Gail Z. Martin - COTN 03 - Dark Haven (V1.0)(lit)

by Gail Z. Martin

  "How are the preparations for the feast day coming?" Tris's pain dulled, but so did aware­ness of his feet and legs, making him think it might be safer to just spend the night in the chair.

  "The kitchen is laying in supplies, sire," Zachar reported. If pressed, Zachar could recount precisely which supplies and in what amounts. "Carroway has the entertainment planned. The minstrels are already rehearsing. He has a new ballad about your father that is quite moving."

  "Haunts is going to be hard this year." Tris's voice was just above a whisper. He knew he wouldn't be the only one for whom the memo­ry of Bricen and Serae—and of his sister Kait—would be as real as if their spirits were present.

  "The kingdom mourns with you, my liege," Zachar said. "We all loved them."

  "I miss them, Zachar," Tris said quietly. "I miss them all so much. Especially Kait."

  "Shekerishet has indeed been a shadowed place since Kait left it."

  "She would've loved Kiara," Tris said with a sigh. "The wedding is the only thing that keeps me going right now. Knowing that Kiara will be here with me, soon."

  Tris tried to stand, realized that the medicine had taken full effect, and gratefully accepted assistance from Zachar and Coalan to cross the room. Coalan hurried to help Tris remove his boots. Tris stretched out, pulling the blan­kets over him.

  "Sleep well, my king," Zachar said softly, leaving a lantern burning by the bedside. Tris heard the door latch behind him, and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Two days later, Tris gathered his heavy cloak against the bitter late autumn chill. Assembled in the courtyard was a delegation of the Scirranish, the families of those who had vanished under Jared's reign. More than two dozen family members gathered, on horseback, in wagons, and on foot, waiting silently for the march to begin.

  "The guards are ready," Soterius said, riding close to where Tris waited while his horse was saddled. Tris was just as glad that protocol meant someone else saddled and readied his horse for him. With healing from Esme and Taru, his arm was mending quickly, but he had no desire to test it with a heavy saddle.

  Tris glanced at the guardsmen outside the stable. "You can vouch for them?"

  Soterius nodded. "I only took guards who lost family to Jared. Believe me, there was no shortage of possibilities."

  Tris swung up into his saddle. He fidgeted, knowing that the ring mail he wore beneath his cloak was going' to make his shoulder sore by the end of the day.

  "Lovely weather," Soterius said, riding beside him. After the assassination attempt, the generals insisted that Tris take a troop of twen­ty armed men with him whenever he left Shekerishet. "What do you expect? It's only a week before

  Haunts."

  The Scirranish waited respectfully, bowing as Tris's entourage passed. Tris promised the group of survivors that he would go out to yet another of the killing fields, to a clearing a day's ride from the palace in the farmland around Huntwood. There, half-buried bones and quickly-dug mass graves were grisly evi­dence of a massacre.

  Soterius gave the signal to move out, and the soldiers fell into place. Tris and Soterius rode in the middle, with Coalan behind them. They rode in silence until they were outside the palace gates and on the road headed north.

  "Do I need to mention that Zachar didn't think this was a good idea?"

  "Should I be surprised?"

  "Twenty guards isn't a lot."

  "It seems ridiculous to march a regiment out here just to turn around and go back home again."

  Soterius shrugged. "Army training is full of pointless maneuvers. Dig a hole and fill it in. Build a wall and knock it down. Marching out and back is one of the saner things we do."

  Tris watched his friend. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

  Soterius did not answer immediately. "I don't think I'll ever be ready," he said finally. "But I have to give them their rest." His voice caught. "Danne said that father died thinking me a traitor. I would give anything to set that straight." Coalan's expression was stony, but his eyes were painfully unguarded. "Danne and Anyon will meet us there. They've been trying to get some crops in. I sent them all of my share in the reward money from King Staden to rebuild, but it's been hard. Barely any men left around there to help with the farming, let alone to rebuild the house. Some of Mikhail's brood have been doing what they can—Jared slaughtered their kin as well."

  With an early start, they would reach the killing fields by twilight, when the line between the realms of living and dead stretched thin. The soldiers carried provisions for a night in the field, and the Scirranish had brought their own supplies.

  "I actually feel safer now than in Sheker­ishet."

  "Oh?"

  Tris inclined his head toward the rag-tag band that followed the soldiers. "The Scirran-ish are as close as kin. They found each other while they searched through fields looking for bodies. They support each other—food, cloth­ing, looking after orphans. By losing a family member to Jared they gained a new family— the family of the disappeared ones. A stranger among them would be noticed as quickly as an outsider in a hill country village."

  "Which would be when they were a day's ride away."

  "Exactly. No one in the kingdom has more reason to keep me alive and keep Jared's sup­porters off the throne."

  "I've heard rumors that some of the kitchen staff actually tried to poison Jared, he took so many of their daughters."

  Tris nodded. "Carroway told me that, too. You know he always has the below-stairs news, and the kitchen staff love him like a son."

  "So do the dowagers. Now that you're almost married, I think more than a few of the court matrons have an eye on Carroway as a prize for their daughters."

  Tris grinned. "And what about you? I'd think being a general would make you all the more marriageable."

  Soterius rolled his eyes. "I'll pick for myself, thank you. You know," he said, "I did finally

  find a girl who caught my eye, while Mikhail and I were out rounding up rebels. She was a bar maid up in the high country, but she could throw a knife as well as Carroway. She and the bar owner were helping bards get out of Mar-golan before Jared could arrest them."

  "And?"

  "I sent someone to find her, but she disap­peared. Maybe it's for the best," he sighed. "I don't imagine the court would be kind to her."

  The roads were nearly deserted, and the weather turned cold as they made their way north. Their horses picked their way through the wagon ruts and mud, while bare trees on either side of the roadway shivered in the wind. Tris saw the soldiers flinch with every click of branches, scanning for danger.

  We can't stay on knife-edge forever.

  They rode without incident, reaching the killing fields as the sun was low in the sky. Although the soldiers rode much better mounts than the Scirranish who followed them, the Scirranish managed to keep up. The delegation had grown as they traveled, and now num­bered well over one hundred people. Tris admired their determination. On the outskirts of the fields, Soterius gave the signal and the procession stopped. Tris and Soterius dis­mounted. Sahila, the Scirranisb leader, slipped down from his plough horse and ambled toward them.

  Sahila bowed awkwardly. "Your Majesty," he said. "When you're ready, we'll show you where the graves are."

  "Let me prepare."

  Looking out over the land, Tris- could see where the muddy ground had been trampled. Mounds and sunken places marred the field. In the distance he could make out the ruined shadow of Huntwood. There will be time to feel later, he told himself. But not now.

  If the families of the dead seemed unperturbed to have a Summoner as king, the men of Margolan's army were still coming to terms with the idea. Tris had. no doubt that Soterius had chosen soldiers as much for their openness toward magic as for their unquestioned loyalty. It wasn't that military men doubted the existence of magic—any fool who'd been to war and faced an enemy mage knew that magic was real. Healing magic and charms for luck or love were common enough. But few
had seen high magic worked up close, and fewer still had been in the presence of a true sorcerer-caliber mage.

  Tris had done his best to prepare himself dur­ing the long ride. Candles would be difficult with the autumn wind, so Tris decided upon a token element instead to set the wardings, with handfire as a focus.

  The soldiers drew back to permit Tris to pass among them. He directed the guards to make a small pile of rocks. On this rough altar, Tris set out honey cakes and a flask of ale to honor the Goddess. When Tris reached the edge of the field, he drew his sword as an athame and made the sign of the Lady.

  Tris felt power gathering around him as the wardings rose. He set a warding over the sol­diers and the audience, and called a second warding around himself. When the wardings were in place, Tris called hand fire and focused on the pure, cold, blue flame that rested in his palm. He closed his eyes. As his concentration grew deeper, he extended his mage sense, inviting the spirits of the dead to come from their exile and join him. Tris could feel their energy all around him. As they began to manifest, the intensity of their feel­ings grew.

  Tris opened his eyes. At least two hundred ghosts stood before him. He had expected a village, perhaps thirty or forty. But this! The dead were of every age—elders, young chil­dren, men, and women. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching him, waiting. It was clear that while some had been hanged, most had perished by the sword.

  "I can't restore to you the life that was taken," Tris said to the spirits. "The usurper is dead. On my soul, no one will harm the vil­lagers of Margolan while I live. You have the word of the king."

  "We would make our peace with those who live," said the spirit of an old man.

  "Have I your word that you'll harm no one?" Tris asked. The spirits nodded.

  Tris expended more magic, enough to assure that the families of the Scirranish who huddled together on the outskirts of the field could see the revenants. A collective gasp told Tris he had been successful. He watched as the spirits moved among the living. The families cried out in recognition, sagging to the ground in grief or clinging to each other sobbing. Some of the sol­diers stepped forward to greet loved ones, unashamed of the tears they shed. "Would you go to your rest now?" Many of these spirits had. rallied to Tris's summons during the rebellion. Drawing on Tris's magic, they made themselves visible to Jared's soldiers, attacking the marauding troops. Now, their vengeance complete, the ghosts' anger was spent.

  When he had the spirits' agreement, Tris stretched out his hands toward the ghosts and spoke the words of power. The image of the Lover impressed itself in his mind, arms stretched forth in welcome, offering healing and succor. As the spirits began to wane, Tris felt them make the passage over. When the last had passed, he closed the energy behind them. Soterius had a cup ready for him and pressed it into his hands. Tris's hands shook as he accepted the brandy and downed it in one swallow. The Scirranish gathered around them.

  "Your Majesty," Sahila said, bowing low. Behind him, the others did the same until Tris motioned for them to rise. "We offer our thanks and our loyalty. Your gift is beyond price."

  "What was stolen from you can't be replaced," Tris replied. "But your loved ones rest with the Lady. They're at peace."

  Sahila made a sign of blessing. "You and your soldiers may sleep without fear tonight, my king."

  Tris inclined his head. "Thank you." When the families of the Scirranish withdrew to their encampment, the soldiers returned to their evening chores, and Soterius appeared at Tris's side.

  "Are you sure you're up to going to Hunt-wood?" Soterius asked, refilling Tris's cup and guiding him to a seat. "You look like you're going to fall over."

  "Really? Then I'm doing better than I thought." The night was chill. He startled as a soft footfall came on the other side, and looked up to see Mikhail.

  The vayash moru bowed. "We've secured the forest's edge. The wolves won't disturb you." He glanced over at Soterius. "I promised Ban that I would come to Huntwood with him. A dozen of my family' are already waiting there. They, too, lost loved ones. You'll be safe there."

  Tris looked into the dark amber liquid in his the struggle to retake the throne, he had not acquired a taste for brandy. Now, it was the surest way to a peaceful sleep. "I wonder how many more there are."

  "Of what?" Soterius replied.

  Tris motioned toward the field. "Places like this. Massacres."

  "A lot, I'd bet."

  Coalan and another young man came for­ward with their horses. Tr-is exchanged glances with Soterius. "Are you ready?"

  "It's time. Let's go."

  Half a dozen soldiers and as many vayash moru fell in behind Tris and Soterius as they rode for the manor. Coalan looked pale and nervous. Tris gasped as Huntwood Came into sight. The manor house was a ruined shell. In the moonlight, Tris could see where fire had burned the casements around the shattered windows. The sky was visible through holes in the roof. A burly man stepped through the manor's doorway.

  "Thank you for coming, your majesty," he said with a bow. Tris swung down from his horse and greeted Danne, Soterius's brother-in-law, with an embrace.

  "I'm sorry that I couldn't come sooner," Tris said. All around him, he could feel the press of familiar spirits. Bricen had been fond of the hunt, as had Soterius's father. Bricen and Tris had spent many weeks at Huntwood. The manor was as familiar to Tris as Shekerishet.

  "Where would you like to do the working?" Tris asked.

  "In the garden," Danne replied. "We haven't made as much progress on the house as we'd like, but Anyon and I got the worst of the mess in the garden cleaned up. It's quiet there."

  Anyon, Lord Soterius's groundskeeper and the only living witness to the massacre, waited for them in the garden. Tris looked across the once-manicured garden and past it to fields that should have been high with grain. Even with Danne's care, the garden showed where the soldiers had trampled the plantings and uprooted the beds. Below on the hillside was the stone fence, only partly rebuilt. The fields were empty. Beneath the trees were the bar­rows where Danne, Anyon, and Coalan had buried their dead.

  Tris moved down the steps toward the rear lawn of the manor house, motioning the others to remain where they were. Coalan moved closer to his father, and Danne laid a hand on his shoulder. Tris opened himself to the magic. The spirits obeyed his summons. Lord Soterius, a round, stout man, bore a deep wound where a sword had run him through. Lady Soterius had a knife gash in her chest. Tae, Soterius's sister and Coalan's mother, stood with her murdered children, all of whom looked to have been trampled. Servants came, bearing the scars of fire. Soterius's three older brothers, Caedmon, Innes, and Murin

  appeared, each stabbed multiple times, their necks still red with the mark of the noose.

  Tris felt the spirits' anger and sorrow. Blinding flashes of their memories seared through him. Soldiers in the livery of the king, breaking down the door, running Lord Soterius through. Lady Soterius, fleeing toward the gardens, only to face more soldiers coming from the back. Terror, as Tae and the children fled toward the woods with the sound of pounding hoof beats growing ever closer behind them. All-consuming fire as the manor burned, trapping servants between the flames and the soldiers' swords. Tris sent his power to the revenants to appear without their death wounds. Lord Soterius's ghost approached him. "I am so sorry," Tris said. Lord Soterius's ghost took Tris's hand in his own and knelt in fealty.

  "I know you are, m'boy," Lord Soterius said. "There was nothing you could have done."

  "Father—" Ban Soterius's voice was a stran­gled cry. Lord Soterius rose. "Welcome home," Lord Soterius said. "I never meant to bring this on you," Soterius said. "Anyon told me what the sol­diers said—"

  Lord Soterius shook his head. "I never believed the soldiers. I want you to know that. I know my son. Reckless, yes," he said with a sad smile. "A traitor? Never."

  Lady Soterius joined them and placed a spectral arm around Ban's shoulders.

  "The night you came back to the manor, we
saw and heard everything," Lady Soterius said. "And although our spirits can't move beyond our lands, we watched over you as best we could." Lady Soterius brushed her hand across Ban's face. "We're proud of what you did, helping Tris escape and take back the throne."

  "But I cost.all of you your lives!"

  Lord Soterius shook his head. "Our lot was cast as soon as Jared took the crown. He'd have come for us one way or t'other. Bricen and I were too close for him to dare let me live."

  Tae, Ban's sister, was as beautiful in death as she had been in life, with long, chestnut hair and wide brown eyes. Coalan had her curly hair and her smile. Danne's broad shoulders shook with tears. Coalan looked too grief-stricken to cry as his sisters and brothers crowded around him. To the side, Anyon spoke in low tones with the dozens of servants whose ghosts rose from the fields and the wreckage of the manor house. Tris glanced at Mikhail. The vayash moru stood apart, out of respect for the family's grief. And while Mikhail shed no tears, Tris thought that the vayash moru looked more troubled than Tris had ever seen him. He wondered about Mikhail's own long-lost ghosts.

  After a while, the voices grew silent. Lord Soterius's ghost left the knot of family gathered around Ban and approached Tris.

  "Would you go to your rest now?" Tris asked.

  Lord Soterius looked back at his wife, who nodded, and to Tae, who stood between Danne and Coalan with a ghostly arm around each. "We've had some time to think about this. Anyon and Danne told us about your being a Summoner and all. We talked it over and we're agreed. We'd like to stay on, watch over the place. If that's all right with the new lord of the manor," he said with a wink toward Ban.

  Ban Soterius exchanged glances with Danne and Coalan, and then took a step toward his father.

  "This will always be your home," Ban prom­ised. "I didn't dare ask, but yes, I want you to stay."

  Tris fought a pang of remembered pain, recalling his own sorrow as his mother and sis­ter parted from him forever, choosing their rest with the Lady. In Coalan's eyes, Tris could see a measure of peace, and the boy managed a sad smile. "Please stay," Coalan said quietly.