Please forgive our intrusion.” Jair’s formal language was for the benefit of the council, but his grin was directed at his cousin. Tris Drayke stepped forward and embraced Jair, then drew back, still holding him by the shoulders.
“Lady True! You’re the last one I thought to see walk through those doors. You’re supposed to be on the Ride, aren’t you?”
Despite the urgency of the situation, Jair felt a rush of pleasure just being back with his cousin. It hadn’t been quite a year since the last time Jair had seen Tris. Then, at Tris’s wedding, it had struck Jair how the battle for the throne had changed his cousin, forced him into a maturity beyond his years. Now, after a year that would have tried even a seasoned monarch, Jair could see the tiredness in Tris’s features. “Technically, I’m still on the Ride. I’m here with the Sworn, not on behalf of Dhasson.”
Tris looked from Jair to Talwyn. “And this must be-”
Jair grinned more broadly. “May I present Cheira Talwyn, daughter of the Sworn chief, shaman of her people-and my wife.”
Tris bowed. “Honored, m’lady. Jair’s written me about you, and I see that his praise was not undeserved.”
Although he was in Tris’s palace in Margolan and not his father’s war room in Dhasson, Jair knew quite well what he and Talwyn had interrupted. Although most of the time, he much preferred the riding garb of the Sworn to the fancy dress of court, now that he had come to court on business, he felt uncomfortable not being dressed for the part. Harrtuck had permitted him his stelian and had not made any move to relieve him of the knives in his baldric. Jair saw the appraising looks of Tris’s war council, and he could only imagine how he and Talwyn must look to them. Enter the barbarians.
Tris’s smile had faded as he began to realize what Jair’s appearance meant. “Your Ride doesn’t bring you anywhere close to Shekerishet.”
They were speaking Common, which Jair knew both the council and Talwyn could follow. “We weren’t far from Ghorbal.”
“That’s a week’s ride.”
Jair managed a lopsided grin. “Four days if you ride hard and change horses. Who needs sleep?”
“Then this isn’t a social call.”
Jair’s grin disappeared. “No, it’s not. We’ve come with a warning, and a request.”
“Say on.”
Jair looked from Tris to the waiting council. “The Durim have been desecrating the barrows from Margolan into Dhasson. They’re trying to raise the Dread-and the spirits that the Dread guard.”
“Why?” Fallon’s voice was sharp with alarm. Nisim sat up straight, and his eyes darted from Jair to Talwyn.
“The Durim are preparing for war. They’ve been making sacrifices-animal and human, and a few weeks ago, the ones we fought were preparing for a soul harvest.”
Tris blanched. “They were Hollowing?”
Jair glanced sharply at his cousin. “You know of this?”
“It was done by blood mages. And the Obsidian King.”
“We brought the Durim we captured before the Consort Spirits,” Talwyn continued. “The Durim want to usher in a War of Unmaking. From the currents of magic, they believe the war is coming, and they want to feed from the destruction.”
“That’s bad enough,” Jair interrupted. “But when Talwyn walked among the spirits of the Dread, they said that they’ve felt the power of a dark mage, a spirit mage,” he said, meeting Tris’s eyes.
“Is that why you came here, to warn us?” Fallon had left her seat and now stood next to Tris. Nisim looked conflicted, as if he wanted to join them but was unsure his rank permitted it. He made do by straining to bend as close as he could to catch every word.
“In part,” Jair replied. “But the night before we left, Talwyn walked the spirit paths again. This time, the Dread came to her.”
“The Dread have asked that I bring Martris Drayke to them,” Talwyn said. “They wish to determine on whose side, if any, they will fight when war comes.”
“For the benefit of the rest of us poor folks without magic, could someone please explain what’s going on?” Dravan’s tart voice cut through the tension in the room.
Chagrined, Tris and Jair turned toward the others. Jair wondered if the rest of the council saw the family resemblance between them as clearly as he did. Bricen’s sister was Jair’s mother, and though Tris was as fair as Jair was dark, the similarities in features were stronger than the differences. “Sorry,” Tris said, and gestured for Jair and Talwyn to join them at the table. “Bear with us; this may take a bit of explaining.”
Tris and Jair took turns describing the full meaning of Jair’s news to the council. Fallon and Nisim jumped in from time to time to clarify an unfamiliar phrase or a bit of magical lore. Talwyn did her best to explain the mystic connection between the Sworn and the spirits that they guarded. When they were finished, the expressions of the council made it clear that as ominous as the indicators had been before Jair’s arrival, the likelihood of war was now almost certain.
“ Cheira Talwyn,” Senne said, and he seemed to be struggling to find just the right phrasing. “I have certainly learned to respect the validity of information gained through magical means, although I don’t have a magic bone in my body. But… with all due respect… can there be any room for error? If what you say is true-”
Talwyn might be a stranger to court, Jair thought, but council meetings in the palace differed more in form than in substance from the tribal council over which Talwyn presided with her father. If she felt uncomfortable among the uniforms and brocades of the men around her, she did not show it. She was, Jair noted with pride, in every sense a warrior and the spirit-speaker for her people.
“I would not have come to you if any doubt remained.” Talwyn spoke deliberately, enunciating carefully to make up for her strong accent. “I have tested the spirits. I’ve walked with the spirit guides and with the Consort Spirits. The Dread do not come lightly to the living. No one living can remember another time when they have requested that a mortal mage be brought to them for… evaluation.”
“We’re on the brink of war. There’s no way Tris can leave for Ghorbal right now,” Soterius protested.
“We don’t need him to leave the palace,” Talwyn replied. “The meeting is in the realm of spirit.”
“You mean the plains of the dead?” Fallon asked.
“No. I’m not a summoner like your king. I can’t walk the Plains of Spirit in the same way he can. The Durim are no more ‘dead’ than vayash moru are ‘dead.’ There are… places… between the extremes of living and dead. The Dread dwell in those places.”
“And what of the ‘things’ the Dread guard? Whose side are they on?” The challenge came from Nisim, and there was a hint of fear in his voice.
Talwyn turned to look at him. “If the Dread intervene, it will be for the first time in a thousand years. But even if they do, the spirits they guard, the Nachale, can remain bound-if the Durim don’t release them.”
“And the last time the Nachale and the Dread walked the world of the living, the legend says there was a War of Unmaking,” Fallon said quietly.
“I spoke with the soul of Marlan the Gold. He ruled this land when that war was fought, and he was the last king to see the Durim before they went into the barrows,” Tris said quietly. “He said that the Dread sought him, as a channel for their power. But I had the distinct impression that their reasons were their own.”
“Is it a trap?” Senne’s eyes had narrowed. “With all respect, Cheira Talwyn, might the Dread have an agenda of their own for asking our king to come to them? Maybe they’ve already allied with our enemies and intend to eliminate the threat King Drayke poses to their invasion.”
Talwyn seemed to consider his argument for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I understand your caution, General. You do well to protect your king. But the Dread are ancient beings. Mortal politics don’t concern them.”
“Some say the same of the vayash moru, that because we live for centuries we care little for the maneuverings of mortals,” Mikhail said quietly. “They’re wrong.”
“Can I go on record to say that I don’t like this at all?” Soterius’s jaw was set. “Tris went to seek counsel from the ghosts of his long-dead ancestors, and he barely had enough energy to stagger out of the crypt. I’ve seen how much this kind of magic costs him. How many times can he do these kinds of workings before our luck goes bad and something goes really, really wrong? It’s not like my soldiers and I can go in after him.”
“I will walk with him.” Talwyn’s voice was firm but not defensive. “His mages can help to anchor him, if they wish.” She gave a tired smile. “To tell you the truth, it would be nice to have backup, for once.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Everyone turned to look at Tris. “Marlan’s ghost told me that the Dread also sought him out. This isn’t just the chance of a lifetime; it’s the opportunity of a millennium. If the Dread want to size me up, then it’s not a meeting I can afford to miss.” He met Talwyn’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”
Since it was agreed that Tris and Talwyn needed a day to rest and prepare for the working, it gave Tris an excuse to clear the remaining meetings from his afternoon and left the evening free. Jair and Talwyn were happy to join Tris in the parlor of the king’s private chambers, after servants saw to it that they both had cool baths and time to clean up from their long journey.
“That’s a healthy-looking boy you’ve got there,” Jair said, getting a glimpse of Cwynn as Kiara handed him to a nursemaid after his feeding was finished.
A shadow seemed to cross Tris’s face for a moment. “He’s got an appetite like a horse. And he’s grown by the length of my thumb just since he was born.” He took a deep breath. “How’s Kenver?”
“He’s every bit his father’s son,” Talwyn answered.
Jair chuckled. “Funny, I was going to say that it’s clearer every day that he’s got your blood.”
“Aunt Jinelle and Uncle Harrol are well?” Tris stretched out in his chair, moving as if he were stiff from battle or the salle.
Jair nodded. “They were when I left Dhasson, and I pray to the Lady and Her Consorts that they remain so.”
Tris shifted in his chair and leaned forward onto his knees. Kiara returned to a seat near him and curled her legs under her. “How badly is the plague hitting Dhasson?”
Jair sighed. “Bad, especially on the southern border. And it’s making its way north toward Valiquet. I think this is the first year Father’s actually been relieved for me to leave on the Ride. He’s worried what might happen if the plague really takes hold in the palace city. I know you had no choice in the war on the southern plains, and I know that the plague wasn’t of your making, but it crossed the river quickly into Dhasson just a few months after the Margolan army decamped from Lochlanimar. Although, if it’s any consolation, it appears to have hit Nargi just as hard.”
“The last letter I received from my cousin, Carina, said that King Staden in Principality had sent his daughter, Berry, to Dark Haven for safety,” Kiara said. “Plague’s already gone upriver into Principality, and from what Carina says, it’s going badly up there.”
Jair looked to Kiara. “You know that King Kalcen has opened relations with Dhasson. There’d been diplomatic envoys before your wedding, but Kalcen and Father hit it off at the ceremony.”
“As I recall, they were back to back wielding swords against that magicked beast the assassin turned loose,” Kiara observed dryly.
Jair chuckled. “You should hear the way Father tells that tale to the court! It’s been years since he’s been allowed to be in harm’s way, and he’s relishing every moment. The beast gets bigger with every telling. But as I was saying, Kalcen and Father actually left Margolan with a draft of an alliance handwritten on some scraps of parchment. They made it official a few months ago. So we get news regularly from Eastmark and have full diplomatic exchange.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, the news isn’t good, even from there. They’ve had two outbreaks of plague, and once that happens, more’s sure to come.”
“And Trevath? Has anyone heard news of them?”
Jair shook his head. “Father and King Nicolaj have never been on entirely good terms, although obviously better than relations between Margolan and Trevath. Most of what the spies bring us is related to trade and smuggling, and nothing at all about Jared’s bastard.”
Tris grimaced. “I’m not surprised. Ah well. That particular problem will have to wait its turn.” He arched backward, and his face twitched in momentary pain, as if he’d pulled on a sore muscle.
Jair looked at him worriedly. “You know, Tris, I might be one of the few people who can say this without landing myself in the dungeon, but… you look like hell.”
Tris’s chuckle was bitter. “Actually, I’ve heard almost those exact words from Fallon and Soterius, and Kiara keeps telling me I look ‘tired.’ ” He glanced sideways at his wife. “I think that’s code for the same thing.”
“If I weren’t already dreading the day I take the crown, you’re certainly making it look less fun than anyone imagines.”
Tris closed his eyes and slumped back against the chair. Kiara reached over to take his hand and tangled her fingers with his. “We’ve both read the old histories. Some kings were lucky enough to come to the throne during peace and prosperity. Some had to fight for their crowns, and some had to battle just to stay alive.” He sighed. “I’m afraid it’s our lot to live during ‘interesting times.’ ”
Jair slipped his arm around Talwyn. “I always found the histories to be boring, pretentious, and, in all probability, lies. But it’s alarming how few kings get to die of old age in bed.”
“I went into the crypts to summon the spirits of King Hadenrul and Marlan the Gold. Both of them died in battle.”
Jair’s surprise was clear on his face. “You spoke with them? If it were anyone but you saying that, Tris, I’d be sure they were making it up.”
Tris shook his head. “It was a hard working, and that’s one of the reasons Soterius and Fallon were so adamant that we wait before we walk with the Dread. I was pretty spent afterward.”
Talwyn leaned forward. “Our magics are very different, but I am intrigued by your summoning. I can spirit walk, but it’s not the same as being present in soul both on the Plains of Spirit and in the realms of the living.”
Tris frowned, thinking. “So you can walk in the Nether?”
Talwyn conversed for a moment with Jair in the Sworn’s language, asking for a translation. Finally, she nodded. “We have other names for the Place Between, but perhaps it is the same.” She smiled. “We’ll see when we try to walk there together, no?”
“I don’t know that your visit will allow it, but I would also like to learn more about your magic.” Tris grimaced. “My education was rather rushed. I learned about warding and blasting, and I picked up on what not to do the hard way. Every time I do a working, I’m reminded that there is a lot I didn’t have time to learn, and one of these days, that’s going to catch up with me.”
Talwyn turned to Kiara, who had been quiet. “And you, Kiara, you have some magic, too?”
Kiara smiled. “A little Regent Magic, although up till now, it’s been mostly scrying and self-protection. Maybe I just don’t have the talent.”
Talwyn shook her head. “I don’t believe that.” She closed her eyes and was very still for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she met Kiara’s gaze. “No, there is magic in you. Perhaps it isn’t time yet. But power is in you.”
Tris and Kiara exchanged glances. “Fallon and I have both tried to sense Kiara’s magic, and something seems to block us,” Tris said. A look passed between Tris and Kiara that Jair could not decipher. “How is it you can feel it and we can’t?”
Talwyn shrugged. “Magics work in different ways. I call on the Consort Spirits instead of the Sacred Lady. That’s one difference between us. My magic is grounded not just in the four elements, as yours is, but in the magic of each Consort. Perhaps I walk different passageways.”
Again, a look passed between Tris and Kiara, and Jair knew that something in Talwyn’s words had been very important to his cousin.
“Talwyn, I have a favor to ask,” Tris said. Kiara gave him an encouraging look. “Could you use your power to sense whether Cwynn has magic? I know it’s early but…”
Kiara leaned forward, laying a hand on Tris’s arm. “The truth is, I was attacked by an assassin when I was pregnant with Cwynn. The blade used wormroot, and it was a massive dose. We both nearly died. The birth was very difficult, and although he seems healthy, Cwynn’s had a rough time of it. ‘Fussy’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Right now, he’s the heir to two thrones, so if there’s truly something wrong-”
Kiara’s voice caught and she looked down. Tris wrapped his arm around her, but Tris’s worry was plain on his face. “Even the runes and omens refuse to speak. In better times, we could wait and see. But now, with a war looming…”
Talwyn nodded. “Of course. We know something of succession problems ourselves.”
Tris glanced at her. “But you have Kenver, and he’s healthy, isn’t he?”
Jair knew that his own distaste for the situation in Dhasson was clear on his face. “Health isn’t the issue. It’s parentage. The court has made it clear that they will never accept Talwyn as my wife, or Kenver as heir to the throne.” He sighed. “And Talwyn wouldn’t be able to leave her people any more than I could leave Dhasson.”
“What will you do?”
Talwyn was first to speak. “We will make an ‘accommodation.’ Among the Sworn, Jair and I are ritually wed and Kenver is both Jair’s heir and next in line, behind me, for the chieftainship when my father goes to the Consorts.” She shrugged. “Jair will have to make a suitable arranged marriage, a business proposition, to produce an heir of acceptable lineage. So long as the other party knows what to expect, life moves on. It’s hardly the first time such a thing has happened.” Jair looked at his wife. Although her tone had been objective, he knew her well enough to see the pain that flickered in her eyes.
Kiara leaned forward to touch Talwyn’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
Jair glanced at Tris, and he knew that Tris could see that his own feelings were far from happy with the arrangement. “I’ve always envied you two the chance to make a love match. You know how rare that is among kings and queens.”
Kiara gave a dry laugh. “We only had to break a betrothal contract that was put in place to stop a war, then fight for the crown. Even so, it’s brought Isencroft to the brink of civil war.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t as romantic as the stories make it sound.” She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand across her forehead as if it pained her. “That’s why we really need to know about Cwynn. Two kingdoms hang in the balance.”
Talwyn nodded. “Bring me your son.”
Kiara slipped from the room and returned holding Cwynn. He was already beginning to fuss. “It’s not like I woke him,” she said apologetically. “He doesn’t sleep much, or for long at a time. There are places in the castle that we can’t take him at all, because he shrieks like a wild thing. He coos to himself, or we think it’s to himself. He responds best to the two ghosts who have been nursemaids to the children here for hundreds of years, but we aren’t certain whether he can see other ghosts.” Gently, she folded back the light wrap that covered Cwynn’s face.
Talwyn threw up a hand to cover her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Tris asked.
Talwyn shook her head and blinked several times, gradually lowering her hand. “He glows so brightly it hurts.” She looked to the others in astonishment. “Can’t you see?”
The confused shakes of their heads made Talwyn’s eyes widen. “I see him bathed in many-colored light, like I’m told the Spirit Lights of the far north shine. I’m certain he sees the light, too.” She held out her arms. “May I hold him?”
Carefully, Kiara transferred Cwynn to Talwyn. “He’s not good with strangers. In fact, he’s not very good even with the people he knows.”
Talwyn said nothing. Her lips began to move, and Cwynn’s fussing grew quieter. Tris closed his eyes, and Jair guessed that Tris was opening his own magic, perhaps even stepping into the Plains of Spirit to see if he could see the glow. Slowly, Talwyn began to move around the room, speaking in a whisper. Jair could make out just enough of her words to know that she spoke in the Sworn’s language, and that her words invoked the Consort Spirits.
“Careful! He tends to scream if you get too close to that wall,” Kiara cautioned.
A faint, yellow light began to glow around both Talwyn and Cwynn as Talwyn moved closer to the north wall. Cwynn gave a sharp cry, and Talwyn took a sudden breath. The yellow light wavered, and then grew stronger, and Cwynn’s terror subsided. Talwyn walked full circle around the room. When she returned to the center, she held Cwynn in one arm while her right hand pulled at the amulets around her throat, lifting them above the neckline of her tunic. She wore one amulet in honor of each of the Consort Spirits, and a talisman of the Lady’s mark. Eyes closed, Talwyn handled each amulet one by one, waiting for several breaths as if she were expecting a reaction from Cwynn.
Whatever she found, Talwyn said nothing. Her eyes opened, and she walked toward a clustering of candles on the side table. She drew a pouch from her belt with her free hand, still holding Cwynn against her side with her left arm. From the pouch, Talwyn poured a mixture of dried leaves onto the side table, and dropped a pinch into the candle flames. A dense, musky smoke rose, filling the air with its scent.
“Consort Spirits, I ask the honor of your attendance. Trouble the smoke for me, and help me see.”
Cwynn had fallen completely silent, watching with round, open eyes but making no sound. His gaze seemed to follow the rising smoke. With her right hand, Talwyn made a series of gestures. The smoke began to move, rearranging itself. From where he stood, Jair caught glimpses of images in the smoke, ever-changing scenes that appeared and disappeared between breaths. He wondered what Tris’s magic made of it, or whether anyone but Talwyn could read the messages in the smoke.
After a few moments, Talwyn bowed her head and made a gesture of thanks to the spirits. She seemed to come back to herself, and she turned toward the others. Cwynn gurgled happily in her arms, and she returned the baby gently to Kiara, who looked from Talwyn to Cwynn with astonishment.
“He’s never this happy. What did you do?” Kiara asked, nestling Cwynn against her chest as she patted his back.
Talwyn lowered herself into a chair, and Jair could see fatigue in her face as he slipped an arm around her to steady her. Tris hurried to pour a goblet of sherry, which Talwyn accepted gratefully. “The Eagle Consort answered my petition. She’s the wildest of the Lady’s Consorts, an untamed spirit. I see a glow around Cwynn that augurs of power, but what kind of power, I can’t tell. I sense no magic, and no lack of magic. I sense nothing at all. That’s highly unusual. But whether he possesses magic or not, Cwynn can sense power. When we reached the north wall, I felt his terror. I didn’t feel what caused his terror, but I felt his reaction. It changed the light around him, in color and intensity.” She looked up at Tris and Kiara. “I sense no sickness or damage in the child. But at the same time, there is a difference. I don’t know what that difference means, or how it would affect his ability to rule. But with or without a crown, he is a spirit of power.” She frowned. “There was one other image. I don’t understand it, but I should mention it. A bridge. I saw a bridge the moment I touched him, and that image never left me until I handed him back to you.”
“What kind of bridge?” Kiara asked. “Did you recognize it?”
Talwyn shook her head. “It seemed to be made of light, so I don’t think it was meant to be a real bridge, a place that we’d find. Maybe it’s a symbol of something that connects two sides. I don’t know.”
Tris’s face was pale. “Alyzza said ‘protect the bridge.’ ”
“What?” Jair asked. Kiara had moved to the door to give Cwynn back to his nursemaid, but she rejoined them and laid a hand on Tris’s arm, her expression troubled.
Briefly, Tris recounted his journey to see Alyzza and her manic pronouncements. “So much of what she said was almost in code, but there was one thing she said clearly, although I had no idea what she meant. She told me to ‘protect the bridge.’ ”
“You think now that she might have meant Cwynn?” Jair asked.
Tris shrugged. “It’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think? But if he is the bridge, or a bridge, then the question is, a bridge to where? A bridge between what two things?”
“And from whom does he need protecting?” Jair murmured.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt about the last question.” Talwyn’s voice startled them. “We face a common enemy. Potent magic is calling the Durim and courting the Dread. Something terrifies Cwynn, even if he’s too young to understand. It may be that our enemy has found something attractive about Cwynn, or perhaps Cwynn will come to his attention. You don’t yet know what Cwynn’s gifts are. Maybe right now, we don’t need to know what Cwynn bridges. If the enemy wants him, then he is a prime asset in the war that’s coming. Protecting him is more than a matter of succession. For all we know, Cwynn might be the point of the whole war.”
At dusk the next evening, Tris and Talwyn met to answer the summons of the Dread. Kiara and Jair insisted on coming. Fallon and Nisim came to provide warding and a magical anchor, grounding Tris and Talwyn in the realm of the living. Ban Soterius also was adamant about being present, and he brought with him half a dozen handpicked guards to seal the area from intruders during the working.
The only ancient barrow near Shekerishet had been desecrated. After making a quick scout of the area, Talwyn had selected a suitable compromise. The spot she chose was near the mouth of a cave just at the forest’s edge, not far from the banks of a stream. It was a place where many small shrines had been erected over the years by passersby. Stacked stones and guttered candles marked the offerings people had made in this place, sensing that the other realm was close here. Bits of colored cloth fluttered in the trees, tied to the lower branches as petitions to the Lady.
“Why here?” Soterius grumbled. “There are too damn many places someone could shoot from cover. Why can’t you do magic out in the middle of a nice, flat field where I can see who’s coming?”
Talwyn smiled. “I really don’t pick the place for magic like this. The spirits pick it. There is power in this place.” She swept a hand to indicate the small shrines. “I’m not the only one to feel it. And I’ll bet that if you look closely at the rocks around that cave, you’ll find runes scratched into them, maybe some more offerings. The deep places have their own power. Barrows or not, the Dread and the Nachale walk in the deep places. Those realms belong to them.”
Tris nodded. “I feel it. You know, I spent my boyhood avoiding places like this, and I didn’t know why. Grandmother didn’t tell me about my magic to protect me from Jared. She thought he’d kill me if he suspected, and I think she was right. I just knew that the ghosts I wasn’t supposed to be able to see were stronger in places like this. Ghosts-and other things that weren’t friendly.”
Talwyn shut her eyes. “I don’t sense dark spirits here. This area feels neutral. That’s another reason why I chose it.” She opened her eyes and glanced up at the setting sun. “I’d like to work this before full dark, just to be on the safe side. Let’s get started.”
Fallon and Nisim raised wardings around the area. An outer warding protected a large area around the group. A second warding separated the four mages from the others. Soterius’s guards were prominent and fully armed, creating a third, practical level of protection. While the others prepared the space, Talwyn readied the materials for the working. She built a small fire midway between the creek bank and the cave opening, just paces from the edge of the trees.
The shadows were stretching long as Talwyn called to the Consort Spirits while she set the fire. Herbs from her pouches raised thick smoke that smelled of juniper and sandalwood. Around the fire, she placed polished stones in recognition of the eight Aspects of the Lady. Chalcedony, aventurine, peridot, and citrine for each of the Light Aspects, and at the cross quarters she placed bloodstone, garnet, iron, and salt, tribute and wardings for the Dark Aspects. Talwyn took a talisman for each of the Consorts and placed them atop the stones on the four quarters: an eagle feather, a bear claw, the tooth of a stawar, and a wolf’s tooth.
Through Talwyn, Tris could feel the light touch of Nisim’s magic like a gossamer rope to secure her return. He knew that Fallon was anchoring him in a similar manner. When Fallon and Nisim were satisfied, Talwyn looked to Tris. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said, and his voice was steady.
Talwyn took his hand. “Since we don’t know for certain whether I spirit walk in the space you call Nether, watch me make the shift, and then see if you can follow.” She managed a smile. “It wouldn’t do for us to end up in different places.”
Talwyn gathered her magic around her, drawing on the images of the Consorts and the Faces of the Lady. Tris was very aware of her magic, and he could sense it through their bond. Talwyn let the musky incense fill her lungs and Tris felt the loosening of the bonds that secured her spirit within her body. It wasn’t the complete separation Tris could make with his summoner’s magic. As Talwyn had explained it to him, it was her spirit, her consciousness, that walked, and not what some called a soul. Beneath his tunic, Tris wore Marlan the Gold’s talisman on a strap around his neck, hoping that it might serve as a vouchsafe.
Once Tris joined her, Talwyn let her magic call to the Consort Spirits. In his mind’s eye, Tris saw a figure with the head of a wolf and the body of a man step from the mists. The being wore the mantle of a Sworn shaman and a beaded belt hung with charms and amulets. The Consort Spirit wore the rough woven pants of a Sworn warrior but he was bare chested. His body was covered with thick, brown hair, although he was clearly in the form of a man. The guide beckoned for Talwyn and Tris to follow him, and then turned and began to walk down a path that appeared out of nowhere just a step in front of him.
Still clasping hands, Talwyn and Tris followed. Tris could feel their magics resonating through the skin of their palms. Their powers seemed to feed each other, and Tris almost expected to see an arc flash between them, although none did.
The Wolf Consort guided them through heavy mist. Tris could see few features of the terrain, but there was enough to tell him that their spirits walked somewhere far different from the landscape they had left behind. Time ceased to have meaning. They might have walked for a candlemark or a day. Finally, the Wolf Consort stopped, and with a bow and a sweep of his hand, he indicated that they should pass in front of him.
“Thank you, Spirit Father,” Talwyn said. “I ask that you await our return, to guide us back safely.”
The Wolf Consort nodded in assent, and then vanished into the mist.
Before Talwyn could say anything, Tris felt the coming of the Dread. Cold, ancient power rolled over him, like a wave on a storm-ravaged sea. It was enough to make Talwyn stumble. Tris tightened his grip on her hand, but he did not move. The mist roiled, but it did not part to show a solid figure, although Tris thought he could make out an outline blurred by the fog. The Dread’s shape was larger than most men, and taller. Its arms and hands seemed too long-not quite, and perhaps never, human. Its face was darkness, and as the mist shifted, Tris could not make out any clear features.
“Yes, you are indeed a true summoner.” The voice might have sounded in their minds, or all around them.
“Why have you called me?” Tris’s voice was firm, making it clear in his tone that the Dread had issued an invitation, and a king had chosen to respond.
“We would take your measure.” Now, Tris heard the low murmur of multiple voices, and he sensed that more shadows moved beyond the veil of fog.
Tris withdrew Marlan the Gold’s talisman from beneath his tunic. It glowed in his hand. “See for yourself. I’m Marlan the Gold’s heir in blood and power. What more would you know?”
A rumble of voices sounded just below Tris’s ability to catch their words. Or perhaps they spoke a language that he did not recognize, even on the Plains of Spirit.
“Your power is great. We have been touched by another power from beyond these borders. Others have tried to call us to their aid. Always, we have refused. We may still refuse this call, but we would know more of you, Marlan’s heir. What would you offer us in exchange for our support?”
Tris took a deep breath. “Honored spirits, I didn’t choose to call you from your slumber. I respect your choice to be apart from mortal concerns. But if you choose to walk among the living once more, then I would ask you to protect Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms from those who would cross our borders unbidden. Judge the measure of the magic by how it’s worked. I have not called you with blood magic.”
“And yet, it is your blood itself that calls to us,” the voice replied. “Blood is the oldest magic, and the most powerful. Marlan knew this.”
Tris nodded. “Yes, as did Hadenrul. But I don’t shed human blood in sacrifice, or destroy the undead as offerings. And if it’s possible, I would rather avert this war than pay its price in blood, although if it comes to that, I would pay in my own blood to protect my people.”
“Interesting,” the voice replied. “What spoils would you offer us to ally with you? What payment would you make for us to tip the balance?”
There was a note of anger in his voice when Tris spoke. “Once, long ago, you walked these lands. My ancestors trusted you as their protectors. Marlan trusted in your power to protect his people. I would call on those vows to ask that you protect Margolan once more, if war comes. I have nothing to offer you as payment, except honor’s satisfaction. I won’t barter my kingdom’s freedom. I won’t accept any power as master of Margolan, yours or the invader from across the sea. We will fight any hand that tries to dominate us. We may lose, but we will die free.”
Tris’s jaw was set. He felt the Dread’s power like a low hum that reverberated in his bones, almost too low to hear but impossible to ignore.
“You are indeed Marlan’s heir. He, too, was not afraid to challenge us.” Tris thought he heard a note of amusement in the voice. “What of the Nachale? You’re the Summoner King. You’ve called the recent dead to your aid in battle. We felt your power across the graves when you raised the spirits in your recent war. Would you seek the power of the Nachale to win your cause?”
“If Margolan faced defeat, I would ask for help from all allies, living, dead, and undead. I would use my power to gain their willing help. But I would not loose a greater bane upon my people to rid us from a mortal threat.”
Again, the sound of low conversation just at the threshold of sound. “We must give this matter thought.”
“Wait!” Tris moved a step closer, nearly pulling his hand out of Talwyn’s grip. “Is this a War of Unmaking? Is there still a way to keep this war from coming?”
“Whether or not this becomes a War of Unmaking lies in the decisions made upon the battlefield. Great powers, mortal and magical, will align against each other, great enough to destroy everything you have known. And yet, the end is unclear. Only one thing is certain. War will come.”
The Dread did not ask their leave. One instant, Tris could feel the oppressively heavy power of the dark shapes beyond the mist, and the next, the shapes were gone and with them, their power. Talwyn tugged on Tris’s hand and nodded toward the Wolf Consort, who had emerged behind them, ready to guide them home. Neither Talwyn nor Tris spoke until they stood in the mist back in the clearing. The Wolf Consort stood between them and the fire, and beyond him, their bodies waited.
“Honored Consort,” Talwyn said. “Thank you.” She and Tris both made a low bow. The Wolf Consort inclined his head, and then his image dissipated like smoke on the breeze. Talwyn dropped Tris’s hand, and Tris felt her energy return to her body. Tris shuddered as his spirit returned.
Fallon and Nisim withdrew their anchoring presence, and Tris felt the wardings fall. Jair and Kiara rushed forward, each of them bearing bread and wine so that Tris and Talwyn could ground themselves.
“Did the Dread come? What did you see?” Fallon’s voice was uncharacteristically curious.
Tris nodded, finishing a mouthful of bread and taking the time to gulp down the wine before replying. “Yes, the Dread came. As for what I saw-it was a shadow more than a clear image. But the legends are right. They’re powerful. Really powerful. We want them on our side, if they choose sides, but I think it would be better for everyone if they didn’t play at all.”
“What did they want from you? Do you think they’ll side with Margolan?” Kiara reached out to touch Tris on the shoulder, as if to reassure herself that he was fully back among the living.
“He wanted to size me up. Whether that’s as a potential ally, or as an enemy to defeat, I still don’t know.” Tris’s voice showed the fatigue of the working.
Jair slipped his arm around Talwyn’s shoulders to steady her, as if he could read how much the working had drained her. “Did they answer your questions?”
Tris exchanged glances with Talwyn before he replied. “After a fashion. They believe war is inevitable. Whether or not the war ends everything is apparently up to us.”