"Why so glum, Carroway?" Carina nudged her horse onward through the unseasonably cold rain.
The bard gave her a sour look. "Because it's nearly dusk, and every nightfall seems to bring us to a place to stay that's even more dreadful than the last." Their horses splashed through the water-filled ruts as they trudged down the muddy roads. "Crypts. Basements. Abandoned buildings. What I wouldn't give for an inn with a fireplace!"
Kiara chuckled. "I understand completely. Last night, I think I saw the biggest rat in Margolan in that basement!" Jae, snuggled for warmth in Kiara's lap, gave a gurgle of agreement.
"All I know is that the next time I go somewhere with Tris, I'm going to be in charge of where we stay," Carroway said. "I may never be warm again!"
Vahanian, who was riding point, stopped to let the others catch up. "Can't say I disagree," he said, flexing his cold hands, nearly numb from holding his reins. We're still a good ways from Shekerishet. Perhaps a warm place to stay and a hot meal would do us all good."
"Do you remember the inn we stayed at on our way to Ghorbal?" Tris asked the bard. "The one with the young man's ghost?"
"Is that the way you remember all the places you've stayed—by what haunts them?" Vahanian turned his horse to avoid the worst of the rain that ran down his leather cloak and dripped from its hem.
"Lately, yes."
Carroway stood in his stirrups to get his bearings. "We should be close. Why?"
Tris looked out over the horizon. "It would be a safe place for us—I'm sure of it."
Carroway nodded. "The innkeeper was willing to hide us—even before you sent away the ghost. He's unlikely to turn us in now."
"Whatever we're doing, can we decide before I freeze?" Carina put in.
Tris and Carroway conferred on the roads, and the group headed out with considerably lighter spirits at the prospect of a night in a real inn. A steady flow of traffic passed them, bound for the palace city and the upcoming festival. Still, Tris noticed that the travelers seemed shabbier than in years past, and the carts of provisions less full than before. It was a marvel that the people of Margolan had the will to celebrate at all under Jared's yoke.
When they reached the Sparrow's Roost Inn, Tris and Carroway exchanged glances. "Looks like getting rid of the ghost was good for business," the bard remarked. The inn, which had been in need of repair and nearly empty on their flight from Shekerishet now had a freshly painted sign, a tidy exterior, and a stable filled to capacity with guests' horses.
"Apparently so," Tris said. "Let's go around back."
Tris gave his reins to Carroway and bade the others stay back a few paces as he approached the kitchen door. He gave a few sharp knocks, and the stout innkeeper's wife came to the door. "Go 'round to the front if you need something," she said. "But mind that we've got no rooms left tonight." She started to close the door and Tris caught it, letting his hood fall back in the rain. The woman caught her breath and brightened, throwing her arms around Tris in a hug that nearly took him off his feet.
"Bless the Lady—you're back!" she cried. "Lars, Toby, come quickly!"
The innkeeper and his son came to the door, and puzzled looks quickly changed to broad grins of welcome. "Come in, come in," the innkeeper said, looking beyond Tris to where his friends waited. "But tell me, sir mage, why do you come to the back door like a beggar?"
Tris extended his mage sense, feeling no threat in the presence of the innkeeper and his family. While he was glad of their welcome, he did not wish to put them in danger. He thought it best to tell a limited version of their story. "We'd still prefer to stay clear of the king's troops," Tris said honestly. The others secured their horses in a copse of trees a little way from the crowded barn and joined him in the kitchen. "Not everyone is as glad as yourself to see a mage these days."
Lars, better fed and less harried than he had been, nodded. "Aye, there's many in the land today have a reason to stay clear of the king's troops, that's for sure. Have no love for them myself, as you know. Bust up the place, and then charge a fee if I want to keep them from busting it up again.
"But since you sent that young man to his rest, folks will stay the night again—and I don't lose so much ale spilled for no reason. We're in your debt, m'lord mage. Thought we would starve to death until you came along." Lars welcomed the others into the crowded kitchen, which smelled of roasting venison, cooked leeks, and the dark, rich ale for which Margolan's southern plains were famed.
"Come in, come in. I'll give you my best table, and all the food and ale you want," Lars said.
Tris smiled, knowing the welcome was genuine. "We're grateful for your kindness, but we'd like to keep a low profile. We'll be happy to eat in the kitchen."
Carroway lifted his head, listening. "Do I hear a bard in the common room?"
Lars nodded. "Had more than a few musicians traveling through with the festival. You're welcome to go join them—don't think we've ever had the like of you since you left."
Carroway grinned at the compliment. "My fingers are too frozen to play, at least right now," he said, flexing his hands. "But there's something familiar in that voice. I'd like to see who's out there."
"Keep your head down," Vahanian cautioned.
"You know me," Carroway tossed back with a grin. "I blend into the crowd."
Carina and Kiara chuckled. Even in drab riding clothes, with his long black hair pulled back and soaked, Carroway cut a handsome figure. The bard disappeared through the kitchen doors and the innkeeper's daughter motioned the group to a work table in the back of the kitchen. She and Toby began to bring out the first hot food the group had enjoyed in several days.
"Perhaps I risk my neck by saying this," Lars began with a nervous glance at the doors, "but since you've got no love of the king's troops, I'll wager I'm safe. Since King Bricen died—the Lady rest his soul—this year has been the demon's own. Got plenty of guests tonight, but people aren't traveling the way they used to—scared of the highwaymen, and the guards, too. And what's to travel for anymore, I ask you? Half the farmers ran away—can't blame them, being burned out by the guardsmen. The others can't eke out enough to feed their own families, what with the looters and all, let alone take more to trade in the city. Don't see so many merchants either. And there hasn't been a caravan through here since slavers got one group up near the pass last Fall.
"We've fixed the inn up since you took care of the ghost, and it's been good for business. But many's the night there's no one at all on the road to stay anywhere. And it wouldn't do to look like we turn much of a profit—would just invite the guardsmen to double what they charge me to keep them from busting up the place."
Lars shook his head. "Never was like this under King Bricen. How he had such a rotter for a son, I don't know, but King Jared"—he paused to spit on the floor at the name—"belongs to the Crone herself. Guess those are hanging words, and I ought to be more careful. But it's gotten bad, m'lord mage. I don't go nowhere, but I hear everyone who does." He leaned forward. "It's worse in the city. King's got his guardsmen, and they make anyone who dares speak against the king disappear. Leave the bodies in the street the next day, as a warning. I imagine they'll be watching the festival this year, to keep things from getting out of hand. Now that's the demon's own, ain't it?"
Vahanian cursed, and Kiara laid a hand on Tris's arm. Tris had gone pale at the innkeeper's story, and it was only with great effort that he held back his anger and sorrow. "Perhaps the Lady will show pity," Lris said. "Maybe She will give favor to a champion."
Lars glanced nervously over his shoulder. "She didn't favor that general who tried to poison King Jared, that's for sure. Drawn and quartered he was."
Lars leaned closer. "But I've heard that to the north, the spirits are restless. I've heard that some of the king's troops were set on by the ghosts of the poor bastards they've killed, and that none but the horses survived. They say that there's bands of deserters stalking the king's troops on the main roads. Got so the army won't even go to the highlands no more, because they don't come back. Just last week, heard tell that on the plank road, the one that leads north of Ghorbal, a whole unit of guardsmen just disappeared." Lars snapped his fingers with a malicious smile.
"Maybe your spirits can tell you true," Lars added with a glance at Tris. "But that's what I hear, anyhow."
Carroway returned to eat with them, and then went back to the greatroom with a promise to be their eyes and ears. Carina noticed a burn on Lars' daughter Lara's arm. She smiled gratefully as Carina healed it to a faint, pink scar. Tabethe, the innkeeper's wife, prevailed on Carina for help with a bad back. In return, she brought the group food and ale until they could eat no more.
"Picked a good night to be inside—it's still raining out there," Vahanian observed from his post near the door. Tris sat toward the corner, out of the way of the busy kitchen staff. Jae lazed near the hearth, much to Lara's amusement, who dropped bits of venison near the little gyregon until it finally fell asleep, completely sated. "What's got you so deep in thought?"
Tris looked up from the diary of the Obsidian King. "Just looking for anything I can in the diary. I was hoping we could get an early start," he said with a glance toward Tabethe, who was bustling near the fire, "but our business has to start and end on the main night."
Beside him, Kiara dozed in a chair until it was her turn on watch. Carina slipped into the great-room with Carroway. Tris immersed himself in the small, tight handwriting that crowded the precious diary.
What he found troubled him. Tris hoped to find a way to approach Arontala before the Hawthorn Moon, destroying the orb and the dark mage before Arontala could even begin his working to free the Obsidian King's spirit. But as Tris studied the journal, it became clear that the only way magic worked on a witches' moon could be dispelled was on that same eve of power. An advance strike was doomed to fail. Only on the night of the working could he intervene and destroy both the orb and the one who sought to escape it. Their opportunity for victory was much smaller than he had hoped.
"Do you think Riqua was right about Lemuel?" Vahanian asked. He kept a wary eye on the rear window and leaned against the wall near the door, his hand close to his sword.
Tris put the book down and blinked to ease his tired eyes. "That he got trapped and taken along for the ride, so to speak?" he asked, being deliberately vague because of the innkeepers' family within earshot. "Yes. It makes sense with what I heard from... 'my sisters,'" he added, thinking it unwise to refer to the Sisterhood by name.
Vahanian caught the evasion and chuckled. "I like that. Your sisters." He sobered. "Poor guy, if that's what happened to him. So he's been a prisoner—all these years—in that big ball you talk about?"
Tris cast a glance toward Tabethe and Lara, but they seemed wholly unconcerned with the conversation, bustling about the front of the kitchen to serve their festival-bound guests. "Grandmother apparently thought so. Who knows if he even exists anymore? I know that's where Kait is—and possibly mother, too. When this is over, if their spirits survived, I hope I can send them to their rest."
Just then, there was a tap at the door. Kiara roused from her nap and straightened. Vahanian moved quickly, his hand on his sword as the door opened. Gabriel stepped in, shaking the rain from his cloak. "So this is where you are," the vayash moru said. "Tired of my accommodations?" Tris feared the innkeeper's wife might run screaming from the room, but Tabethe merely afforded Gabriel a nod.
"Good evenin', m'lord," she said, as Lara went for a mug. "Deer's fresh today, if you want a nip."
Gabriel smiled and gave a shallow bow in greeting. "I would be grateful, dear lady. Many thanks."
Tabethe refused Gabriel's gold when she realized he was with Tris and the others. With all that Jared had done to foster fear of the vayash moru among the people, Tris gave Tabethe credit for her matter-of-fact greeting; a sign, he thought, that at least some in Margolan saw through Jared's fear-mongering.
When the last of the greatroom patrons had departed, Carroway and Carina came through the door from the outer room, followed by three musicians whom Tris immediately recognized as Carroway's inner circle at court. First through the door was a man just a little older than Carroway, with touseled, short blond hair framing a youthful face with mischievous blue eyes. Next was a slip of a girl who looked barely more than sixteen summers old, carrying a flute. She had lank, dark hair, and cynical brown eyes. Beside Carroway was a tall young woman with short dark hair and violet eyes. She had a lyre over her shoulder.
"Look who we found!" Carroway grinned, and the musicians looked from the bard to Tris as if they had seen a ghost. "You remember Helki, Paiva and Macaria—from back home?"
"By the Lady, can it be?" asked Helki with a gasp. "My prince!" he exclaimed. Carroway made hushing gestures. To Tris's chagrin, the three minstrels bowed low.
Lars came through the door just then, with a small bag of coins for the minstrels. "I have your pay, unless you're of a mind to leave without it," the innkeeper said, stooping to pick up a coin that fell. He froze, looking at Jared's image on the gold piece, and then rose slowly, looking from the coin to Tris and back again as if the coin might burn him.
"M'lord mage," the innkeeper croaked. "I mean no disrespect, but 'tis the Lady's truth that there is a powerful resemblance between you and the king."
"The minstrel called him 'my prince,' just now,"
Tabethe said, nervously edging toward Lars.
Resigned, Tris stood and spread his hands. "I didn't mean to deceive you," he said to the innkeeper, who looked pale with fear. Vahanian and Gabriel moved closer to him, and Kiara stood, her hand near her sword. "I wanted to spare you the burden of dangerous knowledge. You're correct. I'm Martris Drayke."
The innkeeper gasped and then elbowed his wife, who stood with her mouth open. "Curtsey, you fool," Lars whispered as he made an awkward bow. Tabethe, after a moment, found the presence of mind to attempt an equally unpracticed curtsey, and nearly lost her footing. Lara and Toby stared wide-eyed from near the wall.
"The rumors are true then!" Lars exclaimed, finding his voice. "By the Goddess! Prince Martris lives! Oh me, and what I've said, please, my prince, take no offense—"
Tris smiled at the innkeeper's flustered apology. "None taken. We're grateful for your shelter, both before, when we fled for our lives, and now, when we're still in danger. I don't wish to put your family at risk. If you'll keep the secret of our passing, we'll leave."
"On a night like this?" the innkeeper cried. "My prince, we're honored to have you under our root. Oh my, what am I thinking? There's royalty in the inn, and we've got them in the kitchen!"
Tris burst out laughing. "Good sir," Tris said, "believe me when I tell you that yours are the best accommodations we've had in many a fortnight."
Lars brightened, blushing with pride. "Truly? We're honored, Your Highness. You're welcome to sleep in our own rooms, humble as they are, rather than here in the kitchen."
"We're quite comfortable here, near the fire, with some bedding if there's any to spare," Tris said. He was grateful for the man's offer, but preferred the quick exit of the back door. "But I beg of you, for your own sakes, tell no one that you've seen us."
Lars looked shrewdly at Tris and the others. For the first time, the innkeeper took in their swords and the manner of both Kiara and Vahanian, which clearly spoke of battle training. "I take your meaning. There can be but one reason you've returned, my prince. And if there's aught that we can do to help you, just ask. All we have is at your service." With that pledge, Lars knelt, and his family also.
"Please, rise," Tris said. "Tonight we're happier than you can know with a warm meal and a roaring fire. But now you know why I welcome your news and your rumors from the city—and why I'm anxious to hear what these minstrels have to tell us."
"We'll leave you to your business," said Lars, motioning to his family. "If you need aught, just call. No one will bother you in here. I'll stay in the greatroom myself, to make sure."
"Thank you," Tris said. "We're in your debt."
"The prince himself, in my inn!" Lars murmured as he turned toward the door. He was still talking to himself in amazement as he left the kitchen. Tris sat, bidding the others to do the same. Vahanian took up a post at the greatroom door, while Gabriel moved closer to the outer door.
"Can we trust him?" Kiara asked. She sat next to Tris as he motioned for the minstrels to gather round.
Tris looked toward the door through which Lars had gone. "We have no reason not to, and every reason to believe him. He's right—where would we go, in this weather, that would be safer?"
"You can trust Lars, my prince," said Helki. "If you want to know the truth of it, he's run something of a resistance out of this inn. It hasn't been safe for us to stay near the palace. Lars took us in— glad for the entertainment, no doubt, but watchful that when guards came, we could make ourselves scarce. Many times, Lars and his family have hidden people fleeing King Jared. Some of the palace staff, and not a few deserters from the army, have passed this way. They spread the word among themselves as to which are the safe houses, and they are spirited away, as if on a ghost carriage."
Helki looked at his companions, whose expressions still reflected their utter amazement at seeing Tris and the others. "By the Mother and Childe! It's good to see you well, my prince."
"What can you tell us about Shekerishet since we left?" Tris pressed.
"Nothing good, Your Highness." It was Macaria who spoke up. Tris suppressed a smile, knowing that the dark-haired musician caught Carroway's eye. She seemed to be completely unaware of Carroway's attention, even now, when the minstrel watched her with unabashed joy. "I don't know how far news travels, or what you've heard, but it's been terrible."
"Some of the bards have gone missing altogether," Macaria said. "Though whether dead or in hiding, I don't know. I've heard that Lady Eadoin is hiding some of the court musicians, the ones Jared particularly disliked. Eadoin's brother's family was killed for harboring fugitives. We managed to keep out of Jared's sights, but I've heard tell of minstrels who have been hanged for singing tales about King Bricen, or telling a story that raised Jared's ire. In the city, the king's guards are always prowling around, looking for someone to make an example of. They've beaten men in the street for telling jokes about the king, and dragged others out in the middle of the night for one 'crime' or another. No one ever sees the poor blokes again."
"How is it you're here?" Carroway asked, and Tris noted that Carroway never took his eyes off Macaria as he spoke. She didn't seem to notice.
"We left the city during the winter," Paiva said. "One step ahead of the guards. Since then, we've made what living we could singing for our keep in taverns, playing for our supper at the baker's and butcher's, and begging, if you want to know the truth of it." She sighed. "But there's been talk all Spring that something would be afoot at the Hawthorn Moon, and so we thought that with the crowds and all, we'd chance going back." Paiva grinned, and elbowed Carroway good-naturedly. "Looks like our pretty bird here has landed himself smack in the middle of a revolution!"
"You don't know the half of it!" Carroway said. "But if you're game, and you're tired of Jared on the throne, there's a part you could play."
"We're in," Helki said. "Anything to be rid of that bloody tyrant!"
The group huddled around the table. "While Tris and the others do what they need to do," Carroway said, "I thought that perhaps Carina and I—with your help—could stir up a little riot or two in the city. There's another friend of ours, a hedge witch named Alyzza, who's headed this way as well. What do you think—can we work up a mob?"
Macaria grinned wickedly. "Like that's a hard thing, with all the ale that'll be flowing?" The other bards laughed. '"Tis the Lady's truth—the only ones getting rich from Jared's rule are the barley growers and the rum smugglers, since any that haven't left the country drink to drown their sorrows."
"Out here in the country, the songs I get the most requests for are the ones they'll hang you for in the city—the stories of King Bricen's battles, and of King Hotten's victory, and about the sorceress Bava K'aa," said Helki. "I dare say that might get a crowd going."
Paiva snorted. "I can do you one better than that. Remember the songs we heard up in Ghorbal, the ballads about the maidens taken by the king's men, and the empty village with its ghosts? Had the biggest men in the room dabbing their eyes as they swilled their ale. I wager we could write a few more like that, to remind them what's been stolen from them and get them in an ugly mood." The girl's lip curled into a devious smile. "I'll get to work on it."
Helki looked at Tris. "My prince, you've got to be careful. King Jared's sorcerer is a demon. He's grown strong on blood these many months, like a big red spider. Even if you can take Shekerishet, how will you stop Arontala?"
"He's a Summoner, he is," said Toby. Tris and the others looked up to see the innkeeper's son, who had been watching wide-eyed from near the fireplace. "Saw it myself, I did. Talked to the ghost that was busting up the place, and made him plain for all to see. Had a conversation with him, he did. Got robbed, poor bloke, and so I took word to his family the next day, to help him to his rest. He's a Summoner, by the Lady, he is!"
"Really?" Macaria asked.
"Do you remember the ballad we used to sing, about the ghosts of the Ruune Videya?" Carroway asked.
Macaria gasped. "There were wild stories that the forest is no longer haunted. You mean they're true? How?"
"You wouldn't really want to know," Vahanian said from his post near the door. "Trust me on that."
"Tris did it—we were there. And that was before Tris trained with the Sisterhood," Carroway added. "He can handle Arontala."
"My prince," Helki said. "We're honored to help with your return. We'll do as Carroway bids, and help you raise your diversion. I'd rather die fighting than spend the rest of my life running away."
Macaria and Paiva murmured their agreement.
"You may help to win the night," Tris said with a tired smile. "Carroway taught me a long time ago never to underestimate a bard!"
"I don't mean to spoil the reunion," Kiara said, nudging Tris, "but it'll be daylight soon, and I think we might ride better with a little rest."
"By your leave, my prince, we'll keep watch in the outer room," Helki offered. With Tris's nod, the minstrels took their leave.
"I'll go with them," Carroway said, standing. "We have a lot of catching up to do."
Tris looked at the others after the bards were gone. "Every time I hear us say aloud what we intend to do, it sounds too far-fetched to be possible. The damndest thing is, I haven't come up with a better idea."
"That's what makes it brilliant," Kiara said. She found a chair with a back and drew it up near the fireplace, where the banked embers made a warm red heap in the center. "No one else will think we're crazy enough to pull off a stunt like that."
"I really wish you wouldn't put it quite that way," Vahanian objected. He gladly gave up his post for Gabriel to stand watch, and stretched out on one of the empty tables with his cloak over him. Carina and Tris found tables or benches of their own, and drew up close to the hearth.
"I've found that the Lady blesses the most unlikely of heroes," Gabriel observed from near the door. "Let's hope that Her blessing is on equally unlikely tactics."
Tris echoed that hope as he drifted off to sleep, resolutely determined to enjoy a last night of warmth and safety before they reached the outskirts of the palace city.