The summoner cotn-1

by Gail Z. Martin

  Berry pantomimed sealing her lips. Royster patted her hand. "That's a good girl," he said.

  As Royster talked, Tris closed his eyes, focusing on the ghostly librarian. He called the image to mind, envisioning its outline with increasing clarity. When he opened his eyes, Kessen's ghost was clearly visible.

  "Look, there he is!" Berry gasped.

  The librarian began to chuckle. "Serves you right, you old coot. Now you won't be able to sneak up on people." Royster paused and looked to Tris. "That's your doing, isn't it?"

  Tris nodded. "And I'm afraid he can't stay that way," Tris replied. "It's hard to explain. I don't think he likes it. But he doesn't mind that we've met him," he added.

  "Do as he bids," Royster agreed. "It's nice to see there's still someone there," he added wistfully. "It's been so long, sometimes I feared I was talking to myself."

  Tris closed his eyes once more. Kessen's relief washed over him as the revenant vanished.

  "You know all of these books?" Kiara asked, picking up the conversation once more. She looked unnerved, and Tris realized that it was the first time she had witnessed his magic beyond fire starting.

  Royster nodded. "Every one." He chuckled. "I'm the index. After dinner, I will introduce you to the specialists."

  "Do they talk?" Vahanian asked irreverently, washing down his bread with a mouthful of ale.

  Royster laughed, and they could hear a murmur of amusement pass among the figures at the other tables. "Oh yes, we talk," he said. "But after so many years together, we often have little new to say to one another. Be careful what you

  wish for-now that we have guests, our curiosity might give us more questions than you want to answer!"

  "Could you show us the healing guides?" Carina asked. "Especially about mage-sent illness? Oh, I'd like to see all the texts!" She looked at Kiara, her eyes shining. "What an opportunity!"

  "I'll be glad to help Carina," Kiara put in, "but the Oracle sent me here to find a way to save Isencroft. I'm not sure what to ask you to look for," she confessed. "The servants of the Lady said I would find what I needed here."

  Royster considered her request for a moment. "Perhaps a place to start is with the histories of Isencroft and the stories of her kings. You may find something to be of help."

  "You wouldn't happen to have any histories, would you?" Carroway asked, looking up as he finished his dinner. "Some nice volumes set in interesting times?" He glanced at Tris with an apologetic shrug. "Not that you haven't given me enough to write songs about, but as Carina said, this is quite an opportunity."

  Royster's eyes twinkled. "You're a bard?" At Carroway's nod, Royster grinned. "I've got histories you've never even heard, about warrior mages whose songs have been forgotten. Musical instruments, too," he said, and Carroway's eyes lit up. "You'll find that many of the Keepers are accomplished players and storytellers. We have much time to pass, and many winter evenings. You'll have your songs, bard, I promise."

  "Can I come with you?" Berry asked excitedly. "I'd like to hear some of those stories." She looked at Royster. "Do any of them have princesses in them? I like stories about princesses. Especially ones that get into trouble and get rescued."

  Royster smiled paternally and chuckled. "Aye, you'll find more than a few of those. I'll pick out the best for you myself… if you can read," he said, narrowing his eyes quizzically. At Berry's decisive nod, he brightened. "Good girl. That's rare for a girl." He turned to Vahanian. "How about you?"

  Vahanian put up a hand, "I've seen all the magic I want to see for a while. Just give me a nice empty room and let me get the weapons ready. You wouldn't happen to have a salle here, and a blacksmith's shop, would you?" When Royster nodded, Vahanian smiled. "Well now, that's different. I'd like to have a look at that. I'd rather not train in the snow, and there's work to be done with the horses and weapons."

  Royster turned to Tris. "You've been quiet, son. What can I find for you?"

  "I'm not quite sure," he said. "If there are books about summoning and spirit mages, perhaps I can find out why the magic works and what I'm really doing." He grinned sheepishly. "It's been rather trial and error so far," he admitted. "I've had dreams, visions of my grandmother. She tells me that I will remember her training when the need is great," he said, spreading his hands with a shrug, "but I can't seem to remember any training." He paused, "And the Obsidian King," he went on, "if you have histories about him and about how my grandmother helped defeat him." He paused, longer this time, "We may have to face him again."

  "At your service, my lord," Royster said, in all seriousness. "I suspect that perhaps for this need we have trained all our lives. I will find what you require." He gestured toward a gray-bearded man at the next table. "Devin is our Summoning expert. Maire," he said, and nodded to a white-haired woman, "knows all about the meaning of dreams and unlocking memories that do not wish to be found. And I," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "have always been partial to stories about the Obsidian King, so I shall work with you on that."

  "Thank you," Tris replied.

  "I take it these are the guests you were expecting?" A voice came from behind Tris, startling everyone but Royster. Tris turned to see a thin, dark-haired man who looked scarcely older than himself-until he met his eyes. Lifetimes, not a mere two decades, haunted those eyes, set within the pallor of a fine-featured face. The man held himself like a soldier, and his dark hair was close-cropped, as if for a helm.

  Royster smiled. "Yes indeed. Mikhail, let me introduce Martris Drayke and his friends," he said, introducing each in turn. Royster looked back to Tris. "This is Mikhail, from King Harrol's court."

  Mikhail made a courtly bow. "I am honored," the vayash moru said. "King Harrol sent me to Westmarch since Dhasson's borders are-difficult- for mortals to pass."

  "We've noticed," Vahanian muttered.

  "I was sent to learn how to dispel the beasts that plague Dhasson," Mikhail went on. "The king also asked that I watch for you, should the fates bring you to Westmarch. I will be pleased to report success in both matters."

  "You've found a solution to the beasts?" Tris asked.

  Mikhail shook his head. "Unfortunately, all evidence points to the work of one mage-Foor Arontala. Whether he created the beasts I cannot tell, but it appears certain that he called them. Until he is destroyed-or you are dead-they will not disperse."

  "Gabriel warned us that the border was spelled against my crossing," Tris said. "Otherwise, we would have headed for Valiquet. Did Harrol have any other news?"

  Mikhail withdrew a pouch from his pocket and handed it to Tris. Inside was a letter, and a seal. Tris scanned the letter, then looked up. "He pledges what military assistance Dhasson can provide, given the siege of the beasts. And he's given me his seal as a bond to his exchequer, to help us raise an army-and pay our debts," he said with a glance toward Vahanian, who shrugged.

  "King Harrol expected, I am sure, that what I found here would confirm his suspicions. He believes that to defeat the beasts, the power of the beasts' sender must be broken," said Mikhail. "It makes Margolan's troubles Dhasson's business, until the mage Arontala is destroyed."

  "Good luck," Vahanian muttered darkly.

  "Now can we get the stories?" Berry interrupted. They chuckled as they rose from the table. As they were about to leave, a cool breeze blew past them and the crockery rose, piece by piece, suspended in midair.

  "Kessen," Royster sighed. "It bothers him to no end if I don't tidy the table the minute I'm through." He planted his hands on his hips. "Leave the dishes!" he shouted at the empty room. "Fifty years, you've done the dishes. The grandson of Bava K'aa comes for training, and all you can think of are dishes!" With a gesture of dismissal, he turned and motioned the others to follow. Behind them, the dishes crashed to the floor.

  "He always had a bad temper," Royster muttered without a backward glance at the pile of broken crockery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN THEY AROSE the next morning, a brown-robed visi
tor awaited them. A spare-framed, tall woman with close-cropped white hair and piercing blue eyes stood in the main hallway. She took a few steps to stand in front of Tris, and looked at him as if she were taking his measure and weighing his soul.

  "You are Martris Drayke?"

  "I am."

  "What do you seek here, son of Bricen?"

  Tris held her gaze unwaveringly. "To understand my power and control it. I have to find a way to defeat Arontala and unseat Jared."

  The sister looked at him appraisingly. "Very well. Our time is short, and the quest is great. At the coming of the Hawthorn Moon, Arontala will attempt strong magic-blood magic-to free the soul of the Obsidian King. If he succeeds, we will see conflict and darkness greater than in the time of the Great War."

  "Can't the Sisterhood stop him?" Tris asked. "I mean, you are experienced mages-"

  "Only a Summoner can stop him." She met Tris's eyes. "And you are the only Summoner in the Winter Kingdoms." She paused.

  "Teach me," Tris said levelly. "We came here to find out how to overturn the darkness, in Margolan, Isencroft and Dhasson."

  "It is the same darkness, and the same quest," she said. "Your paths are woven together by the hand of the Lady. I have come to be the first of your teachers. I am Sister Taru."

  Tris began his lessons with Sister Taru and Maire right after breakfast. As Vahanian headed for the salle, and Carina, Kiara and Carroway- with Berry at his heels-paired up with keepers and headed into the depths of the Library, Taru guided Tris to a sparsely furnished study. Maire lit a fire and set a pot of tea to boil. Finally, Taru motioned Tris to sit. She and Maire sat down to face him.

  "So you are the grandson of Bava K'aa," Taru said. "My Sisters believe you are her mage heir. What say you?"

  Tris met her gaze. "I have always been able to speak to spirits, call them, see them-even when others couldn't. Not just on Haunts. I remember some lessons with grandmother, when I was young. Simple pathworkings, warding spells, household magic. But since the murders," he said, and his voice caught. "Since the murders," he

  repeated, willing his voice to hold, "I feel power I've never felt before-in me and around me. Sometimes, like with the slavers, it flows through me, past what I can control." Taru and Maire listened as Tris recounted the story of their journey, the ghosts he had encountered and those he freed, and finally, the spirits of the Ruune Vidaya.

  When he ended his tale, Taru and Maire exchanged glances. "In the years since Bava K'aa died," Taru began quietly, "mages have been sent to the Ruune Vidaya to quiet the spirits. None succeeded and none returned. Yet you have lived to tell the tale, you, barely twenty summers old, a fledgling mage, and you have bent the forests' spirits to your cause, bargained for the safety of your friends, and then given them their rest!"

  Tris flushed and looked down. "I know it sounds hard to believe."

  "Except that we have confirmed it," Taru said evenly. "The Ruune Vidaya is no longer haunted. I believe that any mage of power could feel the wrenching of the currents that night. I felt it myself, although I did not know the cause. Wild magic, barely still within the Light," she said, fixing Tris with her stare.

  "I felt pretty awful for quite a while," Tris admitted sheepishly. "If you could, please, teach me how to stop passing out every time I do a large working. I can't fight Arontala if I keep doing that."

  A faint smile came to Taru's lips. "Trained mages have died amidst that kind of storm," she said. "Yet you did not."

  "Help me," Tris said. "I'm acting on instinct, and it isn't enough. If Carina and Alyzza hadn't shown me how to shield back at the caravan, I'd be mad from the spirits by now. That night, in the forest, the shields almost didn't hold. I thought-" he started, and then stopped, afraid to put into words something he only felt. "I thought," he started again, "that I might lose my soul there. It felt as if… I was being pulled to pieces-by the power, and the spirits."

  Taru was watching him closely. "Your instincts are correct," she said. "You were closer to death-and your soul's destruction-than you may realize. An untrained mage could not have managed what you did. That is not instinct," she said, leaning forward, "and that is not talent. That must be training, deep training, that someone wanted you to forget."

  "Look at me, Tris," Maire said, and Tris shifted in his chair. From the folds of her cloak, Maire withdrew a crystal carving of the Lady with her quatrain icons. "I want you to focus on this," Maire said, her voice soothing. "We're going to do a pathworking, and I'm going to take you deep into your memories. It will be as real to you as when it occurred. The way may not be easy."

  "I'm ready," Tris said.

  Taru set a warding around them. Then, within the warded circle, she set another warding, this one separating Tris from herself and Maire. "I cannot gauge your reaction or your control," the Sister said. "This is for your protection as well as our own."

  "I understand."

  Maire set the focus icon on the table in front of him. "When do you remember first working with your grandmother?"

  Tris thought for a moment. "Grandmother always let me follow along with her. She taught me to call handfire the same summer I started my schooling. I was five or six," he recalled. "I don't think I helped with her pathworkings until I was eight or nine."

  Taru nodded. "That is the age when a child with promise would begin serious lessons. Take him back to his tenth year," she instructed Maire. "And let's see what he knew."

  Maire met his eyes. "Focus on the icon, Tris," she said, "and listen to my voice. Fix the icon in your mind. Memorize it. Make your picture detailed, as if you have it in your hands. Weigh it. Feel its texture, how cool it is to the touch, how smooth. See how it shines. Smell the incense that clings to it. Taste the incense in your mouth. Once it is real, hold that image. Hold it. Now, make it disappear. Hold the emptiness. Hear nothing but my voice. Hold the empty space. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Again. You are present in that empty space. You are ten summers old, with your grandmother in her study. What do you see?"

  Tris opened his eyes, and looked around him at Bava K'aa's rooms in Shekerishet. The familiar smell of her candles mingled with the scent of wood smoke and incense. Summer sun streamed through the mullioned windows, casting a parquet of shadows on the floor. On the table lay the instruments of a pathworking-a bit of parchment, her athame, a candle, some herbs. Near him, his grandmother bustled about, moving between the table and the fire, where a small pot simmered on the hearth. He could feel the energy of her warding, creating a sense of safety around the perimeter of the braided rug she used as her workspace. Tris heard himself describe these things aloud, as if in a dream, separate enough from himself that he did not wonder at it.

  "What do you know of magic, Martris Drayke?" he heard a distant voice ask. Bava K'aa continued her work, as if the voice spoke to him alone. Here within the warding, he did not fear the voice.

  "I have completed the first level of wardings, and the second level of workings," he replied, his voice thinner and cracking on some words, in the way of a youth on the verge of manhood. "I'm not permitted an athame yet. I can summon the spirits and dispel them. I have watched grandmother bless their passing over, joined her in the spirit plains, to feel how it is done. We practice many hours each day."

  "Good, very good," the voice soothed. Now close your eyes. A year has passed. You are eleven. What do you know now, Martris Drayke?"

  The boy looked around himself at the familiar workroom, at the goblets and half-burnt candles, at the worn mortar and pestle, at the vials and

  boxes. "Grandmother says we must hurry," he replied. "Sometimes, Carroway helps us. I have set wardings, and used her scrying ball. We have gone to the crypts and summoned the spirits of my fathers, and once, we turned a demon." The boy shuddered. "It came in the guise of a spirit, begging a favor. It asked for harm to fall on the living, which is not permitted. I refused, and it showed its true nature. I fought it and turned it without her help, but only barely. I was sick for three days
and mother was afraid I'd taken a fever." He paused. "We are at the third level of wardings and the fourth level of workings."

  "You are a clever boy," the voice responded. "Now, close your eyes once more. It is the summer before your fostering. You are fourteen. What of your mage studies now?"

  The boy's voice was deeper, no longer a child's. "I have walked among the vayash moru and I can work fifth-level pathworkings. I have helped grandmother with battle scryings, and I have called spirits. I have intervened between the living and the dead, and made the passing for those who wish to seek the Lady. Grandmother is worried." "Why?"

  "Because I go to my fostering, and she has not finished my training. We work dawn to dusk. I am tired. She has gotten mother to postpone the fostering twice, and without explaining the true reason-she cannot sway father again. She says I must not show my powers, not even to mother. But she is also anxious to send me away."

  "Why?"

  The boy paused. "She is afraid for me. She fears Jared will harm me."

  "Tris," a voice called. "Come back. Breathe."

  Just as quickly, the scene left him. This time, the memories remained-of Bava K'aa and of the workings.

  Maire and Taru were watching him with concern. Maire fetched Tris a warm cup of tea, which he accepted with shaking hands.

  "If I knew how to work magic then," Tris asked, his voice unsteady but once again his own, "why didn't I use it against Jared? Lady and Whore, if I could have used magic, why didn't I?"

  Taru considered for a moment while he struggled to steady his nerves. "I believe your grandmother knew of your situation, and did what she could to arrange the 'fortuitous accidents' that intervened on your behalf. But Bricen would not hear her about Jared. To protect you, your grandmother buried the memories of your training deeply. Tell me, what specifics did you remember, of all the time you spent with her, before this working?"

  Tris thought hard. "Just that she wanted me around, and I was happy to be there." He frowned. "I know that it kept me busy, but before this, I couldn't have told you how."