The Blood King (53 page)

“Once we’re in the city, we raise as many diver-sions as we can,” Carina chimed in. “If we do our job, the city garrison will be so busy they won’t have time to worry about what’s going on up at the castle.”

“While we drop in on them from above.” Tris double-checked the climbing ropes they had brought with them and Vahanian made a final inspection of their cuirasses. Kiara honed their weapons. Vahanian carefully counted the arrows for his crossbow, adjusted the bow’s string, and assured himself that each arrow was sharp and straight.

“Let’s hope they’re not watching the moon when we scale the cliffs,” Kiara added edgily.

“Gabriel and Jae can help with a diversion there,” Tris replied. “Assuming Arontala doesn’t sense me coming before we set foot inside the castle.”

Kiara stopped what she was doing to rummage in her pack. She withdrew the spelled cloak and offered it to Tris.

“Take this,” she said. “Maybe it will hide your magic just long enough to slip by Arontala.”

When they were certain that their preparations were complete, they settled down to rest. Carroway stretched out on a board that gave him some pro-tection from the damp dirt of the cellar floor. Vahanian offered to share a stone slab and his cloak with Carina. Kiara slipped close to Tris on a ruined door that kept them off the hard ground, nestling in his cloak while Jae slept at her feet.

Before long, Tris could hear the measured breath-ing that told him his companions were soundly asleep.

Gabriel left them at dawn for the deeper reaches of the cellar. When Tris was certain he would not wake Kiara he slipped away, covering her carefully with his cloak. He walked to the wall, where a chink in the foundation permitted the sun to send a weak shaft of light into the basement.

You have done well, Tris, a voice sounded in his mind. Tris recognized his grandmother’s voice and wheeled. In the shadows of the cellar he could see the robed woman’s outline, one hand upraised in greeting.

Grandmother, he said, falling to one knee. I’ve missed you.

The sorceress’ face softened into a smile. You’ve learned the lessons required of you.

Will they be enough? Tris asked.

Bava K’aa’s spirit gazed at him, her eyes both wise and stern. No one can see that. It’s for you to deter-mine. Beware the orb. It is the doorway to the abyss.

The spirit of the Obsidian King is strong and terrible. I hope that when the spirits are freed, if they survive, that Lemuel may be among them. Serae and Kait as well.

She paused, her outline growing more and more diffuse as she made a sign of blessing. The Lady keeps Her own. And with that her form disap-peared, but her words lingered in Tris’s mind.

Still kneeling, Tris looked up at the rotting tim-bers overhead. “Lady Bright,” he murmured, “I’ve sworn my sword to you to bring Jared and his mage to account.

Take my life if you must, but let me free Margolan from this evil.”

Nothing stirred, not even the rats that infested the cellar. Tris looked at his sleeping companions and felt his throat tighten. It would be a miracle of the Lady’s own working if they all lived through this campaign. He had told no one, but the dreams of the dark sending had returned to him, making his sleep fitful. They would need the blessing of the Lady and more than a little luck to live to tell about their adventure.

Mid-morning, Carina and Carroway made ready to head into the city. Carroway checked the pouch-es at his belt one more time for his fireworks.

“It’s time,” Carroway said, managing a reckless grin. “Come on Carina, let’s give them a perform-ance to remember.”

Carina hugged Kiara. Tris clapped Carroway on the shoulder, at a loss for what to say. In turn, Vahanian bid him farewell and wished him the blessing of the Lady.

“Watch your back,” Vahanian warned Carina as he kissed her goodbye. “Good luck.”

Even in the dim light, Tris could see the healer blush. “The Lady’s hand be on you as well,” she murmured. She took Carroway’s hand and made her way out of the cellar.

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CARROWAY AND CARINA made their way into the palace city, hidden by the crowds that came to celebrate the Hawthorn Moon. Above them on the cliffside, the castle Shekerishet loomed dark and watchful. But today the city’s attention was not on the palace and its king, but on the rev-elry that marked the coming of the solstice.

The streets were a solid press of people, crowding to see curbside shows or buy sweetmeats from the vendors that hawked their wares along the thor-oughfares.

It was obvious that this year, the festival-goers planned to spend as little time in the city with its guards as possible. They arrived in droves late in the day just before the festival’s start, and Carroway bet that the crowds would clear out very quickly once the festivities were over. It was a stark contrast to the nearly empty streets just days before. The smells of roasting meat and hearty ale wafted from the makeshift booths, and pilgrim and villager alike eagerly pressed around the carts. The crowd was in a festival mood, despite the guards who lingered at the edge of the town square. Whether the guards expected trouble or merely meant to make their presence felt Carroway did not know, but the feeling of being watched made him anxious for the night’s work to begin.

Carroway and Carina made their way through the crowded streets, toward the small tavern where they had arranged to meet Macaria, Helki, and Paiva. Carina hoped that Carroway’s friends had been able to recruit more minstrels to their cause. She relaxed, just slightly, when they passed an unfa-miliar bard whose song she recognized. It was one of the new songs Carroway and his friends at the inn had been practicing, songs designed to spread dissent. Quickly, Carina glanced over her shoulder, but the guards were on the other side of the square, breaking up a fight between two drunks. Before the guards returned, the dissident bard vanished into the crowd.

“I know them!” Carroway whispered to Carina.

“The guards?”

Carroway shook his head. “The ‘drunks.’” They’re bards. I’ll bet ten skrivven the fight was staged to distract the guards.”

Carina smiled. “Sounds like the party is starting without us.”

They rounded a corner and found a storyteller surrounded by a small crowd.

Two guards lingered at the edge of the group, waiting for the storyteller to say something out of line. But before he reached the climax of his tale, a burst of flame and a puff of

smoke started from a merchant’s cart at the far end of the block. The two guards sprinted toward the disturbance, where a hunched old woman in a tat-tered robe was muttering and wringing her hands, talking to herself. The guards tried to extinguish the fire, which seemed to grow larger the more the old woman tried to help. Finally, the guards shooed the woman away. Meanwhile, the storyteller’s tale had veered into a dramatic recounting of a peasant uprising, a bloody tale of a corrupt king brought to justice. By the time the guards put out the fire, the storyteller was gone.

“Look there,” Carina said, pointing into the crowd at a short, robed figure that ducked around a corner and disappeared from view.

“What?” Carroway asked, peering over the crowd. “I don’t see anything.”

“Come on,” Carina said, grabbing him by the wrist. They pushed their way through the crowd, past a trio of puppeteers and their bawdy show to follow the robed figure. It was the old woman who had been with the burning cart. They caught up half way down the street, and Carina broke into a broad smile.

“It is you!” she cried, as the stranger glanced up.

The cowl fell back to reveal Alyzza. The old hedge witch smiled a wide, broken-toothed grin and clasped Carina into a hearty embrace.

“By the Lady, I knew you’d come!” Alyzza exclaimed, greeting Carroway with equal hearti-ness. “I knew if you were still alive, you’d be in Margolan for the Hawthorn Moon.” Her eyes nar-rowed. “Will the deed be done tonight?”

Carina nodded, glancing around them. “We’re to make sure there’s enough of a ruckus in the city that the guards are distracted,” she whispered. “There’s not much time.”

Alyzza clapped in glee. “Oh that’s fine with me!” the old hedge witch exclaimed. “I haven’t raised a real fuss since before you were born. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll keep them hopping.” Once Carroway told Alyzza about the plot to enlist the minstrels’ help, she motioned for Carina and Carroway to follow her, leading them through the feast day crowds toward the Bristle Boar Inn where Macaria and the others waited.

Helki was waiting for them at the bar. When they entered, he rose and walked toward a private room in the back. Without a word of greeting, Carroway and the others followed him, remaining silent until the minstrel closed the door behind them.

“Are you sure we’re safe here?” Carina asked.

Helki nodded. “The innkeeper’s daughter disap-peared when she went up to the palace after the coup. She’d been seeing your friend Soterius. When she went looking for him, she was never heard from again.” Helki’s expression made clear his distaste. “Our innkeeper bears no love for the crown.”

Macaria and Paiva greeted both Carroway and Carina with embraces, and Carroway was heart-ened to see a dozen other bards and musicians packed into the small room. “This isn’t all of us, not by half,” Paiva said. “We’ve been recruiting since we left you at the Sparrow’s Roost. There must be five score of us, or more. We’ve been play-ing all over town for the last few days.” She grinned wickedly.

“Saving our best songs for this evening, naturally. But Lady True! What a reaction there’s been, even

to the ditties we’ve sung so far—mark my words, the crowd is angry. With enough ale, they’ll be spoiling for a fight!”

“Our innkeeper enlisted a few of his friends around town,” Macaria said.

“Especially the ones near the guards’ posts. The later the night gets, the more they’ll fill the glasses, without extra charge. By the Crone! We should have the town drunk and fighting by tenth bells.” Macaria laughed as Carroway pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek in glee.

“So it’s true what they’ve told us? Prince Martris is returned to win the throne?”

asked one of the minstrels, a dark haired boy who held a fiddle in one hand.

Carina looked from the boy to Carroway, and then to the other musicians crowd-ed into the small room.

Carroway stood and nodded. “It’s true,” he said, all mirth gone. “It’s going to be a hard fight. Tris is a Summoner now—maybe the strongest spirit mage since Bava K’aa. But Arontala is powerful, and he’ll be drawing on the power of the Obsidian King. It’s going to be a battle.”

The boy met Carroway’s eyes defiantly. “I’d rather die a free man than live like we have been, under Jared’s rule. We can’t go on like this. If there’s a chance to be rid of Jared, then I’m in, and Istra damn the consequences!”

“Istra aside, there are still the guards to contend with. We’ve been pretty successful at creating diver-sions so that we can draw off the guards, but it doesn’t always work. Kason lost a couple of teeth when the guards roughed him up for the song he sang about Bricen. He was lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Macaria gave a dangerous smile. “But I could feel how angry the crowd was when the guards broke them up. A little more ale, and I think we can turn this our way.”

Carroway nodded. “Don’t start anything unless you’ve got a clear exit. With luck, the crowd will figure out that there are more of them than there are of the soldiers, but the guards still have their clubs and dogs. Let’s not get anyone hurt if we can help it.”

“Except for the guards,” Paiva supplied.

Carroway grinned. “Yeah. Except for the guards.”

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AFTER CARROWAY AND Carina left their base-ment hiding place, the candlemarks passed at a crawl. Tris paced, too tense to rest. They waited out the remainder of the day until evening gave them cover to move. There was no way of knowing whether Carroway and Carina had worked their plan in safety, or whether they had been captured and the venture betrayed. Tris could see the same tension in his companions’ faces, though none of them spoke their thoughts. Dusk on the night of the Hawthorn Moon final-ly approached, leaving only a few candlemarks until midnight. Tris checked his weapons again.

Gabriel joined them at sundown.

“It’s time,” Gabriel said, stepping to the door as the ninth bells rang in the city below. The summer night was windless and unseasonably cool. High above, clouds obscured the moon.

Good, Tris thought. The darker it is, the more likely we can drop in unnoticed.

Hassad’s ghost awaited them. “I can’t take you the entire way, my liege, because of the banishing spell. But I can lead you to the best pathway up the mountain.”

“I’ll take them up the mountain,” Gabriel said.

“I want Jared alive, to pay for what he’s done,” Tris said. “If any hand slays him, it should be mine.”

Gabriel bowed his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish, my liege. You may find my… talents… useful in reaching your goal.” Even in near dark-ness, the pallor of his face was a noticeable contrast. “I hunger.”

They fell silent, making their way in the shadows at the edge of the roadway.

Twice they dodged into the bushes to escape patrols, narrowly evading a con-frontation. As the path began a steep incline up the mountain behind the palace, the roadway became less traveled and more difficult. At the road’s end, still a candlemark’s climb from the peak, Hassad stopped.

“I can’t go further,” the spirit said. “May the blessing of the Goddess be with you, my liege.” He dropped to one knee in fealty.

Tris gestured for the ghost to rise. “You’ve served this kingdom faithfully. If tonight’s workings don’t release you, I’ll return, by the grace of the Lady, and set your spirit to rest.”

Hassad inclined his head in gratitude. “What I served in life I serve willingly in death. Go, and may the hand of the Lady be upon you.”

Tris led the others up the rocky slope where no road marked their way. Gabriel picked out safe

passage when the moonlight failed them, guiding the party to the peak. Finally they stood overlooking the palace city. Below them, partially carved from the mountain itself, was Shekerishet.