The Summoner

by Gail Z. Martin

  "How did you get lucky enough to feed the prisoners?" Vahanian asked, licking his lips dryly.

  The girl smirked. "Well, for one thing, they sent me to see if you really are vayash moru," she replied. "I guess if I live through it, they might try. Or maybe not," she shrugged.

  Vahanian sipped greedily at the water. "I don't understand," he said. She pushed a bite of bread between his lips.

  "Half the camp is sure you're back from the dead," she explained in a whisper, with a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. "There were bets on that you'd disappear in a puff of smoke come dawn."

  Vahanian swallowed, and bit again at the bread. "I've been accused of a lot of things," he said. "But that's a new one."

  "Just promise me something," the girl said, leaning forward as if to press another bite into his mouth. "I know who you are. I've heard them talk about your bounty," she said, her green eyes bright. "When you escape, take me with you."

  Vahanian opened his eyes a bit wider at that. "I was dead yesterday," he said, sipping the water she held for him. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere?"

  "I've heard Tarren talk about you," she said. "You will."

  Vahanian glanced at Tris and back at the girl again. "Fair enough. What's your name?" he asked.

  "Berry," the girl replied, giving Vahanian the last of his portion. "I've got to go," she said suddenly, glancing over her shoulder. At that, she moved on to Carina, although she said no more as she fed the remaining prisoners.

  The slavers remained at the burned-out caravan site for two days. On the morning of the second day, a rider approached, and Tris looked up to see a dark, thin-faced man on horseback ride into camp.

  "We've got company," Tris whispered to his companions. Vahanian looked up, then stiffened, his face tight with anger.

  "Vakkis," he muttered, making the name a curse.

  "You know him?"

  Vahanian nodded grimly. "Too well. Bounty hunter. He's the one I warned Linton about, the one I saw in the tavern. Only this time, I'm not top of his list," he said with a measured glance at Tris. "You are."

  Tris digested that piece of news wordlessly, watching the stranger approach. Tarren came out to meet Vakkis personally, and while the tall slaver did not completely sacrifice his reserve in his efforts to please the newcomer, it was apparent, even out of earshot, that Vakkis held the upper hand. After a brief conversation, Vakkis and Tarren headed for where the prisoners were tethered, accompanied by two slavers who walked behind them with the horses. The slavers looked askance at Vahanian, clearly fearful of the smuggler, who grinned wickedly, making sure his lips drew back to expose his teeth. The two slavers recoiled, and Vahanian chuckled.

  Vakkis stopped in front of Vahanian, who looked up and met the bounty hunter's eyes defiantly. "Well, well," Vakkis gloated. "Look what we've caught. I wasn't trolling for you, Jonmarc, but I won't turn down the bounty."

  "Go to the Demon."

  In response, Vakkis backhanded Vahanian and Tris could see blood start at the corner of the mercenary's lip. "I may go to the Demon as you say, Jonmarc," the bounty hunter replied, rubbing the back of his hand, "but I assure you, you will go with me."

  Vahanian said nothing in response, but a killing chill came to his eyes as Vakkis moved a step to stand before Tris. "Ah, good. You've followed instructions well, Tarren," Vakkis said. "This is exactly the one I was looking for." Vakkis looked him over carefully, and Tris had the uneasy sense of being merchandise, appraised for the sale. "We have a common... friend... who will be very glad to see you again," Vakkis said. "You have much to account for."

  "I'd watch my back if I were you," Tris replied evenly, although his heart pounded. He hoped he could replicate Vahanian's defiance. "After all, I've seen your... friend... in action. Don't count on living to spend the money." Tris thought that Vakkis would cuff him, too, for his insolence but the bounty hunter seemed to think better of it and merely folded his arms.

  "I'm not concerned," Vakkis brushed off the reply. "But you should be. Better to be the hunter than the prey."

  "It's not over yet."

  "We shall see," Vakkis replied. The bounty hunter looked over to Tarren. "Guard them well. Double the guard you have posted. Bring them back to Shekerishet, and your company will be rich. Fail, and you will all die."

  The threat did not seem to faze Tarren. "Those were our terms," Tarren replied. "They'll get to the palace."

  "Good," Vakkis said, looking around the camp for the first time. "Now, come with me. We have much to discuss."

  Tris watched the two men walk away, waiting until they were out of sight before he glanced over to Vahanian. "Looks like we know all the right people."

  Vahanian managed a crooked grin. "Yeah, imagine that. You can take it as kind of an honor that your brother sent Vakkis after you," the mercenary added. "He's the best in the business. I've ruined his perfect kill record for quite a few years," he said. "Guess everything has to end sometime."

  "That's one record I'd like to see stay ruined," Tris replied.

  Before long, Berry began her rounds again, bringing bread and water to the prisoners. "You're the ones Tarren's been after, aren't you?" she asked Vahanian as she fed bread to Tris and held a cup for him to drink from.

  "Looks like it," Vahanian replied. "So why are you here?"

  Berry shrugged. "Wrong place at the wrong time. Ambushed."

  "Have you heard them talk about where we're going next?" Tris asked between bites.

  Berry nodded. "Back into Margolan, towards the palace. Tarren had an argument last night with his lieutenant about the road to take. Vakkis wants them to go the straight way, but that runs along the Ruune Videya forest. Tarren doesn't mind, but the men are superstitious," she added, as Tris finished his bread and gratefully accepted another drink. "They don't want to go near the forest."

  "So which road are we taking?" Tris asked thoughtfully.

  Berry moved on to offer a crust to Vahanian. "The one Vakkis wants. But it doesn't mean the slavers like it."

  "That might be just the break we need," Carroway hissed. "You know the stories."

  "Anything else?" Tris pressed.

  Berry shook her head. "No. I'll keep listening. In the meantime, here's this," she whispered, and just then, appeared to stumble. As she recovered, Tris saw her drop something into Vahanian's bound hand. "It's not much," she said, and Tris caught a glint of metal before Vahanian concealed it in his fist. "But it's sharp."

  "Thank you," Vahanian replied. "You're in."

  Berry grinned. "Good," the girl replied. "Oops," she said suddenly, "Got to go." And she moved on to Carina with a glance over her shoulder.

  The next day, the slavers woke the prisoners at dawn. The camp was alive in the chill morning as the slavers took anything of value in the caravan's belongings and readied themselves for the march. Tris and the other captives were loosed from their stakes, dragged to their feet and bound together with lengths of rope in single file, then herded onto open wagons, where each end of the tether was tied securely to the wagon's supports.

  With the gray dawn, a chill settled around Tris's mood. The vow he had sworn to Kait and to the Lady rang hollow in his memory, and the possibility of fulfilling it seemed as remote as the Border mountains. Perhaps Harrtuck had been right, Tris thought. The road and its hardships had finally begun to make a sheltered prince into a king. Tris lifted his face into the wind and begged the Lady that those lessons would not come too late to save his friends, his kingdom and his sister's soul.

  "I've always liked carriage rides," Vahanian muttered to no one in particular. Carina glared at him, but said nothing.

  "This isn't looking good," Carroway whispered from behind Tris. "I'm in no hurry to get back to Shekerishet."

  "Especially not like this," Tris replied.

  They traveled until dusk. After camp was made, a rider was escorted directly to the tent where Tarren and Vakkis conducted business. When the supper fires were darkened, Tris heard a rus
tle behind them, and caught a glimpse of Berry out of the corner of his eye.

  "You've got to make a break for it when we reach the forest tomorrow night," Berry whispered urgently from the shadows.

  "Why?" Vahanian hissed.

  "I heard Vakkis and Tarren talking with the rider who just came in," Berry whispered. "Word from the buyers. They will only pay for the good-looking women and the strongest men." She paused. "And of course, you and your friend," she said with a nod toward Tris.

  "So?" Vahanian replied.

  "That means Tarren will kill the rest as soon as we get through the lowlands tomorrow," Berry whispered, her fear evident in her voice. "He needs help to move the wagons through the swampy areas. But he won't want to spare the provisions to take 'cargo' through the forest if he won't be paid for it."

  Vahanian frowned. "What about the healer?" he asked, glancing toward Carina.

  "No good," Berry hissed urgently. "Tarren said he can't sell her because no one will trust a captive healer without hostages. Might not try hard enough, I guess. They'll start the killing as soon as we reach the forest," Berry repeated. "I hope you have a plan."

  "Sure we do," Vahanian replied confidently. "Just keep us in view."

  "We've got a little extra time," Berry added with a self-satisfied snicker. "I added some wild mushrooms to their stew tonight. I don't think they'll sleep well," she said, and in the distance, Vahanian could hear the sound of a man retching.

  "Berry," Vahanian said.

  "What?"

  "I'm glad you're on our side."

  "Look sharp!" she warned, and disappeared into the shadows.

  Vahanian looked over to Carina. The healer was quiet and distant, as if she remained silent long enough, she might hear Cam calling for her. "Now is a good time to say a few prayers, Priestess."

  Carina looked at him, but did not meet his eyes. "I'm not a cleric," she murmured. "Can't help you there."

  "Might not be a bad time to think about a switch," Vahanian quipped. But Carina looked away, unwilling to be drawn into the banter.

  "So tell me about this plan," Tris whispered.

  Vahanian scowled. "We get to the forest and you use that spook stuff of yours to make them all disappear."

  "That's the plan?" Tris asked skeptically.

  "Got a better one?" Vahanian shot back.

  "You know," Carroway said, his voice barely audible. "That might just work."

  Tris turned as far toward Carroway as he could. "How do you figure?"

  Carroway paused. "I'm not quite sure where we are, but I know that there are places where the forest runs along cliff sides with lots of caves. They could make it impossible for the slavers to follow us once we get loose."

  "Uh, you're forgetting something important," Vahanian replied. "The getting loose part."

  "Ask the spirits for help," Carroway replied. "They would listen to Tris. The ghosts of the Ruune Videya were slaughtered by an unjust king." Carroway shrugged. "Maybe they'll be sympathetic."

  "Or we could end up as dead as the slavers if the ghosts aren't of a mind to listen, assuming I could even get their attention," Tris whispered.

  "Let me get this straight," Vahanian muttered. "Our only hope of getting out of this rests in Spook here calling up a bunch of ghosts, set them on the slavers, and hoping to hell that they don't turn on us while they're at it?"

  "You've got the main points," Carroway replied.

  Vahanian groaned and leaned back against the post. "Great," he muttered. "And the only thing worse is that I can't come up with anything better."

  Tris shut his eyes. Grandmother. I need you. Please, he begged the spirits. Show me what I must do.

  Trust your instincts, came the memory of Bava K'aa's voice. When the time comes, you will know what to do. Doubt, and all is lost.

  But how will I know? he asked.

  You will know, the old sorceress's voice replied, when you are too frightened to do anything else.

  Chapter Twenty

  True to Berry's whispered warning, the slavers began to move toward the forest the next day. Hanson's Bog lay between the road to Dhasson and the southern, more direct road back into Margolan. The wagons began to roll more slowly from the time they left the Dhasson road, and within two candlemarks, the slavers emptied the wagons of any cargo that could walk.

  By midday, the road was soft enough that the captives and the slavers frequently put their shoulders against the wagons to force them onward through the mud. Tris felt his mood darken. As Berry suggested, it would truly take the slavers and all of their captives to reach the southern road. But once there, the slavers could easily rid themselves of any cargo that could not be sold, lightening their load for the perilous trek through the forest. Time was running out.

  From the time they entered the bog, Tris tried to sense whether Carroway's tales of restless spirits in the forest were correct. A desperate plan to win their freedom had been forming in his mind, but it would depend entirely on the nature of the forest's spirits-if there were any-and whether or not they acknowledged his power. For most of the day, Tris tried in vain to sense any revenants, peaceful or not, and began to despair that the tales were merely stories to keep youngsters from venturing far afield. But as he reached the nether end of the bog, the spirits began to call him.

  The initial contact staggered him, nearly causing him to fall. Carina helped him to his feet, watching with concern as if she suspected that more than slippery mud caused him to lose his footing. Why have you come? A cacophony of voices howled in his mind.

  Tris strengthened his mental shielding, knowing that without the training from Alyzza and Carina, the contact would have overwhelmed him. I am a prisoner, Tris replied to the howling voices. Who are you, and whom do you serve?

  We are the lost, and we serve vengeance! howled the voices. Now, he could feel them present in the glade, beyond all but mageborn sight. Who are you?

  Kin and heir to Bava K'aa, replied Tris, struggling to push the wagon so that he did not attract the slavers' attention. It was getting more difficult to split his concentration, since the ferocity of the spirits required him to keep conscious control of his shields.

  Bava K'aa... Bava K'aa... Bava K'aa. The name echoed among the hundreds of voices, until it became a moan like the sound of the wind. Free us, kin of Bava K'aa, the voices wailed. Give us our vengeance!

  Tris felt the anger of the revenants at their long-ago betrayal and murder, their jealousy of the living, and their deep desire to right the generations-old wrong. Yet he could sense no evil, though the spirits grieved their loss with such intensity that, in their mourning, they struck back at any living being which came within their boundaries.

  You are a summoner! The voices returned. Give us our justice. You may enter our forest, but the others are not welcome.

  My friends and I are prisoners, Tris repeated, hoping that the gambit beginning to form in his mind would work. We were taken by slavers. We have no choice but to enter your forest.

  Slavers... slavers... slavers. The word repeated through the voices, and Tris felt gathering anger. Give us the slavers!

  Free us from the slavers, promise me safe passage for the captives, Tris commanded, and when we reach the forest, I will give you rest.

  Rest... The voices stretched out the word in a long, sibilant howl. We cannot rest.

  Give me your promise that the captives won't be harmed. Free us and I will help you pass over, Tris bargained.

  Rest... the voices hissed. We will accept your bargain, kin of Bava K'aa. But our power dwells in the forest. Come to the edge of the forest, and we will set you free.

  Give me your promise, Tris repeated, your oath that the captives won't be harmed.

  We want only the slavers, the voices howled. Free us, and you may pass through our forest in safety. But if you cannot pass us over to the Lady, you and your friends will join us forever.

  It was a fool's bargain, Tris thought, but less certain a fate than what awaited
them at the hand of the slavers come nightfall. Accepted, Tris pledged.

  At the edge of the forest... when darkness falls, whispered the spirits as they drew back. Their sudden departure left him out of balance, like a man braced against a strong wind that suddenly failed. His shields, reinforced against a power no longer present, flared in his magesight as he tried to dispel them.

  "You there, put your back into it," shouted a slaver, bringing a whip down hard across Tris's back. Already off balance, the blow drove him to his knees, and he struggled to not cry out in pain.

  Carroway helped him to his feet with a worried glance, and Tris shouldered his portion of the effort with the bulky wagon once more.

  "Are you all right?" Carroway whispered, an eye on the glowering slaver and his whip.

  "Not really," Tris replied through gritted teeth. The lash burned, and he could feel blood mingling with sweat running down his back. "But I think I've got a plan."

  "We need one."

  "Let the others know. Come nightfall, I'm going to call the spirits."

  "That's the plan?" Carroway hissed. "We get killed by the spirits instead of the slavers?"

  "We have an... arrangement. I think," Tris replied under his breath. "Whatever you see, whatever happens, just get to shelter. Leave me to handle the ghosts."

  "Gladly," Carroway murmured. "But that's not exactly the kind of plan I was hoping for."

  "It's the best we're going to get," Tris said, fervently hoping that his reading of the spirits' intent was correct.

  "Much more of this, and it won't matter that Carina healed Jonmarc," Carroway whispered. Tris followed his gaze. Vahanian was obviously not fully recovered from his injuries. Twice, the smuggler stumbled and fell. Only the slavers' fear that Vahanian be might be vayash moru spared him a beating. And that fear was waning, Tris thought, as the slavers' anxiety grew about entering the forest.

  Tris groaned as he shouldered his wagon through a particularly sticky patch of mud. Beside him, Carroway cursed creatively in the many dialects of the Margolan court. At the opposite corner, Vahanian and Carina strained against the mire. Vahanian was pale with the effort, and Tris noted that despite their frequent sparring, Carina now extended her fierce protectiveness of her patients to include the injured smuggler. She slipped beneath Vahanian's shoulder, steadying him with her own thin, strong frame.