The Blood King (27 page)

But now, according to the former servant, the girls Jared called for did not return. Their bodies were found in the tunnels beneath the garderobe, or buried behind the barracks. Jared believed himself to be above any law or precedent.

The retelling of his atrocities, both from refugees and from ghosts, unsettled even Gabriel and Mikhail. Once again, Tris wondered whether the kingdom would survive Jared, and what it would require of him to put things right should he live through his bid for the throne.

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A FORTNIGHT AFTER Winterstide, Tris and Carina returned to the citadel of the Sisterhood. Carina did her best to cover her con-cern, but Tris could tell that she was worried. After his close call during the last training session, he shared her apprehension.

Vahanian recovered from the assassin’s attack more slowly than Carina would have liked, a side effect of the poison. Royster could find no other recorded instances of survival from the poison that was used, so he eagerly wrote up the process by which Carina and Tris were able to save Vahanian. Tris took his leave of Kiara with regret. As a betrothal token and a gift for Kiara’s birthday later that same month, Tris had a ring made for her of Margolan gold. It bore his crest as Bricen’s second son set with precious stones from his portion of the reward Staden gave them for Berry’s safe return.

Kiara worried more about Tris’s return to training when he and Carina refused to share details, and so Tris finally told her about Elam’s murder and the battle with Alaine, omitting only the dark sendings.

Despite Taru’s healing, those images still haunted his dreams. Though they lacked the certainty of the sendings, the nightmares woke him more often than he cared to admit, bathed in sweat, his heart thud-ding. The memory of those dreams pushed him to master his power. And while Tris saw his growing skills as a way to assure his friends’ survival, he told no one that he held very little hope of surviving the confrontation himself.

It was the first month of the new year, and Principality lay under heavy snow.

Tris, who thought that he was colder at Winterstide than ever before in his life, discovered that the gray weeks of the Birth Month were colder still. He shivered despite his heavy cloak, mentally calculating just how much further south Shekerishet was, and what the weather there might be at this season. The heavy gray skies and the frigid wind seemed to dampen everyone’s mood now that the festivities were over. Even the gathering the night before with Tris and his friends seemed subdued, despite Carroway’s bawdy songs and good-natured joking. As the days slipped by, the reality of their quest loomed. There was very little time left for prepara-tion.

At the citadel, even Taru seemed reserved when she met their carriage. She led Tris and Carina back to the same suite of rooms, where a platter of cold meat and cheese awaited them after their journey, and a pot of tea whistled on the hearth.

“How are things with Landis in charge?” Carina asked as she shook the snow from her cloak and hung it near the fire to dry.

“Landis is an able administrator—I’ve never doubted that. But her focus is on the present, not the future, as Elam’s was. She’s a manager, not a visionary. I hope practicality will be enough.”

Tris realized that Taru’s close relationship with Elam would have made the older mage’s death a personal loss. “I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about Elam’s death,” Tris said qui-etly.

Taru smiled. “Thank you. But I understand—you had a few other things on your mind at the time.” She paused. “I don’t have your power with spirits, but I can sense Elam’s presence. She’s still here. That’s been a comfort. Now that you’ve returned, perhaps you can tell whether she has a purpose for remaining, or awaits your help to pass over.”

“Would you like me to try?” Tris asked as he hung his cloak near Carina’s and shook the last of the snow from his boots.

“I’d be grateful if you would.”

“Let’s do it now—I may not be in such good shape later.” He raised his hand and closed his eyes, stretching out along the Plains of Spirit. Elam’s ghost came to him quickly, and he accepted her greeting. With a murmured word, Tris made the spirit visible, and opened his eyes. Elam stood before them, her expression sober.

“We miss you,” Taru said to the spirit.

Elam inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you. But I’m still here.”

The spirit looked at Tris. “Your work with the Court of Spirits has helped to ease some of the imbalance in the Flow, but it is still badly damaged. Until the Flow of power can be healed, Arontala’s blood magic gains an advantage from the imbalance, and Light magic is not at its full strength. There is no time to fix it, so we shall have to work around it.”

Elam’s gaze was worried. “Landis didn’t fight the Mage War; I did. She understands what’s at stake in her mind, but not in her heart. She also didn’t know your grandmother as I knew her. Landis is afraid that your loyalty to your friends—and to Kiara—will compromise your judgment.” She held up a hand to stay Tris’s argument. “Hear me out. Many of the Sisterhood believe that Bava K’aa was weakened by her love for Lemuel and see her refusal to destroy the Obsidian King as proof.”

“And what do you believe? You were closer to her than anyone except Grayson.”

Elam nodded. “Bava K’aa understood the peril of taking it upon oneself to decide who is expendable, and who is not. In binding the Obsidian King to save Lemuel, Bava K’aa upheld both her duty to the people and to her lover. She didn’t want to put her-self in the role of the Goddess and determine who should live and who should die.”

“How will Landis’s opinion of Grandmother affect my training?”

Elam’s ghost met his gaze. “I saw the images of the dark sending that Arontala cast though Alaine. Arontala’s counting on your loyalty to your friends to constrain your choices. He’s ruthless, and he knows that you are not. He’ll attack you through those you love.”

Tris thought about the assassin at Staden’s palace, and his charge to attack Kiara had he survived the attempt on Tris’s life. “He already has.”

“Landis isn’t as scrupulous about such things as I was,” Elam said. “She tells herself that because the cause is noble, the means are forgiven. She will design your training with the avatars to test your resolve as much as your battle skills.

Landis would like to see evidence that you’ll do whatever it takes to destroy the Obsidian King—regardless of the cost.”

Tris stiffened. “I’m not afraid to die. But my friends aren’t game pieces. They’re not expendable. I don’t accept that as the only way to win. If I did, how would I be any different from Arontala?”

“I agree,” the ghost replied. “But Landis thinks differently. Your trials may resemble the sendings more than you care to think. Prepare yourself.”

Tris swallowed hard. “I understand,” he said, avoiding Carina’s gaze as the healer looked at him questioningly. “Would you go to your rest?”

Elam shook her head. “Not yet. When your grandmother was dying, she sent for me. She made me promise that if you ever came to me in need, that I’d do everything within my power, for her sake. At the time, I thought it an odd request, since I had no reason to think you were a mage, and princes do not often seek the help of the Sisterhood. But I made a vow. I intend to honor that promise.”

“Thank you,” Tris said. He let the spirit fade, knowing that Elam remained nearby even though the ghost was no longer visible to the others.

Taru sighed. “I’m afraid I agree with Elam’s opin-ion of Landis. She has a tendency to interpret what is ‘light’ and what is ‘dark’ by what profits her own viewpoint. And she wants the destruction of the Obsidian King, no matter what.”

“How can you send Tris into training knowing that?” Carina demanded.

“Because without the training, I won’t be strong enough to find that other alternative,” Tris said qui-etly. “The stronger I am, the more choices I’ll have, and the more chance there’ll be for everyone else.”

Taru nodded. “I agree.” She managed a smile. “Enough of this talk. Eat something, and get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we start your new les-sons.

You’ll have over a week to train—and recover. Late next week you’ll face another trial. This one will use avatars. And it will be warded.”

Tris hoped his nervousness did not show in his eyes. “I’ll be ready.”

TRIS’S NEW BATTLE trainer Laisren, a vayash moru hand-picked by Gabriel for unquestionable loyalty, pushed Tris’s fighting skills and reaction time to their limits. It was unsettling to fight an opponent that could regenerate from everything except all-consuming fire, decapitation, and a clean strike through the heart; Tris found that his nightmares now had a whole new quality of realism. The worst of the wounds from their skirmishes were healed, but the scars remained to keep the lessons fresh in his mind.

Sometimes, Laisren wore a null magic charm, forcing Tris to hold his own with fighting skills alone. The null amulet dampened his magic, push-ing it out of reach. Fortunately, the charm’s influence was limited and its power dropped off completely outside of the immediate presence of its wearer.

When Tris wasn’t skirmishing with his undead opponent, Taru’s lessons in defensive magic pushed him to exhaustion. Tris learned to counter the pain spells that Theron used against him, and to sense and deflect spells like the one that stopped Elam’s heart. Tris guessed that Taru went well beyond the usual boundaries of acceptable gray magic to test him against an array of magical attacks. Tris was grudgingly proud of the fact that he managed to survive, and to send back counter spells that appeared to strain even Taru’s defenses.

A week and a half after his return to the citadel, Tris stood before Landis, ready to go into the cata-combs for his trial.

“What is the task?” Tris asked, hoping his voice was steady.

“The task is always the same,” replied Landis. “Overcome the traps. Best the avatars. Defeat a mage and wrest the Orb from his possession. And, if possible, live through it.”

“Your penchant for self-sacrifice is noble, but impractical. You must be willing to pay whatever price success demands. You may find that your own death is not the dearest coin.” Landis flicked her wrist, and the door opened behind him to the cata-combs.

“Now go. And may the Lady in all Her Faces look with favor on your battle.”

Tris descended the stone stairs carefully, and felt the death warding snap into place behind him. Although he had expected it, the tingle of its magic was unsettling. Tris listened in the shadows with both hearing and mage sense. He knew that he was not alone.

Deep in the catacombs beneath the citadel, Tris stepped warily from the shadows. The dark, damp stones carried the imprint of old and powerful magic.

At intervals, mage-fire torches lit the corri-dor, but between them stretched dangerous shadows. The tunnels formed a convoluted maze, with hidden rooms and real peril.

A rush of air was the only warning.

Tris pivoted, Mageslayer ready in his grip. Immortally strong hands seized him from behind. Tris could feel the chill of the vayasb moru’s grip even through his tunic. “What now, Lord of the Dead?” Laisren’s voice taunted near his ear, close enough to the blood pulsing through his neck that Tris fought the urge to shiver. While the other oppo-nents he would encounter would be avatars, the vayash moru, exempt from the death warding, was very real.

“Lethyrashem!” Tris spoke the word of power, and the vayash moru dropped his grip as if burned. Tris turned, placing Mageslayer between them. The ensorcelled sword’s faint glow lit the shadows. He had barely raised his sword when the vayash moru vanished from sight.

Tris swung with Mageslayer and felt the blade connect; his opponent withdrew to the shadows with a hiss. Mageslayer, possessing its own version of sentience,

“understood” to blunt its magic against the vayash moru trainer. Laisren, in turn, agreed not to use his superior speed and strength to kill Tris. And while Tris believed that his Summoner’s magic would make it unlikely for him to be brought across against his will, he did not want to find out how much blood he could lose before those magical protections set in.

Moving faster than mortal sight, the vayash morn pinned Tris from behind, and threw him sideways into the damp stone wall. Before Tris could find his feet, the vice-like hands tossed him into the air again. He landed hard enough to feel his collar bone snap and ribs crack, felt blood start along his side and face as he scraped along the rough wall.

Laisren struck again, avoiding Tris’s swing with Mageslayer. Flung backward against the chamber’s wall, Tris’s head swam. He gasped for breath as impossibly strong arms lifted him and pinned him.

“Hurry, Lord of the Dead,” the vayash moru whis-pered. The vayash moru’s breath was cold against his neck, and Tris felt mortal fear fill him as teeth sank against his skin. Dizziness washed over him.

Tris fought panic and closed his eyes. He felt him-self weakening, struggling to find the center of his •power. On the Plains of Spirit, he could see the vayash moru clearly, though darkness blocked his mortal sight. Tris summoned his power, and with the magic came a rush of spirits, called like moths to flame.

The magic bore him up as his mortal body weakened. In his mind’s eye, he saw his power fill him, saw it glow and burn through his skin and eyes, white-hot.

Laisren hissed sharply, lifting his teeth from Tris’s neck and loosening his grip.

Reeling, Tris relied on mage sight to swing Mageslayer, running his attack-er through the belly. Tris staggered as the vayash moru’s weight fell against the sword. Laisren’s face came into focus, an ironic smile on his lips.

“Next time I shall make it more difficult,” he said, falling still as Tris withdrew his sword.

Alone again in the darkness Tris gasped for breath, feeling his injuries fully. Left collar bone cracked or broken, at least one rib on the same side likewise. Blood trickled from the punctures in his neck, evidence that he had truly surprised his attacker, who had the means to leave a bloodless bite. Tris looked at the vayash moru’s still form, and wondered whether his attacker would feel any worse for the wear after he regenerated.