There was no way to kill the Obsidian King without also destroying Lemuel."
"After the binding, Bava K'aa discovered this journal. She knew it must be hidden. Maybe she anticipated that the Obsidian King would rise once more, and that you, her mage heir, would fight anew the battle. Make no mistake, son of Bricen— the first war very nearly killed your grandmother. Some say it was the Lady herself who spared Bava K'aa. I've found it... unwise... to count on divine intervention."
"If the Obsidian King existed before he possessed Lemuel, then who was he?"
Riqua shook her head. "Even the Sisterhood isn't sure. Bava K'aa knew more than anyone, having been his prisoner. She said the Obsidian King was a spirit willful enough to defy death itself, a mage who wanted immortality and unchallenged power."
"Thank you," Tris said.
"Guard the vial well. There's no mage strong enough to make it again, and the way of its making went to the grave with your grandmother."
In the distance, they heard a scream.