"Then we have him!" Mikhail said, rearranging the small wooden markers on the map of the Winter Kingdoms that stretched across the table. "Mercs to the northeast, the river and Dhasson to the east, Isencroft to the west. Trevath, to the south, has reason to be wary of interference. Jared will be bottled up on all sides, while we turn his own army against him."
"Aye." Harrtuck's voice was sober. "And no small number of refugees will take up arms as well once they know what's up, I wager. More than once I've seen a well-trained army fall to a mob of farmers with a cause and a sickle."
"What you're proposing makes sense," Tris said slowly. "But what would you have me do? Wait behind the lines until Jared is defeated?" He shook his head, his green eyes worried. "That won't work."
Darrath regarded him once more in silence, and Tris thought he glimpsed the faintest flicker of approval in the hard-bitten man's eyes. "What is it you would do, Prince Drayke, if not wait?"
"I have to confront Arontala," Tris replied, meeting Darrath's unyielding gaze. "I have to return to Shekerishet and finish the matter."
"Alone?" Darrath mocked.
"Not alone. I'll go with him," Kiara replied.
"So will I," Carroway added.
"I've got an old score to settle myself," Vahanian drawled. "Count me in."
"Me too," Carina said.
"Assuming you could cross Margolan alive," Darrath said. "What then? Will you march up to the doors of the palace and demand to be let in?"
"No," Tris said, shaking his head. "I've gone over this time and again since we left the palace, and there's only one way in." He paused. "From above."
Vahanian raised an eyebrow. "You can fly?"
Tris grinned. "No. I don't need to. Shekerishet is built out of a steep cliffside. No one has been able to attack from that angle, so Jared won't expect it now."
Darrath cleared his throat. "I don't doubt your prowess as a Summoner, Prince Drayke," the older man said. "But if no one has scaled Shekerishet's cliffside walls before, how will you do it now?'
Tris exchanged knowing grins with Soterius. "Well, it would be a little more accurate to say 'no one at war with Margolan' ever climbed the cliff successfully. I once bet Ban that he couldn't do it, and he took the bet on the condition that I climb with him. He's from the highlands, and they're half mountain goat out there. We made it to the top and dropped in on the highest parapets, all before lunch. Neither Jared nor father ever knew, and we didn't say anything about it ourselves, since father frowned on that sort of thing." He chuckled. "In all its history, Margolan never was at war with the highlands."
"And you believe you can do it again?" Hant asked, leaning forward.
Tris shrugged. "It's the only way in. I'll have to."
"I've never really liked climbing," Vahanian commented. Kiara elbowed him in the ribs and glared at him. He rolled his eyes. "I guess I could learn."
"I'm up for it," Kiara said gamely.
Carina looked uncertain until Carroway spoke up. "I didn't really picture Carina and me taking the castle by storm," the minstrel said. "But if we could find some sympathetic hedge witches and my minstrel friends, I think we could make a diversion, stir up the mob, incite a riot, that sort of thing. Keep the guards distracted from the real action."
Hant nodded, deep in thought. "It might just work. Yes, it just might," he repeated.
"It's much too risky," Darrath said, shaking his head.
"Of course it is," Hant replied with contrary glee. "That's why I like it. Only a fool would try it."
"I'm not sure I like the way that sounds," Tris murmured to Kiara.
Hant looked up sharply, his keen hearing picking up Tris's comment. "That isn't what I meant." He chuckled at the audacity of the plan. "They'll never expect it. Too bold. Too risky. They'll be looking for armies on the border, and while they're busy fending off our phantoms, you'll be dropping in like so many spiders." He rubbed his hands together. "Oh yes, this does have promise."
"Easy for him to say," Vahanian said under his breath. "He's not going."
"Hush," Kiara admonished.
Darrath nodded. "I have no better plan," the general admitted. "And there is an element of surprise that I must admit I find intriguing."
"Intriguing," Vahanian commented dryly. "I'd feel better if you said 'promising' or 'brilliant.'"
Darrath ignored him. "How long until you plan to depart, Prince Drayke?"
Tris had debated that question with himself the entire evening. "We have to reach the palace before the Hawthorn Moon," he said. "That's when Arontala will try to free the spirit of the Obsidian King."
Darrath frowned. "Is such a thing possible?"
Tris nodded. "The Sisterhood believes so. I can't take the chance."
Darrath rubbed his chin. "That's half a year from now."
"Mikhail and I can start with the refugees. If we can get a few clusters of fighters in position, we can make sure Jared doesn't send more soldiers across the border. The mercs can sweep up after us. The snow is bad here, but it shouldn't be quite as much of a problem once we get a little further south into Margolan. And we're moving small groups, not a full army," Soterius said. "We'll need time to train the rest of you to climb. It will take more than two months to get from here to the palace in Margolan without taking the main roads."
"It'll also take time to raise the mercs," Harrtuck added. "They're wintering here, not looking for hire. They'll need to get provisioned."
It would also take time, Tris knew, for him to complete even a fraction of his training, to learn to channel the wild power that was only just beginning to come under his control. At the Library at Westmarch, Tris had learned that his grandmother, the great spirit mage Bava K'aa, had given him as much training as she dared, and then buried those memories deeply to protect him. With the help of the Sisterhood, Royster the head librarian and the other Keepers, Tris had accessed those memories and added what training time permitted.
Though he had been in Principality City for only one full day, word had already come from the Sisterhood, the shadowy council of high mages that Bava K'aa once led, that Tris and Carina were to journey to the Sisterhood's citadel in the city for further training. That summons, and the implication that his own training would require the services of an expert healer, weighed heavily on Tris's mind. In the short time before the Hawthorn Moon, Tris knew he must master what the Sisterhood had yet to teach him. And in that same few months, Kiara and Vahanian would need to gain the skills of climbing a sheer rock cliff, Soterius must find and contact the refugees and Margolan defectors, and he himself had yet to take his fighting skills to the level which he knew he must reach in order to hold his own. It would all take time, Tris fretted, time they did not have but could not do without.
Hant nodded. "It can be done."
Darrath nodded his assent. "Good." He placed his palms on the table as he stood. "Hant and I will provide anything you require in terms of weapons or armor. Your horses will be the finest in Principality. And you will have gold enough for your mercenaries," he nodded to Harrtuck, "sufficient to stir them from their winter sleep, I think."
"Thank you," Tris said.
Darrath's met his eyes evenly. "Make no mistake, Prince Drayke. I am not supporting this out of a love of Margolan. But what you say is true. For Principality to rest safely, we must put down the evil in Margolan, or lose everything." He paused. "I don't doubt that if Jared were to secure Margolan and invade Isencroft, he would eventually turn his eye toward the mines of Principality to replenish his treasury."
Hant nodded. "I agree. For now, Margolan's cause is our own."
"Then it's settled," Staden said from the chair where he had watched the debate for more than a candlemark, his burly arms crossed across his chest. "Until then, you and your companions are welcome in my home."
Tris inclined his head in acknowledgment. "We are in your debt."
Staden waved his hands in dissent. "Now none of that, or you'll be thanking me and I'll ha
ve to turn around and thank you again, and we'll be here all night. Now that the decision's made, who'll have a glass of port with me?"
Chapter Two
Tris pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the king's carriage carried him to the citadel of the Sisterhood. Beside him, Carina looked equally cold. "I'm still wondering-what kind of training requires a healer?" Carina asked, pulling her lap robe closer and rubbing her hands together.
Tris managed a wan smile. "I've been asking myself the same thing. And I can't come up with any good answers."
Carina frowned. "Tris-how sure are you that the Sisterhood is on our side?"
Tris shrugged. "Grandmother always said the Sisterhood was on its own side," he replied. "I got as much out of Royster last night as I could-he's been the Keeper of their Library at Westmarch for almost fifty years. What he said-and he was damn cagy until I pushed him-was that since grandmother's death, there's been a split in the Sisterhood that goes back to the war with the Obsidian King.
"According to Royster, there were so many of the great mages killed in that war that the ones who lived through it were either badly wounded or very frightened. The Sisterhood took very heavy losses. Grandmother was nearly killed." He sighed. "Even after grandmother recovered and became the head of the Sisterhood, Royster says that the Sisterhood split into two groups: one that thought the Mage War proved that the Sisterhood shouldn't intervene, and one that thought careful intervention was the only way to keep the peace."
"What about your grandmother?"
Tris looked out the carriage window at the cold winter dawn. "Grandmother always said that power of any kind-physical, magical, or political-was a gift from the Goddess to be used for the good of all."
"That's a hard balance to strike," Carina said, burrowed so far into her cloak and lap robe that only her face showed.
"What I could pry out of Royster makes me think that there have been some heated arguments about what to do with me," Tris said. "For now, apparently, the mages who sided with grandmother are winning, and so the Sisterhood has agreed to train me. But I'm not sure that's the same as giving us their full support. I don't think we can count on them to come to the rescue if anything goes wrong."
"But we've heard that Arontala is hunting down mages! Doesn't that make this war the Sisterhood's business?"
Tris shrugged. "Not every mage is one of the Sisterhood. They're a rather elite group. And the impression I got from Royster was that some of them think that the Sisterhood shouldn't be involved in the outside world at all. They want to study magic and let the rest of us be damned." He paused. "Although Royster didn't say as much, I wondered whether the mages who run the Sisterhood now are as powerful as the Sisters who fought the Mage War. Perhaps they're turning inward because they're not what they once were," Tris speculated. "Maybe they don't think they can go up against Arontala-let alone the Obsidian King reborn-and win, so they don't even want to try."
"But they'll send you? That's not making me feel any better about this training." Carina shivered.
Tris chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not the one being trained."
Carina's concerns only made him more nervous. Though Bava K'aa said little about the Sisterhood, what little she did say was usually about Sisters taking sides or pursuing competing agendas. Now, as the carriage headed for the citadel, Tris wondered whether, in the Sisterhood's game, he was the king or the pawn.
"You said Sister Taru sent the message?" Carina's question stirred Tris out of his brooding.
He nodded. "That's the one bright spot. After training with her at Westmarch, she's someone I trust."
"She knew your grandmother?"
"Taru was grandmother's assistant."
"I trust Taru," Carina agreed. "The others, I'm not so sure about."
The carriage turned and Tris saw the citadel, a large gray walled area, almost a city within the city. The cut stone that made up its outer walls looked older than the buildings around it, which seemed to keep their distance, giving the citadel a wide span of open area despite the crowding of the rest of the city. Only a few high narrow windows broke the citadel's facade, which rose several stories above the ground. A portcullis opened to admit the carriage, and Tris felt his stomach knot at the thud of the iron gate falling shut behind them.
A robed figure waited for them in the snow as Tris helped Carina down from the carriage. "Welcome," Taru said, pulling back her hood. Taru's chin-length dark hair framed a round face, and her cloak covered an ample frame. Her broad smile was a sincere welcome. Tris felt himself relax, just a little.
Tris gave a courteous bow, and Carina embraced Taru. "Thanks for meeting us," Tris said as they headed up the broad, snow covered steps that led into the citadel. The facade of the citadel was as imposing as any palace, and the archway over the heavy, iron-bound doors was carved with intricate runes and interlocking designs.
Even before the doors opened, Tris could sense old, strong magic. Power seemed to radiate from the stones of the walls, as if they retained the imprint of the workings done within. Tris hoped to pick up the lingering sense of his grandmother's magic, the sense that her rooms at Shekerishet held like old perfume. But there was no familiar resonance, and Tris found that its absence heightened his nervousness.
A footman gathered their bags and followed behind them. "You've come prepared to stay for at least a fortnight?" Taru questioned.
Tris chuckled. "We've learned to travel light," he replied dryly. "Since I left Shekerishet with only the clothes on my back, a whole pack seems like a luxury!"
Carina shrugged. "I brought my herbs and powders-and some of the books Royster and I brought from Westmarch. Cam and I lived on the road for so long, I've learned to make do." She managed a grin. "You weren't expecting us to dress for court, I hope!"
Taru smiled. "No dear. We have robes to spare-what you wear underneath them is your business," she added with surprising mischief.
Inside the great doors, a high-ceilinged entranceway made an imposing first impression. Around the grand entrance room, eight larger than life size marble figures of the Goddess-four light and four dark-encircled the room on pedestals. Tris looked to the statues of the Mother and Childe, Margolan's patron Aspects, but in the kindly gaze of the Mother and the mystical eyes of the Childe, he found no assurance. It was Istra, the Dark Lady, who drew his attention. Istra, patroness of the vayash moru and the outcast, the champion of lost souls. Tris could not shake the feeling that the eyes of Istra's statue seemed to follow him.
Carina seemed preoccupied as they headed deeper into the massive building. Tris looked around. Tapestries covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and Tris could tell at a glance that they were even older and more finely woven than any he had seen in Staden's palace or in his own home at Shekerishet. Everywhere he looked--at the furnishings, the finely wrought candelabra and torch sconces, at the scrying basins and leather-bound books--Tris saw evidence of wealth and power that would impress any king in the Winter Kingdoms.
For a group that isn't supposed to be involved in mortal affairs, the Sisterhood has done well for themselves, Tris thought.
"This citadel was built over five hundred years ago," Taru said as they headed deeper into the building. "It's older than Staden's palace. We can comfortably house over two hundred Sisters, although only about fifty live here at most times. Many come and go, staying for a few months and then moving on to one of our other holdings."
They climbed a broad, curving staircase that cantilevered from the walls, seeming to rise of its own accord. Down through its center hung a massive candelabrum easily as large as the carriage that brought them to the citadel, and Tris wondered if its dozens of candles could be lit by means other than magic. The stairs narrowed as they reached the upper floors, and Taru led them down a long corridor. Tris felt engulfed by the remnant of old power, as if the lingering tingle of magic would smother him. Even Mageslayer seemed to respond to the magic that surrounded him; the ensorcelled blade drew his attenti
on as if awakened.
Taru stopped in front of two doors that opened off the right side of the corridor. "I've put you in adjoining rooms-I hope you don't mind," she said. "There's a sitting room in between. I thought it would give you some privacy-and make it easier if Carina needs to check in on you."
Tris frowned. "You seem to be taking it for granted that I'll need serious healing. What kind of training-exactly-do you have in mind for me?"
Taru motioned them inside, and gestured to the footman to leave the bags in the sitting room. A fire already blazed in the large stone hearth, and the sitting room, while less lavish than the entranceway, was still the equal to the guest rooms in any palace. A pot for tea and another small cauldron of water simmered in the coals, and several chairs plus a small couch offered ample seating. There was a broad study table with a four-candle candelabrum, and one wall was covered with shelves of books. One glance gave Tris to guess that they were healing tomes, and his uneasiness increased again.
Taru closed the door behind them with a quick glance in either direction down the hallway to assure they were alone. Carina moved to warm herself by the fire, and Tris stretched their cloaks over two chairs near the fire to dry. "There's only one kind of training that can build the skills you'll require in the short time available," said Taru, and Tris could hear concern in her voice. "Simulated battle-both physical and magical."
Carina gasped. "Against whom-the entire Sisterhood?"
Taru met Tris's eyes. "Yes. You'll be led through a series of tests. Some will be quests past the traps in the labyrinth beneath the citadel. They'll test your cunning and your ability to use your magic with precision. Others," she said, "will test your battle skills and your magic for defense and for attack." Taru watched him, gauging his reaction. "In some tests, you'll face a Sister-or two-in person. In other tests, you'll face avatars-golems animated by magic-controlled by Sisters."
Tris looked at Taru. "There's something you're not saying. Something important."
Taru nodded. "When you fight the avatars, they will have the face and form of others. Jared, perhaps. Arontala. And you may find allies-like Vahanian, or Kiara." She paused again. "The magic and the weapons will be real. In the most extreme simulations, wardings will be set that cannot be broken except by completing the task. In the case of a confrontation with Jared's avatar, for example-"
The Blood King Page 2
