The blood king cotn-2

by Gail Z. Martin

  For as long as Tris could remember, the closer one got to Shekerishet, the more prosperous the surroundings had looked. The city was full of wealthy merchants and tradesmen who did a thriving business. Their homes and shops reflected their prosperity. The city had bustled with taverns, shops, and theaters, offering tempting diversions and trinkets for wealthy and poor alike.

  All that had changed. As the roads grew more familiar, Tris grieved at the differences he saw. Once-thriving inns were empty. Broken windows went unmended. Farm fields stood abandoned, either burned or still in the remnants of the last season's crops, when they should have been plowed and well into new growth. Some villages were populated only by ghosts, old people, and cripples, those who could not or would not flee.

  Beggars lined the roads. Even more disturbing were the reasons for their begging. Before, the beggars might have been old blind men or cagy urchins looking for a few coins. Now the beggars were men and women of every age, bearing the scars of war and violence. Children missing limbs, their faces marred by fire. Disheveled women with small children at their skirts, clutching their tattered shawls around them like the remnants of their dignity as they begged for food. War-crippled men whose eyes reflected horrors of which they could not speak, discarded by an army that took them by force, and then sent back to villages that no longer existed. Tris felt the beggars' eyes on them as they passed. While he knew that the ragged villagers did not recognize him for who he was, he felt the responsibility of the crown more heavily than before. Tris's gambit was the only hope these wretched souls had; he was well aware of how uncertain the chance of success remained.

  The city, when they reached it, was even worse.

  The palace city had been well known for its welcoming, easy feel. Travelers came from all over the Winter Kingdoms to experience its theaters, music gardens, and the taverns that sold Margolan's famous dark, rich ale. Trade flowed from all corners of the realm, with festivals and caravans stopping on the green outside the city's edge. Before the coup, the city had been filled with languages from every kingdom, from across the Northern Sea or the far-away realms of the Southern Kingdoms, below Trevath's borders. Acolytes and pilgrims came from throughout Margolan to make homage at the Childe's sacred grove and the great shrine to the Mother Aspect.

  Now, the streets were sparsely populated. Although Tris and the others stayed away from the heart of the city, the outskirts were bad enough. Residents avoided eye contact, and seemed to skitter for shelter like bugs in bright light. Guards roamed the streets in groups of twos and threes, some with snarling dogs on chains. Those without dogs carried quarterstaffs, bouncing them against their hands with casual malice. In less than a year the city's vibrant spirit had disappeared, and the people on the streets looked hard-worn, dressed in muted colors as if they feared to draw attention to themselves. Shops were boarded up. "Traitor to the crown" was scrawled on the door to one pillaged shop. In the green along the edge of town, where musicians once played and caravan tents used to flutter stood a huge gibbet. Ten fresh bodies still hung from their nooses, twisting in the summer breeze. Tris had to close his eyes, remembering the dark sending at the citadel. Hanging from posts along the green were other bodies, tarred and encased in a form-fitting wire cage to keep the vultures away. It was clear that in King Jared's Margolan, fear reigned with as strong a hand as the king.

  ONLY A DAY remained before the Hawthorn Moon. Tris knew there would be no second chances. He brooded over strategy, considering every scenario. Kiara seemed to sense Tris's mood, riding alongside him in silence. She neither pressed him for conversation, nor avoided it when he sought her out as a respite from his own dark thoughts. She gave no hint to her own fears. Jae was restless, flying on ahead of them then doubling back, as if they could not travel quickly enough to suit the little gyregon. Carroway juggled obsessively any time they were not riding. Carina and Vahanian resumed their verbal sparring. Of them all, only Gabriel did not appear concerned.

  "We shouldn't go further tonight," Gabriel announced. The roads had grown increasingly familiar. Tris recognized the rutted highway as the same route along which they had fled nearly a year ago.

  "I can't wait to see today's accommodations," Carroway murmured under his breath.

  "Our lodging is just around the corner," Gabriel said, nudging his horse onward. Gabriel was the

  first to clear the bend. When the others joined him, they reined in their horses to stare at the tumbledown building.

  "It's the same bloody ghost inn we started at," Carroway said.

  The burned-out remains of the Lamb's Head Inn hulked in the shadows. But unlike the night of their escape it now appeared to be no more than it was, the ruined shell of an old tavern, unfit for even beggars.

  "My liege," a man's voice called in a hoarse whisper from the shadows of the ruins. From the shadows stepped Comar Hassad, the swordsman's ghost who had led them away from the city on the night of Jared's coup.

  "Hello, old friend," Tris said, expending the small bit of power necessary to make the ghost visible to the others.

  "We've been awaiting your return, my liege," Hassad's ghost said, bowing. "Much evil has been done."

  "I know."

  "Follow me," Hassad said, beckoning them to lead their horses to the back of the ruined inn. There, enough of a stable remained to both hide and shelter the horses. When the horses were tended, Hassad showed them to an opening in the inn's foundation that led down into the cellars. Tris longed in vain for a fire, but they ate a cold supper from the supply of dried meats and fruits, fresh cheese and wine that Lars had provided for their journey. Gabriel took his leave, returning a few can-dlemarks later with a satisfied smile, his pallor lessened.

  "The spirits will watch over you," Hassad said. Other ghosts appeared from the mist to join him, standing silent and indistinct in the shadows. "The palace ghosts are still banished from Shekerishet," the slain soldier cautioned. "They've grown angry and impatient for vengeance. I don't know if even so strong a mage as yourself, my liege, can control their fury once Arontala's spell is broken."

  Tris could feel the ghosts that swirled unseen around them. They were familiar, ghosts he had known since childhood, the ghosts of Shekerishet. This time the spirits did not come to him seeking intercession. These were the ghosts of his ancestors, of loyal family retainers, and of oath-bound guards who had died long ago in the line of duty. The ghosts came to him offering their support and condolences. If he was able to break the spell that banished the ghosts from the palace, Tris knew they would swarm back on their own accord to seek vengeance against Jared and Arontala. If so, they might help to turn the odds. Just knowing that the spirits supported his quest and pledged their fealty was enough to lift his mood from the fears and nightmares that had troubled his sleep.

  "I'll stand guard," Gabriel said.

  "I'll leave you now," Hassad said, his form growing less distinct. "The castle ghosts are watching over you. You'll be safe tonight." In the blink of an eye, the spirit was gone.

  "Somehow, knowing that many ghosts are hovering over me just doesn't make me feel any better," Vahanian muttered as they picked their way through the littered cellar. Gabriel took up a post near the entrance, just beyond where the moonlight turned to shadow.

  "How can it still be this cold in Margolan and it's nearly the Hawthorn Moon?" Carina muttered, wrapping her cloak around her. "I thought only Isencroft was cold this late in the year."

  "Let's go over things again," Kiara suggested. "Having a plan makes me feel better." Tris conjured faint hand fire in the windowless basement, enough for them to see each other's faces.

  Carroway leaned back against one of the thick foundation timbers and took a bite of his dried meat before he replied. "All right. Once we get some rest, Carina and I leave for the city, using the festival crowd for cover. I don't think we'll have any trouble finding help from the hedge witches. We'll meet up with Helki and the others, and see who they've recruited. That gives us most of the day
to look for Alyzza and get the crowd going. We'll be in position before you head for Shekerishet."

  "Once we're in the city, we raise as many diversions as we can," Carina chimed in. "If we do our job, the city garrison will be so busy they won't have time to worry about what's going on up at the castle."

  "While we drop in on them from above." Tris double-checked the climbing ropes they had brought with them and Vahanian made a final inspection of their cuirasses. Kiara honed their weapons. Vahanian carefully counted the arrows for his crossbow, adjusted the bow's string, and assured himself that each arrow was sharp and straight.

  "Let's hope they're not watching the moon when we scale the cliffs," Kiara added edgily.

  "Gabriel and Jae can help with a diversion there," Tris replied. "Assuming Arontala doesn't sense me coming before we set foot inside the castle."

  Kiara stopped what she was doing to rummage in her pack. She withdrew the spelled cloak and offered it to Tris.

  "Take this," she said. "Maybe it will hide your magic just long enough to slip by Arontala."

  When they were certain that their preparations were complete, they settled down to rest. Carroway stretched out on a board that gave him some protection from the damp dirt of the cellar floor. Vahanian offered to share a stone slab and his cloak with Carina. Kiara slipped close to Tris on a ruined door that kept them off the hard ground, nestling in his cloak while Jae slept at her feet.

  Before long, Tris could hear the measured breathing that told him his companions were soundly asleep.

  Gabriel left them at dawn for the deeper reaches of the cellar. When Tris was certain he would not wake Kiara he slipped away, covering her carefully with his cloak. He walked to the wall, where a chink in the foundation permitted the sun to send a weak shaft of light into the basement.

  You have done well, Tris, a voice sounded in his mind. Tris recognized his grandmother's voice and wheeled. In the shadows of the cellar he could see the robed woman's outline, one hand upraised in greeting.

  Grandmother, he said, falling to one knee. I've missed you.

  The sorceress' face softened into a smile. You've learned the lessons required of you.

  Will they be enough? Tris asked.

  Bava K'aa's spirit gazed at him, her eyes both wise and stern. No one can see that. It's for you to determine. Beware the orb. It is the doorway to the abyss. The spirit of the Obsidian King is strong and terrible. I hope that when the spirits are freed, if they survive, that Lemuel may be among them. Serae and Kait as well.

  She paused, her outline growing more and more diffuse as she made a sign of blessing. The Lady keeps Her own. And with that her form disappeared, but her words lingered in Tris's mind.

  Still kneeling, Tris looked up at the rotting timbers overhead. "Lady Bright," he murmured, "I've sworn my sword to you to bring Jared and his mage to account. Take my life if you must, but let me free Margolan from this evil."

  Nothing stirred, not even the rats that infested the cellar. Tris looked at his sleeping companions and felt his throat tighten. It would be a miracle of the Lady's own working if they all lived through this campaign. He had told no one, but the dreams of the dark sending had returned to him, making his sleep fitful. They would need the blessing of the Lady and more than a little luck to live to tell about their adventure.

  Mid-morning, Carina and Carroway made ready to head into the city. Carroway checked the pouches at his belt one more time for his fireworks.

  "It's time," Carroway said, managing a reckless grin. "Come on Carina, let's give them a performance to remember."

  Carina hugged Kiara. Tris clapped Carroway on the shoulder, at a loss for what to say. In turn, Vahanian bid him farewell and wished him the blessing of the Lady.

  "Watch your back," Vahanian warned Carina as he kissed her goodbye. "Good luck."

  Even in the dim light, Tris could see the healer blush. "The Lady's hand be on you as well," she murmured. She took Carroway's hand and made her way out of the cellar.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CARROWAY AND CARINA made their way into the palace city, hidden by the crowds that came to celebrate the Hawthorn Moon. Above them on the cliffside, the castle Shekerishet loomed dark and watchful. But today the city's attention was not on the palace and its king, but on the revelry that marked the coming of the solstice.

  The streets were a solid press of people, crowding to see curbside shows or buy sweetmeats from the vendors that hawked their wares along the thoroughfares. It was obvious that this year, the festival-goers planned to spend as little time in the city with its guards as possible. They arrived in droves late in the day just before the festival's start, and Carroway bet that the crowds would clear out very quickly once the festivities were over. It was a stark contrast to the nearly empty streets just days before. The smells of roasting meat and hearty ale wafted from the makeshift booths, and pilgrim and villager alike eagerly pressed around the carts. The crowd was in a festival mood, despite the guards who lingered at the edge of the town square. Whether the guards expected trouble or merely meant to make their presence felt Carroway did not know, but the feeling of being watched made him anxious for the night's work to begin.

  Carroway and Carina made their way through the crowded streets, toward the small tavern where they had arranged to meet Macaria, Helki, and Paiva. Carina hoped that Carroway's friends had been able to recruit more minstrels to their cause. She relaxed, just slightly, when they passed an unfamiliar bard whose song she recognized. It was one of the new songs Carroway and his friends at the inn had been practicing, songs designed to spread dissent. Quickly, Carina glanced over her shoulder, but the guards were on the other side of the square, breaking up a fight between two drunks. Before the guards returned, the dissident bard vanished into the crowd.

  "I know them!" Carroway whispered to Carina.

  "The guards?"

  Carroway shook his head. "The 'drunks.'" They're bards. I'll bet ten skrivven the fight was staged to distract the guards."

  Carina smiled. "Sounds like the party is starting without us."

  They rounded a corner and found a storyteller surrounded by a small crowd. Two guards lingered at the edge of the group, waiting for the storyteller to say something out of line. But before he reached the climax of his tale, a burst of flame and a puff of

  smoke started from a merchant's cart at the far end of the block. The two guards sprinted toward the disturbance, where a hunched old woman in a tattered robe was muttering and wringing her hands, talking to herself. The guards tried to extinguish the fire, which seemed to grow larger the more the old woman tried to help. Finally, the guards shooed the woman away. Meanwhile, the storyteller's tale had veered into a dramatic recounting of a peasant uprising, a bloody tale of a corrupt king brought to justice. By the time the guards put out the fire, the storyteller was gone.

  "Look there," Carina said, pointing into the crowd at a short, robed figure that ducked around a corner and disappeared from view.

  "What?" Carroway asked, peering over the crowd. "I don't see anything."

  "Come on," Carina said, grabbing him by the wrist. They pushed their way through the crowd, past a trio of puppeteers and their bawdy show to follow the robed figure. It was the old woman who had been with the burning cart. They caught up half way down the street, and Carina broke into a broad smile.

  "It is you!" she cried, as the stranger glanced up.

  The cowl fell back to reveal Alyzza. The old hedge witch smiled a wide, broken-toothed grin and clasped Carina into a hearty embrace.

  "By the Lady, I knew you'd come!" Alyzza exclaimed, greeting Carroway with equal heartiness. "I knew if you were still alive, you'd be in Margolan for the Hawthorn Moon." Her eyes narrowed. "Will the deed be done tonight?"

  Carina nodded, glancing around them. "We're to make sure there's enough of a ruckus in the city that the guards are distracted," she whispered. "There's not much time."

  Alyzza clapped in glee. "Oh that's fine with me
!" the old hedge witch exclaimed. "I haven't raised a real fuss since before you were born. Just tell me what you need, and I'll keep them hopping." Once Carroway told Alyzza about the plot to enlist the minstrels' help, she motioned for Carina and Carroway to follow her, leading them through the feast day crowds toward the Bristle Boar Inn where Macaria and the others waited.

  Helki was waiting for them at the bar. When they entered, he rose and walked toward a private room in the back. Without a word of greeting, Carroway and the others followed him, remaining silent until the minstrel closed the door behind them.

  "Are you sure we're safe here?" Carina asked.

  Helki nodded. "The innkeeper's daughter disappeared when she went up to the palace after the coup. She'd been seeing your friend Soterius. When she went looking for him, she was never heard from again." Helki's expression made clear his distaste. "Our innkeeper bears no love for the crown."

  Macaria and Paiva greeted both Carroway and Carina with embraces, and Carroway was heartened to see a dozen other bards and musicians packed into the small room. "This isn't all of us, not by half," Paiva said. "We've been recruiting since we left you at the Sparrow's Roost. There must be five score of us, or more. We've been playing all over town for the last few days." She grinned wickedly.

  "Saving our best songs for this evening, naturally. But Lady True! What a reaction there's been, even

  to the ditties we've sung so far-mark my words, the crowd is angry. With enough ale, they'll be spoiling for a fight!"

  "Our innkeeper enlisted a few of his friends around town," Macaria said. "Especially the ones near the guards' posts. The later the night gets, the more they'll fill the glasses, without extra charge. By the Crone! We should have the town drunk and fighting by tenth bells." Macaria laughed as Carroway pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek in glee.

  "So it's true what they've told us? Prince Martris is returned to win the throne?" asked one of the minstrels, a dark haired boy who held a fiddle in one hand. Carina looked from the boy to Carroway, and then to the other musicians crowded into the small room.