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

by Gail Z. Martin

  "Any idea who was behind it?" Donelan did not move from where he and Kalcen sat by the fire.

  "The men were bewitched," Tris replied, gritting his teeth as Carina worked on his ankle. "Memories wiped clean. No idea who sent them. Even the ghosts couldn't say."

  "Our guards are instructed to be of whatev­er help they can in securing the festivities," added Kalcen. "If your enemies were bold enough to strike in Staden's court at Winter-stide, a gathering such as this one may be irresistible."

  "We thought we'd taken every precaution," Tris said, feeling the warmth of Carina's healing magic ease the pain in his ankle. Kiara took his hand. "Are you all right?"

  "just a little shaken up. So much for wedding day jitters!"

  He kissed the back of her hand. "Still game to go through with it?"

  "Absolutely," she said, bending to kiss his cheek.

  "We're guessing that whoever sent the sol­diers hoped for an incident to cause Isencroft to force its princess to return home," remarked Kalcen.

  "At least if the attackers were Margolense, we know they're not those damned Isencroft divisionists," Donelan replied. "Kalcen and I are agreed: the best thing is to show our soli­darity with Margolan."

  "Thank you," Tris said raggedly as Carina completed her healing.

  "See if you can put weight on it without help," Carina prompted. Tris stood and shift­ed his weight, finding that he could stand without wincing. "I'm afraid that's all there's time for—we're due for the ceremony in a candlemark. If there's time later, I can do more."

  "This should get me through," Tris said. He looked down at his ruined clothes. "The wags at court will talk more if I show up looking like this than if I had an arrow in my back. I'd bet­ter go get ready, and leave Kiara to her preparations."

  Jonmarc stood as Tris headed for the door. "I was headed that direction anyhow. I'll make sure you get where you're going."

  "You know, you're supposed to be a guest."

  "Old habits are hard to break."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "THERE'S AN easier way to do this," Jon- marc said to Carina as they waited for the royal wedding to begin.

  "What, elope?" Carina shot back. Beside her, Cam snickered.

  Trumpets blared as the guests in Shekerishet's great room jostled for a good look at the bride and groom. Tris and Kiara entered together. Kiara's wedding gown was in the Isencroft tra­dition; red silk, slim cut, slit almost to the hip, and below that, billowing silk trousers in vibrant orange, the colors of flame, sacred to the Aspect Chenne. The colors made her dusky skin glow. A wide, ornately embroidered sash accentuated Kiara's waist, and flowing sleeves almost covered her hands. Her auburn hair was loose and long, and a lace-like headdress of golden mail, finely crafted and embellished with small gems, fitted closely over her hair, framing her face. Around her neck glittered an opulent necklace in the Eastmark style with matching earrings of gold that cascaded nearly to her shoulders. On her right hand was the signet ring of the heir to the Isencroft throne.

  "I'm just saying it doesn't have to be this complicated," Jonmarc replied. "Out in the borderlands, it's a lot simpler. Make and accept the proposal, give a gift and make a vow, 'act' on the commitment—and that's it. You're mar­ried."

  "You wouldn't expect anything at court to be that simple, would you?" Cam whispered with a grin. "It would put people out of work."

  Tris tugged at his waistcoat. Jonmarc knew it had taken Crevan and Coalan nearly the full candlemark to put together a suitable replace­ment for his ruined wedding finery, and despite his dislike for court politics, he was well aware that the gossips would be alert for any impro­priety.

  Coalan and Crevan had made a suitable replacement. Tris wore a long coat of black brocade with wide cuffed sleeves ornamented with golden buttons and trim. The coat reached below his knees over high black boots and black breeches. A waistcoat of midnight blue gave a nod to Margolan's traditional wed­ding colors. His sword hung beneath the long coat, less noticeable but easily within reach,

  and the waistcoat and high, ruffled silk shirt hid a layer of thin mail beneath it. A more for­mal crown replaced the circlet he preferred. On his right hand, Tris wore a gold ring with the seal of the crown of Margolan. At his throat, Jonmarc knew Tris wore the metal chit on a leather strap that they had found on their jour­ney, the talisman that dispelled magicked beasts. Tris confided that he had not removed it since discovering its meaning at the Library in Westmarch, and saw no reason to set it aside now. From the way Tris walked, Jonmarc could guess that his ankle was throbbing.

  "So tell me, Jonmarc. How are weddings done in Dark Haven?" Cam asked in a casual tone. Jonmarc swallowed wrong on his wine and began to cough. Carina glared at Cam and slapped Jonmarc on the back.

  "Cam," Carina said warningly. Jae, who was curled up on Carina's lap until Kiara and Tris were finished with the ceremony, raised his head questioningly, and then lay down again.

  Cam grinned. "Just checking. If the guests are supposed to bring armor or drink blood, I just want to be prepared."

  Jonmarc cleared his throat and took a sip of water. "I leave that kind of stuff up to Gabriel. But I don't think we'd get this many people if we invited everyone in Dark Haven."

  The great room was crowded with the kings and their retinues and with the invited nobility and special guests. Hundreds more filled the bailey, anxious for a glimpse of the royal cou­ple. Carroway and his band of minstrels performed from a stage in one corner of the room. Candles and mirrors glittered, filling the room with light. Velvet banners and colorful ribbon streamers hung from the ceiling.

  Tris and Kiara moved down the center aisle on a wide blue carpet that marked the way to the dais at the front. The dais was banked in candles over reflecting basins of water. Large vases filled with fresh flowers made a semi cir­cle within the banks of candles. Out-of-season blooms were the handiwork of a land mage. Their sweet smell filled the room.

  "I've been to a lot of Isencroft weddings, and they didn't look like this," Cam said to Carina.

  "It's a ritual wedding. Most of the weddings you've seen are closer to what Jonmarc talked about. They're a handfasting. It's all most peo­ple bother with. A ritual wedding joins soul as well as heart," Carina replied. Jonmarc took her hand and met her eyes so intently that she blushed and looked down, giving his hand a squeeze.

  Tris and Kiara reached the dais. They knelt facing each other. Tris heard it rumored that a ritual wedding bound the soul. Now, as a Sum-moner, he was sure of it, just as he was equally sure it was the commitment he wanted to make.

  Sister Landis spread her hands in blessing as they knelt, and made the sign of the Lady above their heads. She began to chant and walked a protective circle around the wed­ding couple. Tris could feel the warding she set in place. Within the circle of power, Lan­dis took a heavy chalice from a small altar. Landis raised the chalice four times, one to each corner of the room. Then from a flagon on the altar, Landis poured red wine into the chalice.

  "Blessed be the elements. Wine from the soil. Fire from the sun." A tongue of flame flickered briefly over the chalice. "Waters of the oceans," she said, magicking a stream of water from her cupped palm into the chalice, "and the winds of the sky." She made a swirling motion with her free hand, palm down, over the cup, so that its contents made a vortex.

  "Do you consent to be bound in life and in death, in body and soul?"

  Tris and Kiara answered as one. "We do."

  Landis took Tris's left hand and turned it palm up. From a sheath at her belt, she with­drew a ceremonial dagger. Landis drew the tip of the blade across his palm, opening a thin red cut in one half of the Lady's symbol. She flicked droplets of the blood into the chalice, repeating the same action with Kiara. Then Landis took the mantle from around her shoul­ders. She pressed Tris and Kiara's hands together so that their palms touched, wrapped her mantle around their wrists, and folded it over their hands. "Drink."

  Landis held the cup first for Tris and then
for Kiara. All around him, Tris could feel the aura of old, strong magic. His palm burned where the fresh cut mingled their blood. He remem­bered what it had felt like during the final battle with the Obsidian King, when he had entwined Kiara's soul with his own. And while he spoke no words of power himself, he felt something shift in his own soul, a sense of her presence. Landis held the cup for Kiara, and on the Plains of Spirit, Tris could feel the nearness of Kiara's spirit as the wine made its bond. Landis lifted the chalice toward the sky," and a wave of fire swept across the banks of candles.

  "Rejoice," Landis proclaimed. "You are joined in the law of the kingdoms and in the presence of the Lady, in life and in death—and beyond."

  Tris leaned forward and kissed Kiara, and the crowd cheered. Landis removed the stole from around their wrists, and when they unclasped their hands, the cuts were healed on their palms except for a thin pink scar.

  As Tris and Kiara descended from the dais, the minstrels' music shifted into one of Mar-golan's traditional wedding dances. There was no way to avoid having to join in the dances. Tris found himself swept into a fast-moving circle dance between Cam and Donelan, while

  Kiara was whisked away by Berry into a circle with Carina, Alle, and Lady Eadoin. Tris grit­ted his teeth and used a flicker of magic to reinforce the binding Carina had used on his ankle, hoping to make it through the dance before his ankle gave out on him. Servants moved through the crowd with goblets of wine and. pitchers of ale, and Tris could smell roast­ing venison. One dance tune followed another, each more quick of step and complicated than the last. Dancers moved from circles to lines and back once more as the music dictated. The music and dancing continued until Crevan came to the great room door. With a flourish of trumpets, the seneschal announced that the banquet was served.

  It took all of Tris's will not to limp as he clasped Kiara's hand and led the procession into the banquet hall. Once again, Carroway and Crevan had outdone themselves. Long tables glistened with candles on mirrored trays. A profusion of colorful flowers were strewn down the tables. Out of season fresh flowers, impossible to get without magic, festooned the large chandeliers, and floral garlands made a canopy overhead. It was, Tris thought appre­ciatively, an extremely showy display requiring a bit of magic and very little gold.

  Carroway performed with the musicians and directed the procession of jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and entertainers that kept the guests amused through the many courses of the long, formal meal. The feasting would continue into the night, when vayash moru and vyrkin in their human form would join the festivities. Tris sipped his wine, wishing for something stronger as his ankle throbbed.

  "Carroway's really outdone himself," Kiara murmured to Tris. "Can you knight him in appreciation?"

  Tris chuckled. "He's already 'Lord High Bard' and 'Margolan's Master Minstrel'. I'm running out of titles."

  When the servants cleared away the eighth course of the formal dinner, a large table laden with gifts was wheeled in. Tris escorted Kiara down from the head table to richly upholstered chairs where they would receive the gifts of their guests. Try as Tris might to avoid the show of competitive generosity, Crevan would not forego this portion of the event, fearing that to do so would be to give offense to the guests.

  Donelan's gift could not be boxed. He had given two mares and two stallions of the hors­es for which Isencroft was famed. Unmatched for speed, without equal for beauty, the blood­lines of the Isencroft horses were regarded to be as precious as the crown jewels of the king­dom. Fitted with the incomparable tack for which Isencroft was also known, the horses were indeed worthy of a king, and the gift of breeding stock was symbolic of the union between the two kingdoms that would occur upon Donelan's death.

  Kalcen leaned forward as Tris and Kiara unwrapped his gift. It was a triptych with beau­tifully painted illuminations, drawn by a skilled artist. The frame was covered with gold. "I've had my astrologers consult the stars to create this. We set much stock by the stars in East-mark. One panel is for you," he said with a nod toward Tris, "and one for you," he said with a smile for Kiara. "It foretells lucky and inauspi­cious dates for 80 years from the day of your births. In the center, my seers have read the stars for this day, and predict that signs are favorable for a male child to be born within a year."

  For nearly a candlemark, Tris and Kiara received the gifts of the nobility: beautiful sil­ver, finely etched crystal, and gem-studded jewelry. Tris felt himself begin to relax as the pile of gifts diminished without incident. He and Kiara were effusive in their thanks, but he knew that Kiara also was mentally wincing at the competitive opulence of the presents from nobility eager to gain favor with the new king and queen.

  At last, one gift remained. It was draped in cloth, a rectangle the size of a doorway.

  "Think it's a portrait?" Kiara whispered to Tris with a laugh, knowing how much he hated Jared's life-sized paintings of himself.

  "Goddess, I hope not! We've only just fin­ished burning all the ones Jared made." He sobered and his eyes widened. "There's some­thing wrong."

  "What is it?"

  "Blood magic. I can feel it."

  The servants swept back the cloth with a flourish, revealing an ornately framed mirror. The frame was gold, engraved with an intricate design of runes.

  "Don't touch that!"

  Tris's warning came an instant too late. The mirror wavered in the servants' grip and one of them reached out a hand to steady it, touching the glass.

  The mirror misted and the glass disappeared. An ear-piercing shriek sounded, and before the servants holding the mirror could scatter, a huge beast bounded through the frame. The beast was corpse gray, with slick, hairless skin stretched across a nightmare body. Its mis­shapen head held bulbous eyes and sharp, protruding teeth. It walked upright like a man, on solidly-muscled hind legs that ended in mas­sive claws. With its clawed forearms, the beast swept aside the men holding the frame, casual­ly ripping the head from the nearest of the servants.

  "Not on my watch!" Harrtuck ran at the beast with his sword drawn, slashing with a blow that should have felled a bear or a wolf. The beast lashed out with its forearm, raking four deep tracks across Harrtuck's shoulder and flinging him across the room. Harrtuck landed hard against the wall and lay still. Shrieks and cries erupted from the terrified

  wedding guests as they scrambled to get out of the beast's way. Jair grabbed a torch from the wall behind him and ran at the beast with a cry, swinging the torch wildly to break the thing's advance on the partygoers.

  "Get everybody out of here!" Tris shouted to Soterius, who was already on his feet. Tris vaulted the table, drawing his sword as the beast advanced and frightened guests scat­tered. The beast focused on him, as he hoped. Tris stepped closer.

  Tris lifted his hand to raise a warding but before it snapped into place, he felt another person enter the space.

  "You sure know how to throw a party." Vahanian was behind him, sword drawn.

  Outside the warding, Tris was dimly aware of Carroway and Soterius shouting for order. He heard Donelan and Kalcen call for their guards. A solid row of soldiers, his own plus the guards from Isencroft and Eastmark, formed a perimeter, their weapons ready.

  The beast lunged for Tris, and Tris ducked, but not quickly enough. He felt the beast's claws rake across his back, sending him sprawling. His wounded ankle buckled under­neath him, sending sharp pains up his leg. Jonmarc charged, sword raised, and scored a deep gash on the thing's shoulder, only to be swept aside by its powerful forearm. Tris stretched out his power, hoping to snuff out the life force of the beast, but the stench of blood magic made his senses reel. He could feel no glimmer of soul in the magicked creature.

  Tris tore the charm from around his neck. "Take this—I've got a plan."

  Jonmarc grabbed the chit before he realized what it was. "Not that same damn talisman!"

  "You're safe with it—keep him busy."

  "Be quick about it!"

  Armed with the talisman, Jonmarc ga
ve a battle cry and threw himself toward the beast, hacking in great two-handed blows that would have felled any.natural creature. His vayash moru training served him well; his quick reflexes kept him a hair's breadth away from the thing's talons. The creature's skin barely registered the blows, but it turned away from Tris, with its baleful yellow eyes fixing on Jonmarc as it advanced a step toward him. Jonmarc dodged and ducked, missing the worst of the creature's blows. Its claws raked down his left arm, shredding his silk shirt and digging against the mail beneath.

  "Now!"

  Jonmarc leapt out of the way as a wave of fire burst from Tris's outstretched hands. With­in the warded dome, the beast shrieked as flames enveloped it. Jonmarc threw up an arm to shield himself, as far back against the ward­ing as he could get. When the flames stopped, the beast lay on the floor, its charred skin in tatters. Carefully, Tris rose to his feet, gasping

  at the pain in his ankle. Jonmarc lowered his arm and took a cautious step forward.

  "Is it dead?"

  Before Tris could answer, the thing sprang up, launching itself at his throat, its sharp-toothed mouth wide. Tris stumbled backward as his ankle gave out on him. The beast's claws screeched across the chainmail shirt, digging into the mail and drawing Tris closer to its jaws.

  With a cry, Jonmarc dived for the thing's back. Jumping astride it, Jonmarc turned his sword point down, driving it into the beast's back with both hands. The beast roared and twisted, but it did not loose its grasp on Tris, who was close enough to smell the stink of its breath.

  "Get clear!" he shouted to Jonmarc, who pulled his sword free and threw himself off the beast's back. Dark ichor ran from the gash. The beast staggered but did not fall.

  Tris focused his magic on the depths of the thing's body. He sent a wave of flame, not around the beast but within, flame that began in its belly and burned through its torso. The beast screamed, writhing as the flames con­sumed it from inside. Tris struggled free of its claws just as the fire streaked from its mouth, flames engulfing its huge, misshapen head, its bulbous eyes wide.