The blood king cotn-2

by Gail Z. Martin

  "Rise then, and fight. When this war is over, return to me, and I will give you passage to the Lady."

  "So it shall be." The spirits turned to their loved ones with a final parting gesture, their images growing less solid until they disappeared, leaving only the weeping of the refugees.

  "Thank you, my prince," said Nascha, and the refugees surged forward, thanking Tris through their tears.

  "There are others who await your help," Nascha said, "more families of the Scirranish. Perhaps, Prince Drayke, we'll have our answers, and you'll find your army." He bowed low once more, and the group made their way toward the door. Tris retreated to his seat, emotionally spent. Vahanian's face made his feelings plain.

  "If the rest of the people in that outer room are here for the same reason," Vahanian said, "it's going to be a very long night." He looked at Tris. "I should probably worry that watching you do this kind of thing doesn't seem strange any more. But ghosts, attacking soldiers-are you sure about that?"

  Tris shrugged. "No more than I'm sure about any of the plans. Mercenaries, ready to invade Margolan if I give the signal. Vayash moru, freed to protect themselves outside the truce. Ban and Mikhail, rallying deserters and turning them against the army. Those ghosts are of Margolan blood, just as surely as the deserters and the vayash moru. It seems to me that we're going to need all the help we can get." He paused. "Since the meeting with the Blood Council, Gabriel's carried word of the ruling

  to the vayash moru houses in Margolan. He says many of them will fight against Jared."

  "We have to ride back through Margolan to get to Shekerishet," Vahanian said. "Let's just make sure that everyone's clear about whose side we're on."

  TRUE TO NASCHA'S word, the petitioners who filled the outer room were the families of Scirranish, some from Margolan's plains and some from the Borderlands, some from the southern lands near Trevath and some from the mountains, but all came with the same story and the same plea. After the ninth bell, Gabriel came to replace Vahanian.

  As the night wore on, group after group told of atrocities that shook Tris to his core. One of the men who came to Tris's court told of searching for his missing daughter and finding a heap of bodies dumped with Shekerishet's refuse, bodies of those Arontala had captured and tortured to discover the Sisterhood's weaknesses. The man's voice broke as he described the mangled bodies, each bearing the torturer's mark. Some with crushed feet or limbs dipped in boiling oil, from which the flesh peeled and shredded. Others burned by molten lead, or blinded with hot pokers. A few, he said, had been crushed by heavy rocks, with the weight gradually increased as the victim refused to give up his secrets, until the boulders snapped through bones and suffocated the unfortunate beneath.

  One method seemed to have particularly caught Arontala's fancy, the man reported, so shaken by his own tale that even a glass of brandy did not steady his voice. For Arontala's special victims, those whom he suspected had important information, Arontala did not need his magic; all he required was a couple of starving rats, a solid bucket, and a shovel of hot coals. With the victim immobilized, Arontala placed the rats in the bucket and upended the bucket over the victim's belly, placing the hot coals atop it. As the temperature within the bucket became unbearable, the rats sought their only escape route-by gnawing through the body of the victim. He wept as he described how he had found the body of his daughter, a minor mage with the Sisterhood, eviscerated, her skull crushed. Tris felt tears hot on his own cheeks as he called forth the dead girl's spirit. The young mage corroborated her father's story, and gave details of Arontala's tortures that Tris knew would haunt his dreams.

  Sweet Chenne, Tris thought, as the enormity of Jared's crimes became clear, I knew fared was a monster, but I thought even he had limits. What would he do, if Arontala gains the powers of the Obsidian King? But deep inside, Tris knew the answer to his question. Jared would seek to extend his power over the Winter Kingdoms, beginning a war that would embroil all seven kingdoms in a disastrous conflict. The Obsidian King in Arontala's body would feed on the souls and blood of that conflict, obliging the surviving mages to band together against him, opening up the cataclysm of magicked war. I never wanted to he king, let alone have the fate of the Winter Kingdoms rest on my actions. But there isn't anybody else to do this-and there may never be.

  When the midnight bells tolled Tris motioned for the guards to shut the doors, although the outer room was still filled with petitioners. Carroway and

  Royster, who had faithfully scribed the stories of the dead, wiped at their eyes as they packed up their parchments and pens and slipped from the room. That left only Tris and Gabriel.

  Tris became aware of a ghostly presence, and turned toward the fireplace.

  "Show yourself," Tris commanded. In the shadows near the hearth, the spirit of a dark-haired young man appeared. He was dressed in the uniform of an independent soldier-a merc-and a dark stain marked the death wound in his side. But it was the young man's eyes that looked familiar, and Tris searched his memories. A little older, harder, yes, that's it. The ghost resembled General Gregor, the soldier who had captured them when they crossed Gibbet Bridge. He remembered Carina's story about her lost lover, Gregor's brother, and knew who the spirit was.

  "Ric?" Tris asked, bidding the spirit come closer. He was a handsome young man, with the confi-. deuce of an accomplished swordsman and the bearing of a professional man of war.

  "Lord of the Dead, a word with you, if I might," Ric said, bowing low.

  "Why have you come?" Tris watched the young man closely. He remembered Carina's tearful confrontation with Gregor when she pled their cause, seeking their release. Two of a kind? Gregor had taunted Carina in their cell, when Vahanian had come to her defense. Though Ric and Vahanian looked little alike, Tris could see a certain resemblance in their manner. Carina's lost one lover to the sword. No wonder she's skittish around Jonmarc.

  "My lord," said Ric. "Seven years ago this night, I died in the arms of my betrothed. I couldn't sever the bond between us, and it almost killed Carina. Since your return to Principality, Pve watched over her, but I can't show myself in my own strength."

  "What would you have me do?"

  "I never wished to see her grieve for me. Perhaps, my lord, if you can let her see me, I might convince her to let me rest, and she could live without guilt."

  "I'll warn you," said Tris. "I'm rather protective of Carina. She's kinswoman to my own betrothed, and soon kin to me. She's been though a lot, and she's worn ragged by the training we've been doing. If you can give her peace by making yourself known, then do it. But if you'll only bring her grief, leave her to those among the living who love her."

  Ric looked pained. "I would never wish to bring her grief. I swear it by the Lady on my soul. Carina blames herself for my death, when I know it was in the hands of the Lady. I want to free her to move on, and take my rest."

  Tris looked at Ric in silence for another moment. Then he turned to Gabriel. "Send for Carina."

  Though it was late, Carina arrived quickly, giving Tris to guess that she had still been up studying the old healing tomes. "Are you ill? Is there a problem?" Carina rushed to where Tris stood. Then she froze, sensing a presence in the room. Before she could turn, Tris took Carina gently by the shoulders.

  "There's someone who wants to talk with you," Tris said carefully, seeing a mixture of fear and pain in Carina's eyes. "He swears he wishes you well. If you don't want to see him, I'll send him away."

  "No." Her voice was tight. "It's all right."

  Squaring her shoulders, Carina turned slowly toward the shadows near the fireplace. From their depths, Ric stepped forward. Tris lent him the power to make himself visible without his death wound, hoping to spare Carina.

  "I didn't think you would ever come back," Ric said.

  Carina did not try to brush away the tears that slid down her cheeks. "I didn't want to. Gregor was right. It was my fault you died. I didn't have the right to live when I couldn't save you."
>
  Ric moved closer. "Gregor's an ass. I tried to push you clear, when my spirit left my body, but… it's all a little strange. I couldn't get you untangled, and I didn't want to pull you with me. I stayed with you, at the citadel, but you couldn't see me. Then Cam came and took you, and I didn't know what became of you until I felt you cross into the city."

  "I'm so sorry-"

  Ric reached out to touch her cheek. "Enough of that now, love. I've watched over you since you crossed Gibbet Bridge. You can't let me become an excuse to stop living, Carina. You've mourned long enough."

  "I wanted to be faithful to you."

  Ric smiled sadly. "And you have been. Long enough, my love. Your guilt binds me to this place, and I want to rest. You have to let me go."

  "How can I let you go, when I love you?"

  "Keep my memory," Ric said, touching her hair. "But you're too young to pine for the dead. Especially when there is another worthy brother-at-arms who loves you."

  Carina blushed. "I don't-I mean, we haven't-"

  Ric chuckled, and took her hands. "You owe me neither apologies nor explanations, love. I came back to give you my blessing, because I fear that without it, from my own lips, you'll continue to punish yourself. Follow your heart, Carina. Whatever you decide, do it because of what you feel, not out of imagined duty to me."

  Carina squeezed her eyes closed against the tears. Though insubstantial, Ric reached out for her, folding his arms around her. "Had I been a little faster with my sword, we might have had the future we dreamed about," Ric said. "But that's closed to us. Will you give me your promise that you'll let me go?" He smiled sadly as Carina wiped away her tears. "Even in the arms of the Lady, I'll see, and I'll know."

  "If that's what you want."

  "I want it because I love you still," said Ric. "I don't want you to be lonely. So tonight, perhaps, we are both set free?"

  "I'm never going to stop loving you, you know that."

  "I know. But there is room in your heart for more than one love."

  Tris stretched out toward Ric's spirit and felt a sense of completion, of peaceful resignation, settle over the ghost.

  One more small task, m'lord, before you send me to my rest, the spirit asked as Tris began the passing over ritual. Give me the power, I ask of you, to make myself visible to one more person.

  Tris paused on the Plains of Spirit, and understood. I'll help you, Tris promised. When you're ready, return to me, and I'll give you rest.

  Carina stood in silence, still staring at the spot where Ric's ghost had vanished.

  Tris put his arms around her and let her sob against his shoulder. "Why don't you let us walk you back to your room? I'll get Kiara to stay with you."

  "Thank you," she murmured, and looked up at Tris. "Thank you from both of us."

  IT HAD BEEN a very long day. Vahanian threw his cloak across a chair in his room and poured himself a glass of brandy. Between the Court of Spirits and the bitter wind that howled outside, he did not think he would ever feel warm again. Sipping the brandy, Vahanian edged closer to the fire.

  The air in the room took on a sudden chill, and Vahanian recognized the prickle at the back of his neck. He had felt it all evening, when he stood guard over Tris in the Court of Spirits.

  "Who's there?" Vahanian challenged, his hand.falling from habit to his sword.

  Just beyond the edge of the fire's glow, a ghost began to grow solid, until the image of a young man dressed in the uniform of an Eastmark mere stood before him. It was the same ghost he had glimpsed in the crowd at Winterstide. Vahanian took in the man's uniform, the stain of his death wound, and the uncanny resemblance to Gregor. He felt a mix of apprehension and jealousy.

  "You know who I am?" The spirit lifted his hands, palms up and open in a gesture of truce.

  "Yes."

  "Take good care of Carina. Watch over her, and keep her from harm." The ghost raised a hand in farewell and, to Vahanian's astonishment, faded without another word.

  Gradually the fire warmed the room, removing the only evidence of the ghost's presence. But Vahanian sat staring at the embers, brandy untouched, long into the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AT THE PALACE, preparations continued for the beginning of the assault on Margolan. Tris, Vahanian, and Kiara met more frequently with the mercenaries and Staden's military advisors. Carina and Carroway found a lull in their own schedules. Tris's practice at the Sisterhood still consumed part of his time. But as his skills in magic and defense sharpened, Carina's talents were needed less intensively, which gave her an opportunity to recover from the strain. With the end to the Winterstide festivities, Carroway found respite from the holiday parties and the constant demand for entertainment. Carroway and Carina kept each other company in the sitting room near the dining hall, where Carina prepared her potions and powders. Carroway took advantage of the lull to work on new songs, intending to create several haunting ballads and stirring tunes that would help to inspire his listeners to action. Royster often joined them, working with Carroway on both song and history. Some evenings Berry dropped in for a game of tarle, but she had turned in early this night, leaving Carina and Carroway alone.

  For several candlemarks, Carina worked on her powders, grinding up freshly dried leaves and roots with a mortar and pestle and heating them in the fire. Carroway's tunes were lively, and made the candle-marks pass quickly. Later, his songs grew pensive. One, a haunting tune, told of a beautiful musician with her silver flute, who played so perfectly that the spirits took her. Carina found herself drawn into Carroway's newest ballad, a sad tune about a spirited young girl killed by brigands. Only at the end did she realize that it was an ode to Tris's sister, Kait.

  Ready for a break from her work and stretching to relieve her aching back, Carina drew up a chair and watched Carroway as he tinkered with the fingering on the lute. He tried one chord and then another, with different embellishments, until he found the perfect match. Not for the first time, Carina was deeply impressed with the bard's talents as a musician.

  She clapped when he finished, and Carroway grinned sheepishly. "You're very kind." Carroway tilted back in his chair. "But the songs are still too rough for a real performance."

  Carina leaned forward against the table and rested her chin on her folded arms. "You know, I realized as you were playing that you and Ban are still the mysterious ones."

  Carroway chuckled. "Mysterious? My, that sounds quite romantic."

  Carina smiled. "I mean it. I've learned a lot about Tris and Jonmarc, but you and Ban have said very little, except about your escape the night of the coup." She looked from the lute to Carroway's eyes. "I'm not surprised that a bard of your talent would be at court. And Ban is a good soldier and a loyal captain at arms. But you're both closer to Tris than your roles would suggest. So tell me, what's your story?"

  Carroway set his lute aside and took a sip from a glass of port, silent for so long that Carina wondered if she said something amiss. "My story isn't very important," Carroway said finally. "Ban likely feels the same."

  He ran a hand back through his long, blue-black hair. Carina wondered why the handsome young man seemed so completely unattached, when the ladies of the court vied for his attention. On the road, disheveled and dirty, Carroway had charmed uncounted serving wenches out of dinner and ale and bartered his music for shelter for the group and food for their horses. Carroway stood as tall as Tris but he was thin by comparison, though Carina knew the bard was much stronger than he looked. Fine-boned and long-fingered, he cut a handsome figure in the opulent court clothes that he so obviously enjoyed wearing. Light blue eyes under long lashes were as pretty as any maiden's, and his classic, even features reminded Carina of the sculptures of the Lady's companions of legend. Yet for all his talent and beauty, Carina sensed a vulnerability in Carroway that intrigued her.

  "Ban's father was a general under King Bricen. He was injured and left the army to go to his manor house up in the high country. Not quite as far
north as the Borderlands, where Jonmarc is from, but well into the northern mountains. Bricen and Lord Soterius were famous for their hunts together. I don't know that Ban ever had much thought of a career other than the guard.

  "Ban was fostered out to Bricen's court as soon as he was old enough to squire. Tris knew him from the hunts-Bricen had a hunting lodge a candle-mark's ride north of Shekerishet, and both Ban and Lord Soterius used to join the king there." Carroway smiled sadly. "Tris and Kait spent as much time at the lodge as they could. Tris kept his dogs there away from Jared; truth be told, he and Kait preferred the lodge because it kept them away from Jared, too. Jared never had the patience for the hunt, although he relished the kill."

  Carroway sighed, remembering a life now gone forever. "My father's lands were in between Bricen's lodge and Lord Soterius's holdings. I was the eldest of six. My father realized early on that my gifts lay with music. So he fostered me to court early, asking Bricen for an apprenticeship with the court minstrels. I was only ten when I went to live at court, and I was quite lonely. Bit of a lost soul, really."

  He looked toward the fire, and sipped his port. "Tris and I hit it off immediately. Looking back, I guess Tris needed a friend as much as I did. Jared was an awful bully, and Tris and Kait often took a thrashing from him. Tris was always trying to protect Kait; he got between her and Jared and took her beating more times than I care to remember. All except for the last time."

  Carina touched his hand, trying to draw him away from the dark memories of the coup. "Tell me more about what it was like when you came to court."

  "Bricen always seemed larger than life, hale and in good spirits most of the time. Queen Serae was so beautiful, so elegant. I think she felt sorry for me, because she 'adopted' me from the start. Tris and Kait and I were inseparable, and whenever Ban could be free of his squire's duties, he joined us, too."

  "Tris said that Bava K'aa trusted you to help with his training," Carina supplied.