The Blood King (51 page)

“Do you think Riqua was right about Lemuel?” Vahanian asked. He kept a wary eye on the rear window and leaned against the wall near the door, his hand close to his sword.

Tris put the book down and blinked to ease his tired eyes. “That he got trapped and taken along for the ride, so to speak?” he asked, being deliberately vague because of the innkeepers’ family within earshot. “Yes. It makes sense with what I heard from… ‘my sisters,’” he added, thinking it unwise to refer to the Sisterhood by name.

Vahanian caught the evasion and chuckled. “I like that. Your sisters.” He sobered. “Poor guy, if that’s what happened to him. So he’s been a prison-er—all these years—in that big ball you talk about?”

Tris cast a glance toward Tabethe and Lara, but they seemed wholly unconcerned with the conver-sation, bustling about the front of the kitchen to serve their festival-bound guests. “Grandmother apparently thought so. Who knows if he even exists anymore? I know that’s where Kait is—and possibly mother, too. When this is over, if their spirits sur-vived, I hope I can send them to their rest.”

Just then, there was a tap at the door. Kiara roused from her nap and straightened. Vahanian moved quickly, his hand on his sword as the door opened. Gabriel stepped in, shaking the rain from his cloak. “So this is where you are,” the vayash moru said. “Tired of my accommodations?” Tris feared the innkeeper’s wife might run screaming from the room, but Tabethe merely afforded Gabriel a nod.

“Good evenin’, m’lord,” she said, as Lara went for a mug. “Deer’s fresh today, if you want a nip.”

Gabriel smiled and gave a shallow bow in greet-ing. “I would be grateful, dear lady. Many thanks.”

Tabethe refused Gabriel’s gold when she realized he was with Tris and the others. With all that Jared had done to foster fear of the vayash moru among the people, Tris gave Tabethe credit for her matter-of-fact greeting; a sign, he thought, that at least some in Margolan saw through Jared’s fear-mongering.

When the last of the greatroom patrons had departed, Carroway and Carina came through the door from the outer room, followed by three musi-cians whom Tris immediately recognized as Carroway’s inner circle at court. First through the door was a man just a little older than Carroway, with touseled, short blond hair framing a youthful face with mischievous blue eyes. Next was a slip of a girl who looked barely more than sixteen sum-mers old, carrying a flute. She had lank, dark hair, and cynical brown eyes. Beside Carroway was a tall young woman with short dark hair and violet eyes. She had a lyre over her shoulder.

“Look who we found!” Carroway grinned, and the musicians looked from the bard to Tris as if they had seen a ghost. “You remember Helki, Paiva and Macaria—from back home?”

“By the Lady, can it be?” asked Helki with a gasp. “My prince!” he exclaimed.

Carroway made hush-ing gestures. To Tris’s chagrin, the three minstrels bowed low.

Lars came through the door just then, with a small bag of coins for the minstrels. “I have your pay, unless you’re of a mind to leave without it,” the innkeeper said, stooping to pick up a coin that fell. He froze, looking at Jared’s image on the gold piece, and then rose slowly, looking from the coin to Tris and back again as if the coin might burn him.

“M’lord mage,” the innkeeper croaked. “I mean no disrespect, but ‘tis the Lady’s truth that there is a powerful resemblance between you and the king.”

“The minstrel called him ‘my prince,’ just now,”

Tabethe said, nervously edging toward Lars.

Resigned, Tris stood and spread his hands. “I didn’t mean to deceive you,” he said to the innkeep-er, who looked pale with fear. Vahanian and Gabriel moved closer to him, and Kiara stood, her hand near her sword. “I wanted to spare you the burden of dangerous knowledge. You’re correct. I’m Martris Drayke.”

The innkeeper gasped and then elbowed his wife, who stood with her mouth open. “Curtsey, you fool,” Lars whispered as he made an awkward bow. Tabethe, after a moment, found the presence of mind to attempt an equally unpracticed curtsey, and nearly lost her footing. Lara and Toby stared wide-eyed from near the wall.

“The rumors are true then!” Lars exclaimed, finding his voice. “By the Goddess!

Prince Martris lives! Oh me, and what I’ve said, please, my prince, take no offense—”

Tris smiled at the innkeeper’s flustered apology. “None taken. We’re grateful for your shelter, both before, when we fled for our lives, and now, when we’re still in danger. I don’t wish to put your fami-ly at risk. If you’ll keep the secret of our passing, we’ll leave.”

“On a night like this?” the innkeeper cried. “My prince, we’re honored to have you under our root. Oh my, what am I thinking? There’s royalty in the inn, and we’ve got them in the kitchen!”

Tris burst out laughing. “Good sir,” Tris said, “believe me when I tell you that yours are the best accommodations we’ve had in many a fortnight.”

Lars brightened, blushing with pride. “Truly? We’re honored, Your Highness.

You’re welcome to sleep in our own rooms, humble as they are, rather than here in the kitchen.”

“We’re quite comfortable here, near the fire, with some bedding if there’s any to spare,” Tris said. He was grateful for the man’s offer, but preferred the quick exit of the back door. “But I beg of you, for your own sakes, tell no one that you’ve seen us.”

Lars looked shrewdly at Tris and the others. For the first time, the innkeeper took in their swords and the manner of both Kiara and Vahanian, which clearly spoke of battle training. “I take your mean-ing. There can be but one reason you’ve returned, my prince. And if there’s aught that we can do to help you, just ask. All we have is at your service.” With that pledge, Lars knelt, and his family also.

“Please, rise,” Tris said. “Tonight we’re happier than you can know with a warm meal and a roar-ing fire. But now you know why I welcome your news and your rumors from the city—and why I’m anxious to hear what these minstrels have to tell us.”

“We’ll leave you to your business,” said Lars, motioning to his family. “If you need aught, just call. No one will bother you in here. I’ll stay in the greatroom myself, to make sure.”

“Thank you,” Tris said. “We’re in your debt.”

“The prince himself, in my inn!” Lars murmured as he turned toward the door.

He was still talking to himself in amazement as he left the kitchen. Tris sat, bidding the others to do the same. Vahanian took up a post at the greatroom door, while Gabriel moved closer to the outer door.

“Can we trust him?” Kiara asked. She sat next to Tris as he motioned for the minstrels to gather round.

Tris looked toward the door through which Lars had gone. “We have no reason not to, and every reason to believe him. He’s right—where would we go, in this weather, that would be safer?”

“You can trust Lars, my prince,” said Helki. “If you want to know the truth of it, he’s run some-thing of a resistance out of this inn. It hasn’t been safe for us to stay near the palace. Lars took us in— glad for the entertainment, no doubt, but watchful that when guards came, we could make ourselves scarce. Many times, Lars and his family have hid-den people fleeing King Jared. Some of the palace staff, and not a few deserters from the army, have passed this way. They spread the word among themselves as to which are the safe houses, and they are spirited away, as if on a ghost carriage.”

Helki looked at his companions, whose expres-sions still reflected their utter amazement at seeing Tris and the others. “By the Mother and Childe! It’s good to see you well, my prince.”

“What can you tell us about Shekerishet since we left?” Tris pressed.

“Nothing good, Your Highness.” It was Macaria who spoke up. Tris suppressed a smile, knowing that the dark-haired musician caught Carroway’s eye. She seemed to be completely unaware of Carroway’s attention, even now, when the minstrel watched her with unabashed joy. “I don’t know how far news travels, or what you’ve heard, but it’s been terrible.”

“Some of the bards have gone missing altogeth-er,” Macaria said. “Though whether dead or in hiding, I don’t know. I’ve heard that Lady Eadoin is hiding some of the court musicians, the ones Jared particularly disliked. Eadoin’s brother’s family was killed for harboring fugitives. We managed to keep out of Jared’s sights, but I’ve heard tell of minstrels who have been hanged for singing tales about King Bricen, or telling a story that raised Jared’s ire. In the city, the king’s guards are always prowling around, looking for someone to make an example of. They’ve beaten men in the street for telling jokes about the king, and dragged others out in the mid-dle of the night for one ‘crime’ or another.

No one ever sees the poor blokes again.”

“How is it you’re here?” Carroway asked, and Tris noted that Carroway never took his eyes off Macaria as he spoke. She didn’t seem to notice.

“We left the city during the winter,” Paiva said. “One step ahead of the guards.

Since then, we’ve made what living we could singing for our keep in taverns, playing for our supper at the baker’s and butcher’s, and begging, if you want to know the truth of it.” She sighed. “But there’s been talk all Spring that something would be afoot at the Hawthorn Moon, and so we thought that with the crowds and all, we’d chance going back.” Paiva grinned, and elbowed Carroway good-naturedly. “Looks like our pretty bird here has landed himself smack in the middle of a revolution!”

“You don’t know the half of it!” Carroway said. “But if you’re game, and you’re tired of Jared on the throne, there’s a part you could play.”

“We’re in,” Helki said. “Anything to be rid of that bloody tyrant!”

The group huddled around the table. “While Tris and the others do what they need to do,” Carroway said, “I thought that perhaps Carina and I—with your help—could stir up a little riot or two in the city. There’s another friend of ours, a hedge witch named Alyzza, who’s headed this way as well. What do you think—can we work up a mob?”

Macaria grinned wickedly. “Like that’s a hard thing, with all the ale that’ll be flowing?” The other bards laughed. ‘“Tis the Lady’s truth—the only ones getting rich from Jared’s rule are the barley growers and the rum smugglers, since any that haven’t left the country drink to drown their sor-rows.”

“Out here in the country, the songs I get the most requests for are the ones they’ll hang you for in the city—the stories of King Bricen’s battles, and of King Hotten’s victory, and about the sorceress Bava K’aa,” said Helki. “I dare say that might get a crowd going.”

Paiva snorted. “I can do you one better than that. Remember the songs we heard up in Ghorbal, the ballads about the maidens taken by the king’s men, and the empty village with its ghosts? Had the biggest men in the room dabbing their eyes as they swilled their ale. I wager we could write a few more like that, to remind them what’s been stolen from them and get them in an ugly mood.” The girl’s lip curled into a devious smile. “I’ll get to work on it.”

Helki looked at Tris. “My prince, you’ve got to be careful. King Jared’s sorcerer is a demon. He’s grown strong on blood these many months, like a big red spider.

Even if you can take Shekerishet, how will you stop Arontala?”

“He’s a Summoner, he is,” said Toby. Tris and the others looked up to see the innkeeper’s son, who had been watching wide-eyed from near the fire-place.

“Saw it myself, I did. Talked to the ghost that was busting up the place, and made him plain for all to see. Had a conversation with him, he did. Got robbed, poor bloke, and so I took word to his fam-ily the next day, to help him to his rest. He’s a Summoner, by the Lady, he is!”

“Really?” Macaria asked.

“Do you remember the ballad we used to sing, about the ghosts of the Ruune Videya?” Carroway asked.

Macaria gasped. “There were wild stories that the forest is no longer haunted.

You mean they’re true? How?”

“You wouldn’t really want to know,” Vahanian said from his post near the door. “Trust me on that.”

“Tris did it—we were there. And that was before Tris trained with the Sisterhood,” Carroway added. “He can handle Arontala.”

“My prince,” Helki said. “We’re honored to help with your return. We’ll do as Carroway bids, and help you raise your diversion. I’d rather die fighting than spend the rest of my life running away.”

Macaria and Paiva murmured their agreement.

“You may help to win the night,” Tris said with a tired smile. “Carroway taught me a long time ago never to underestimate a bard!”

“I don’t mean to spoil the reunion,” Kiara said, nudging Tris, “but it’ll be daylight soon, and I think we might ride better with a little rest.”

“By your leave, my prince, we’ll keep watch in the outer room,” Helki offered.

With Tris’s nod, the minstrels took their leave.

“I’ll go with them,” Carroway said, standing. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Tris looked at the others after the bards were gone. “Every time I hear us say aloud what we intend to do, it sounds too far-fetched to be possi-ble. The damndest thing is, I haven’t come up with a better idea.”

“That’s what makes it brilliant,” Kiara said. She found a chair with a back and drew it up near the fireplace, where the banked embers made a warm red heap in the center. “No one else will think we’re crazy enough to pull off a stunt like that.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Vahanian objected. He gladly gave up his post for

Gabriel to stand watch, and stretched out on one of the empty tables with his cloak over him. Carina and Tris found tables or benches of their own, and drew up close to the hearth.

“I’ve found that the Lady blesses the most unlike-ly of heroes,” Gabriel observed from near the door. “Let’s hope that Her blessing is on equally unlikely tactics.”

Tris echoed that hope as he drifted off to sleep, resolutely determined to enjoy a last night of warmth and safety before they reached the outskirts of the palace city.

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BY MID-MORNING, Tris and his friends left the Sparrow’s Roost, with the innkeeper’s pledge of secrecy and saddlebags full of wine and provi-sions. Helki and the minstrels promised to meet up with Carroway and Carina by the fourth bell on the night of the Hawthorn Moon in the Bristle Boar Inn, a favorite with local musicians. They set out, blending with the festival crowd, heading for Shekerishet. The rain was over, and the early sum-mer days warmed considerably as the skies cleared. To avoid being conspicuous, Tris and the others split up the party as they rode. Tris and Carroway rode together ahead of the others. Kiara and Carina rode behind. Kiara bound up her long hair and secured it beneath a cap. She wore a man’s tunic and pants that hid her figure well and made it unre-markable for her to carry a sword. Vahanian rode rear guard, on alert for trouble. They stuck to the