Dark Haven (22 page)

“Did you get a sign from the Lady?” Soterius asked.

“You could say that.”

The bitter cold jolted‐ them as they stepped out of the grotto’s magical warmth. Snow glistened and a flock of birds roused from a nearby tree, filling the sky. Tris was glad to get back to the 186

carriage. “One ceremony down— one more to go.”

Kiara wrapped her hands around his. “Like Jonmarc says, you do know how to put on a show.”

“I really had nothing to do with what happened in there.”

“I know. But if you were looking for a sign, that was pretty clear.”

Tris shook his head and looked out the window. “The sign was clear, but the meaning never is.

Grandmother was wary of taking signs as divine messages. It’s dangerous to count on them.”

The carriage and its guards left the temple grounds, heading back to Shekerishet. The road ran through an old section of the forest,

where ancient trees towered and the underbrush had long died back in the heavy shade.

Pounding hoof beats behind them roused Tris and Kiara in alarm.

“Keep the carriage moving!” Soterius shouted. From behind them stormed black‐clad riders, their faces covered by cloth. Tris and Kiara were thrown back against the seat as the driver snapped the reins and set the horses into a gallop. On the hills around them, Tris could hear the clang of steel and the cries of battle. Vyrkin howled. He drew his sword.

“Are they crazy? It’s broad daylight!” Kiara protested, hanging on as the carriage jostled and bumped.

“They know what they’re doing,” Tris replied, bracing himself as the carriage careened onto two wheels. “The vayash moru aren’t out by day. We’re less protected than we were on our way to 187

the temple.”

The driver veered, sending them reeling into the side of the carriage. Riders on horseback closed in around the carriage, and Tris saw the driver tumble from his seat. One of the riders leaped from his horse to take the reins, but the horses, trained to respond only to the driver’s code words, kept up their frenzied pace.

A black‐clad rider grabbed for the door handle of the carriage, and Tris’s magic threw the attacker clear. Kiara grasped the handles of the metal warming box with her cloak and slid back the cover, throwing burning embers on the rider who tried to reach for her through her window.

“Shoot the horses!” A rider cried, and Tris heard the twang of bows. The carriage lurched and banged as the horse team staggered. Kiara cried out as arrows struck the side of the carriage, embedding in the wood deeply enough to show the point through the fabric that covered the interior. Outside of the carriage window, the scenery flew by; Tris wondered if the brigands hoped that a wreck would be fatal. The carriage careened forward, its horses panicked.

“If we don’t get this thing stopped, we’ll be dead with or. without the bandits,” Kiara shouted over the din of the speeding carriage.

Tris pulled off his heavy cloak. He wore a mail vest beneath his doublet and shirt. It was better than bare skin, but hardly protection from a full onslaught and he had no desire to test it against a hail of arrows. Behind them, Tris heard the thunder of hoof beats and the shouts of soldiers, but decided against chancing a look out the carriage window as an arrow sailed through, sinking into the seat cushion where he had been a moment before.

“I’m going to slow the carriage enough to jump. Once I’m out, get on the floor. I’ll send the horses back to Shekerishet.”

“I’m staying with you.”

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“You don’t have a sword and you’re not dressed for battle. We don’t even know who the brigands belong to. Besides, someone has to send out the guards.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she hated the idea, but she nodded. Tris stretched out his magic toward the panicked horses, touching their minds. He was not as adept with animals as Carina, but he fixed an image of the carriage moving slowly enough for him to survive a jump and then heading at full speed for the castle. For a moment, nothing changed. Tris wondered if his message had been successful. Then he felt the carriage slow. He crouched, holding on to the door handle, waiting. When the carriage slowed enough for him to have a reasonable chance of surviving the fall, Tris kicked open the door and jumped into the snow, throwing his shields up to blunt the impact. Immediately the carriage sped away.

The shields took the worst of the fall, but the force still knocked the breath from him, and he wrenched his left ankle as he tumbled. He staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. Two riders charged. Behind them were three Margolan soldiers, riding hard. Two large vyrkin closed from the other side, nearly catching up with the attackers. Tris was at a distinct disadvantage on the ground against mounted attackers. He stepped backward and nearly fell as his ankle buckled under him. Tris sent a bolt of blue mage fire sizzling toward one rider, who fell gasping to the ground as his panicked horse reared and bucked. The other rider scythed his sword and Tris parried, driven back a step by the force of the mounted rider’s strike.

Tris blocked the blows with his sword. His attacker reared his war steed, and its huge iron‐shod hooves lifted into the air. They were in a clearing with no ready cover. Soterius and another guard were nearly within bow range, but Tris knew they couldn’t shoot without endangering him. The brigand’s horse reared again, and one massive hoof barely missed Tris’s head. One of the vyrkin leaped for the horse and opened deep gashes on the horse’s hind quarters.

Tris dived, rolling through the deep snow. Before the mounted brigand could find him, Tris called the winds together into a swirling storm that enveloped the attacker, a blinding snowstorm that forced him to ground his mount. Tris dispelled the winds as Soterius rode up behind the attacker 189

and swung his sword, cleaving the man through the waist. The brigand fell lifeless from his mount. The two vrykin approached Tris and lowered their heads deferentially, making it clear they were present to protect. Out on the hillside, Tris spotted at least a half a dozen more of the huge wolves.

Soterius reached Tris as he climbed to his feet. “Are you all right?”

Tris nodded. “You?”

Soterius’s cloak was torn and a cut through his tunic revealed his mail shirt beneath. He was breathing hard, but nodded. “We lost a couple of men. By the Whore! That was a full assault. We took all of them down.” He looked down the road at the fresh marks of carriage wheels. “What about Kiara?”

Tris sheathed his sword. He wasn’t sure whether he was shaking from the cold or from the fight.

The soldier with Soterius offered Tris his own cloak and would not be refused. “I sent the horses back to Shekerishet,” he said, gazing in the direction the carriage had disappeared. “They won’t stop until they get there—and the geas I placed on them should hold for their spirits as well, if there was someone up ahead waiting to shoot them down. Kiara was chafing to join the fight.”

Soterius chuckled. “That’s Kiara.” Another soldier walked toward them leading several horses. “I know you weren’t planning on riding,” he said. “But here’s a horse for you if you’d like to arrive in time for your own wedding.”

Tris grinned ruefully and looked down at his own ruined finery. “Showing up like this isn’t likely to make the right impression on the guests.” A soldier ran to retrieve Tris’s circlet crown from where it had fallen. His doublet was torn and wet with snow, and his breeches were ruined.

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Soterius grimaced. “Not much chance of hiding it, I imagine. Not after Kiara’s shown up in a driverless carriage, and no chance at all if it’s drawn by ghost steeds!”

“Let’s hope it didn’t get quite that far.” Tris limped over toward where the last dead attacker lay in a heap of bloodied snow. “But first, I want to see if we can figure out who’s behind this.”

Soterius and the guards stepped back, giving him room to work. Tris closed his eyes and stretched out his power, calling for the dead man’s ghost. The spirit of a blond, thick set man appeared and threw itself at Tris’s feet.

“Your highness!” the ghost cried, crouching in fear. “Forgive me! I couldn’t help what I was doing. I bear you no ill will.”

Tris could sense the truthfulness of the spirit’s words. He frowned, puzzled. “How can that be?”

The ghost remained prostrate. “We were bewitched. You’re a Summoner. Read my thoughts—I’ll keep nothing back.”

“Tell me what happened. Sit up, so that I can see your face. Who bewitched you?”

The spirit of the terrified brigand rose to its knees. “My mates and I were hanging about a pub in a town not far from here. Tafton‐on‐Kalis—it’s on the main road to Ghorbal. We were for hire—

usually escorting a merchant to market or getting paid good skrivven to make sure some noble lady gets where she’s going without a problem. We’d done our soldiering in the war and we fought with your rebels,” the ghost said with a glance toward Soterius. “Other than a brawl or two in the bar when we’d had too much ale, we mostly stayed on the right side of the law.”

“Say on.”

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“Last night, a strange gent came into the pub. Never saw the likes of him around. Kept his cloak on and his hood up.”

“Did he have an accent?”

The ghost shook its head. “Spoke like a Mar‐golan man. Didn’t have the look of a foreigner, or the smell of one, if you know what I mean. Said he was looking for escorts for a pay wagon, and we took him into the back room to talk. Can’t talk business in the common room—don’t know who’s about.

“The deal he offered us was straight. Ride with a pay wagon for a merchant who was doing business with rug traders in Ghorbal. Said we’d need to arm heavy, as we’d be guarding gold.

Offered to pay us half up front—that’s the kind of deal we like to get, so we all agreed right then, even though we didn’t know how he found us.” The spirit’s gaze darkened. “Must have been a curse on the gold. As soon as we accepted it and put it in our pockets, it started to glow. We couldn’t get rid of it. By the Crone! I’ve never felt like that. Like someone else had pushed into my mind and taken over my body. I couldn’t think, couldn’t run, couldn’t move from the spot.

“Then the stranger told us what we’d really been hired to do, to ride down your party when you left the temple and kill everyone. It didn’t matter what I thought—my body obeyed him. I knew what my body was doing, but I couldn’t help myself. We knew whether we failed or succeeded we’d be dead men, that we’d never live to spend that accursed gold. But no matter how I fought it, I couldn’t help but do the stranger’s bidding. So I’m free of one curse, and sure to go to the Crone for trying to murder the king. Please, Your Majesty. Have mercy!”

“Can you read anything from his memory?” Soterius asked. Tris stretched out his power, and found nothing.

“Not a thing. It’s been wiped clean. I’m betting we’d find the same with the rest of them.

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Someone wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Whoever sent them has some dark mages on his side.”

“But is it Curane, or someone else?” Tris returned his attention to the ghost at his feet. “Rise,”

he said, taking pity on the panicked spirit. “I can tell that you’ve told me the truth. The Lady has heard your story. You’ve no reason to fear.”

On the Plains of Spirit, Tris could sense the approach of the Lady, but it was Athira the Whore, not the Crone, that came for the bewitched fighters. He sensed the spirits as they recognized her call and murmured the passing over ritual as the spirits fled toward rest. He stepped toward the horse and nearly fell as his ankle gave out under him. Even so, he refused help swinging up to the saddle.

“Let’s get back to Shekerishet. I’ve got to figure out how we’re going to explain this.”

His hands burned with the cold and his feet were numb. Despite his confidence in the spell he’d set on the horses, he was worried about Kiara. How Kalcen and Donelan might view the incident worried him more than the talk of gossips at court. I wouldn’t blame Donelan for rethinking bis blessing. A king who can’t control his own lands is no use to anyone. Curane knows that. And he’s not waiting for us to bring the war to him.

Before Tris and the guards had ridden half a candlemark, the sound of horses on the road ahead reached them. “Shields up!” Soterius commanded. “Surround the king.”

The soldiers fell into a defensive mounted formation, and Tris drew his sword, though he was in the center, surrounded by armed men and their raised shields. The oncoming riders slowed their 193

pace just before they reached the rise in the road.

“Don’t shoot!” It was Harrtuck’s voice. Three riders cleared the rise. Even from a distance, Tris recognized Cam, Harrtuck, and Jonmarc. .

Soterius’s guards lowered their weapons at their commander’s signal, and moved their mounts so Tris could ride forward. Tris saw a contingent of at least fifty armed soldiers on horseback behind his three friends.

“Where’s the party?” Jonmarc wore no visible armor, but Tris was sure that after Winterstide, his friend was unlikely to venture far without a chainmail vest beneath his cloak.

“Kiara’s carriage reached Shekerishet? Is she safe?” Tris rode up to meet them with Soterius close behind.

Harrtuck nodded. “Aye. The horses were galloping as if the Formless One was chasing them.

Kiara’s fine—just a bit bruised from the rough ride.”

Tris glanced at Vahanian and Cam. “You’re supposed to be guests. What are you doing out here?”

Jonmarc shrugged. “We were with Carina when the page sent for her to look after Kiara. Figured we’d make ourselves useful.”

“We’re glad to see you, but the fight’s over,” Soterius said. “Left the bodies back in the clearing. I can fill you in on the details once we get Tris back for his wedding.”

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“What about the guests? How much of an uproar is there?” Tris asked.

Jonmarc grinned. “Carroway caught news of it at about the same time we did—don’t know how, but he beat us down to the courtyard. He and Crevan engineered an impromptu concert in the great room and sent pages round to gather the guests with news of music and plenty of food.