Dark Lady_s Chosen cotn-4

by Gail Z. Martin

  She bowed her head as she struggled for control, and finally looked up, knowing that Neirin could clearly see her grief. "Thank you."

  Taru was waiting for her when Carina returned to her room. "I was beginning to worry," Taru said. She had a plate of biscuits with honey and a cup of dried berries along with a fresh pot of tea. "Now that you're healed, you need to eat to keep up your strength." When Carina hesitated, Taru laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I guessed that you were talking to Neirin about making the Passage Fast. Before it begins, you must eat. It serves no purpose for you to collapse."

  Carina nodded, but she found that, hungry as she was, the food had no appeal. The vision she had glimpsed in the Flow haunted her, and any elation she might have felt over the healing was bittersweet at the cost.

  "Riqua and Lisette are worried about you," Taru said quietly as Carina picked at her food. "And if you hadn't noticed, Raen hasn't left your room." Even now, Carina could glimpse the ghost girl in the shadows. "We'll stay with you for as long as you need us. Certainly we'll mark the fast and feast with you."

  "I told Neirin I'd be staying," Carina said. She looked up as if she expected Taru to argue with her. "At least, until another lord is chosen. I want to carry on what Jonmarc's started. And there's so much healing left to do."

  Taru nodded. "I thought you might. But given that ten years passed between the death of the last lord and Jonmarc's choosing, there may come a time when you change your mind." Carina sighed. "The world is changing, Taru. The last letter I got from Cam made it sound as if Isencroft is on the brink of revolution. We have no idea whether healing the Flow gave Tris his victory. Either way, it'll be a struggle to secure Margolan. And even though Jonmarc destroyed Malesh, there's no guarantee that will stop the fighting here. There's still a mob at the gates, demanding that we turn over the vayash moru to them. You know what happened to Kolin. The courtyard is full of refugees. How will we know when it's safe for them to go home? Once the madness starts, how do you contain it?"

  Taru looked down. "I don't know the answer to that, Carina. No one does. But having you here at Dark Haven makes a difference. That's all any of us can do-take the step we see, and do what we can."

  Carina finished the last of her breakfast and drained her cup. "Let's go down to where the refugees are camped. It will take Neirin's scouts most of the day to get back. And although I'm in no hurry for confirmation, anything is better than watching the candle burn down."

  It was nearly sunset when Neirin came to the great room where Carina and Taru were tending the refugees. At Neirin's summons, they left their work and followed him to a small parlor where two guards waited. "Tell me what you found," Carina said, taking a seat. Taru laid a hand on her shoulder in support.

  The guard who spoke was a blond man who looked to be close to Jonmarc's age. The other was one of the manor's best trackers. It was the guard who spoke. He had the manner of a seasoned soldier, but his expression was shaken. "There was a great battle at the temple, m'lady. Outside, the snow was dark with vyrkin blood and the dust that remains when a vayash moru is destroyed."

  "You're certain the blood was vyrkin?"

  The tracker nodded. "Absolutely, m'lady."

  The guard continued. "It was clear that the battle continued into the temple. The door was smashed in, and the banks of candles along one wall had been knocked to the ground. Inside, we found the remains of a vayash moru." He withdrew a signet ring from his pocket, and Carina recognized it from Malesh's hand the night of the attack on Westormere. "Did you find anything else?"

  The guard hesitated, and then spoke. "We found a pool of blood. Human blood. And this." He opened the sack that lay at his feet and withdrew the pommel of a broken sword. Carina gasped as she recognized Jonmarc's sword and fought back tears. "Did you find a body?"

  "No, m'lady. No bodies. And no tracks leading away from the temple. That's the strange part. The vayash moru can fly, but the vyrkin can't. Though I imagine someone could magic away the tracks if they wanted. Not knowing what happened, we didn't think it wise to ride to Wolvenskorn. Weren't sure what our reception would be, barging in without an invitation." "Thank you." Carina's voice was barely more than a whisper. Neirin motioned for the two scouts to leave, and they filed out behind him in silence, leaving Carina alone with Taru. When the door shut behind them, Carina's resolve broke. Taru folded her into her arms, letting her sob.

  "It's just as I saw it, Taru," Carina said in a strangled voice. "He's gone."

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Tris was already staggering to his feet as Fallon and two of his guards rushed toward him. He was surprised to be alive, and even more astounded that he had remained conscious. The pain that throbbed in his head and seemed to ache through his bones reminded him that one benefit of losing consciousness was a temporary reprieve from pain. In the distance, he could hear the tolling of the midnight bells from the camp. "Are you all right?" Fallon asked, and Tris knew that she extended her healing magic to assure herself even before he spoke.

  "That depends on what you're expecting," Tris replied. It was taking all of his concentration to remain standing. "I'm not dead. That's something." He looked toward Lochlanimar. The explosive force of the Elemental had blown out huge parts of both the battered outer wall and the thick inner wall, but the flames that raged inside would preclude any search for survivors for quite a while.

  "There's no way our men can search the castle until the fires burn out," Fallon said, as if she guessed his thoughts. "Curane might have had an underground escape tunnel. We know there are caves beneath Lochlanimar. But it'll be late tomorrow before we dare go close enough to find out."

  As sore as Tris's body was, the channels of magic were worse. Just thinking about harnessing his power hurt, and as he tried to concentrate, it felt as if the pathways of magic had been blasted raw. With an effort of will, he stretched out his magic toward the burning ruins. He could sense the old dead, the ghosts from the necropolis beneath Lochlanimar. He could sense the stirring of Tabok, Mohr and their companions. They were heading back toward his camp to make their report. And Tris could sense their own battle dead, both those newly torn from their bodies in the night's battle and those who had gathered to be a part of the final stand against Curane. But inside the fireswept castle, Tris could not sense any souls other than the dead.

  He met Fallon's eyes. "If there are survivors, they're beyond my reach."

  "Given what you've been through, I'm not surprised. We need to get you back to camp," she said archly.

  They looked up to see Soterius riding hard toward them. He dismounted and dropped his reins, running to meet them. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking at Tris with concern. Tris and Fallon exchanged glances. "Since I'm not dead, I guess the answer is 'yes'," Tris replied.

  Soterius gave him a look that took in his singed hair and burned clothing, and the new blisters on his hands and arms from the scorching heat of the Elemental. "Senne and Rallan sent a runner to find me. They're regrouping so that we can place a watch around Lochlanimar. No one's expecting there to be a lot of survivors, but on the chance a few try to slip out, we'll round them up and bring them back until we can figure out who's who." Tris nodded, and winced at the way it made his head ache. "Make sure you keep them well away from the rest of the camp. We know Curane loosed a plague in there; we don't know for certain whether it's the same fever that Esme is dealing with among the soldiers. The last thing we need is for it to spread."

  They turned to head back toward the camp, and Tris staggered. He would have fallen if Soterius hadn't steadied him, getting under Tris's arm and supporting his weight. "You need to lie down," Soterius growled under his breath. "There's no way you can ride right now. It's going to be a long walk back to camp-unless you've got the good sense to pass out, in which case we can toss you into the back of a wagon without damaging your dignity." Tris meant to answer with a snide retort. Instead, his knees buckled and he slid through Soterius's grip to land in the snow. Everyt
hing was slipping away from him, receding into a gray void. "I was kidding," he heard Soterius say as if from a great distance as the world around him disappeared into darkness.

  Tris awoke to find himself in his own tent, flat on his back on his cot. Someone had treated and bandaged the worst of his burns, and the headache was now just a dull throb behind his temples. As soon as he opened his eyes, Coalan bent over him. "Fallon said I'm to give you this," the young man said, in a tone that told him the healer had vested Tris's squire with the authority to enforce her wishes. "She says it will help with the pain and speed the healing." Coalan slid another pillow behind Tris, helping him to sit enough to drink the warm elixir. "How long have I been out?"

  Coalan shrugged. "Almost seven candlemarks. It's nearly dawn. After Esme and Fallon

  took care of you, they went to handle the casualties. We have a lot of men down. Not everyone got out of the way of whatever that thing was." "An Elemental," Tris murmured.

  "If that's what you call it, then I hope to the Lady that I never see one again," Coalan said fervently. "Thought we were all good as roasted, until you turned it." Tris ignored Coalan's protests as he swung his legs down and sat up, stifling a groan. "I need to see what's going on."

  "Beggin' your royal pardon, but you don't look like you can make it out of the tent on your own. Tell me what you want and I'll be your eyes," Coalan volunteered. "Please, Tris. Be sensible for once. The battle's over and you're the hero. But nothing's served if you push yourself until you collapse again."

  Tris tried to stand and fell back to the cot. His legs refused to hold him and as soon as he was upright, his headache returned with a vengeance. "All right," he said hoarsely, lying back down. "But only for a few more candlemarks. Then I'm going out there even if I have to prop myself up on crutches."

  Coalan gave a lopsided smile. "And you would, too. How about this? I'll be your spy for now, and while I'm out there, I'll give Fallon an update on how you're doing. You rest, and by midday, if you still need them, I'll fetch the crutches for you myself." Tris managed a weak grin. "Agreed." He closed his eyes. "I want to know how soon Senne thinks we can get a reconnaissance team into what's left of Lochlanimar. If there are survivors, we need to find them. And if anything remains of Curane and his mages, we need to know that, too."

  "Done, m'lord," Coalan promised, grabbing for his cloak. "And I'll bring lunch, too, when I come back. Can't wage war on an empty stomach," he said before he disappeared through the tent door.

  Tris lay back and closed his eyes. He knew better than any of them how unlikely it was for there to be survivors in the wreckage of Lochlanimar. Drifting between sleep and drugged unconsciousness, he opened the channels of his power, beckoning to the ghosts to give their report. The temperature in the tent plummeted as the spirits surrounded him. Tris did not have the strength to give them form, but he saw them clearly on the Plains of Spirit. Tabok and Mohr appeared before him and saluted. "All is done as you bid us, Your Majesty," Tabok said. "Mohr broke the concentration of the dark mages who called the Elemental.

  When it returned to the workshop, it consumed everything. Nothing remains. Cadoc, Dirmed and Curane burned to ash in its fury and along with them, everything in that cursed workshop. All but these." Tabok gestured to three small orbs that lay on the table, hurled from the wreckage by Mohr, the poltergeist. "You recognize this magic?" Tris nodded. "Spirit orbs. Cadoc, Dirmed and Curane didn't leave. Their souls are right there, in those orbs. And before we're through, they'll account for what they've done." The spirits from the necropolis moved forward. "We've searched the caves and tunnels beneath the castle," their leader reported. He wore the spectral remains of a style of armor several hundred years old. "There are no survivors in the passageways. We saw no one alive anywhere inside the ruins." He paused. "It would not be wise to send living men into the tunnels. The fire that swept the castle has weakened parts of the tunnel roof. It isn't safe for those who wish to remain alive."

  Next came the report from the spirits of the fallen Margolan soldiers, both those who returned to fight and those newly dead in the latest battle. Tris recognized Pell and Tabb among the ghosts, two men who had fought beside Soterius in the rebellion and who had been betrayed to their deaths by Tarq. He beckoned for them to come forward. "What report would you make?" he asked.

  "We spirits held our positions when the firestorm came," Pell replied. "It had no power to harm us. We saw ghosts aplenty rise from the ruins after the explosion, but no living man, woman or child escaped the walls."

  Standing before them on the Plains of Spirit, Tris nodded. "Very well. How many of our own have we lost?"

  From the ranks of the dead, he could hear the count begin. On and on it went, and his heart grew heavier with each number. "There are sixteen hundred and eighty-nine of us, Your Majesty, including those who fell with fever," Pell reported. "And to a man, we were honored to lay down our lives to keep Jared's bastard off the throne."

  Tris swallowed hard at the enormity of the sacrifice. "Margolan honors your memory," Tris replied. "As do I." He paused. "Would you go to your rest?"

  Pell looked back to the ranks of the dead, toward the shadowed men who stood in somber silence. Tris recognized many of the fallen as Scirranish, those who had lost families to Jared's brutality. He saw in their faces quiet resignation, the completion of duty, and a weariness that he

  was beginning to understand. Pell turned to him and nodded. "Yes, m'lord. We would be grateful if you would make the passage for us."

  On the Plains of Spirit, Tris stretched out his hands in blessing toward the spirits who desired rest. "Let the sword be sheathed, and the helm shuttered. Prepare a feast in the hall of your fallen heroes. These men have died with valor. Make their passage swift and their journey easy, until their souls rest in the arms of the Lady," he said, closing his eyes as he felt the power of the Goddess at the very edges of his senses. He was not surprised that it was Chenne, Aspect of the warrior, who came for them, wearing a golden helm and wielding a sword of flame. Tris extended his power, easing the passage for the soldiers as they turned to follow the soulsong that they heard. He grieved to see Vira, Ana and Latt from the Sisterhood among the dead. They nodded in farewell as they followed the gray paths toward the Lady's rest. Soon, the spirit plain was empty except for him. Not until he was certain he was alone did he dare to seek the one spirit he did not wish to heed his call.

  "Kiara?" he asked, hearing the fear in his voice that she would answer. "Kiara?"

  There was no answer. Exhausted and heartsick, Tris slipped from the Plains of Spirit and returned to himself. He felt stretched thin as fog, and if it weren't for the feel of the stiff cot beneath him, he might have doubted that he was more than a shade himself.

  "Tris?" It was Coalan's voice, close to his ear. "Are you awake? Uncle Ban is here to see you. He has a report from Senne and Rallan."

  Tris groaned and opened his eyes. "Send him in." He struggled to sit up, knowing that Soterius would not be fooled into thinking that he was functional.

  "Goddess! You look awful," Soterius said as he entered. "Lie down. I promise not to tell anyone." He gave a tired smile. "After seeing you turn that Elemental, half of the men think you're a god. And the other half just don't ever want to get on your bad side."

  "How long before the army can go home?"

  Soterius pulled a chair up alongside Tris's cot. "Senne doesn't think we can even get into the ruins for a couple of days. Most of the village and the manor are still on fire. We took more wounded on this battle, largely from the ones who didn't outrun the Elemental. I just saw Esme. She says we have about three hundred men who won't be able to travel for at least a week, maybe longer, even with healing.

  "And there are probably five hundred down with fever who never even made it into the last battle. They shouldn't move at all, not unless we want to take this bloody plague back with us." He shook his head. "Esme says that about half of those who get the fever die of it. And it's not a peacef
ul way to go. They're bleeding from their ears and noses, they've got bloody flux and they're burning up despite how cold it's been. I don't have a death count yet-"

  "One thousand, six hundred and eighty nine," Tris murmured.

  "How do you know that?"

  "They told me."

  "Esme and Fallon?"

  "No. The dead."

  "Damn."

  Tris met Soterius's eyes. "As soon as I can ride, I'm going back to Shekerishet. Something's happened to Kiara. And I've got to deal with the rumors before it gets completely out of control."

  "You're in no condition to make the trip, Tris," Soterius said with concern. "You'd have to push hard to make it in less than five days, and the snow's deep. Plus we have no idea how many of Curane's supporters are out there. There've been incidents with the supply wagons, snipers in the forest-" "Then send twenty men with me. I have to go."

  "I'm going with you." Tris looked up to see Coalan standing just inside the tent door, hands on hips. "You're going to need me."

  Soterius took a deep breath and finally nodded. "As you wish. It'll take a couple of days to provision you, and you'll need that time to square away the clean-up plans with Senne and Rallan." He paused. "And if there are survivors from Lochlanimar." "There aren't. The ghosts from the necropolis said that no one survived. I made the passage for the soldiers and villagers myself."

  Soterius's expression darkened. "None? Curane really had no idea what he was playing at with that Elemental, did he?" Tris could see the shadows of memory in Soterius's eyes that told him that the other remembered all too well from his own experience the fury of an Elemental unleashed against villagers trapped within a walled citadel. "Apparently not." Tris sighed. "And we've got to keep the army from bringing the plague back with them. Esme and Fallon will have to make a ruling on each man before he can leave the