The Sworn (48 page)

“Consort Spirits, I ask the honor of your attendance. Trouble the smoke for me, and help me see.”

Cwynn had fallen completely silent, watching with round, open eyes but making no sound. His gaze seemed to follow the rising smoke. With her right hand, Talwyn made a series of gestures. The smoke began to move, rearranging itself. From where he stood, Jair caught glimpses of images in the smoke, ever-changing scenes that appeared and disappeared between breaths. He wondered
what Tris’s magic made of it, or whether anyone but Talwyn could read the messages in the smoke.

After a few moments, Talwyn bowed her head and made a gesture of thanks to the spirits. She seemed to come back to herself, and she turned toward the others. Cwynn gurgled happily in her arms, and she returned the baby gently to Kiara, who looked from Talwyn to Cwynn with astonishment.

“He’s never this happy. What did you do?” Kiara asked, nestling Cwynn against her chest as she patted his back.

Talwyn lowered herself into a chair, and Jair could see fatigue in her face as he slipped an arm around her to steady her. Tris hurried to pour a goblet of sherry, which Talwyn accepted gratefully. “The Eagle Consort answered my petition. She’s the wildest of the Lady’s Consorts, an untamed spirit. I see a glow around Cwynn that augurs of power, but what kind of power, I can’t tell. I sense no magic, and no lack of magic. I sense nothing at all. That’s highly unusual. But whether he possesses magic or not, Cwynn can sense power. When we reached the north wall, I felt his terror. I didn’t feel what caused his terror, but I felt his reaction. It changed the light around him, in color and intensity.” She looked up at Tris and Kiara. “I sense no sickness or damage in the child. But at the same time, there is a difference. I don’t know what that difference means, or how it would affect his ability to rule. But with or without a crown, he is a spirit of power.” She frowned. “There was one other image. I don’t understand it, but I should mention it. A bridge. I saw a bridge the moment I touched him, and that image never left me until I handed him back to you.”

“What kind of bridge?” Kiara asked. “Did you recognize it?”

Talwyn shook her head. “It seemed to be made of light, so I don’t think it was meant to be a real bridge, a place that we’d find. Maybe it’s a symbol of something that connects two sides. I don’t know.”

Tris’s face was pale. “Alyzza said ‘protect the bridge.’ ”

“What?” Jair asked. Kiara had moved to the door to give Cwynn back to his nursemaid, but she rejoined them and laid a hand on Tris’s arm, her expression troubled.

Briefly, Tris recounted his journey to see Alyzza and her manic pronouncements. “So much of what she said was almost in code, but there was one thing she said clearly, although I had no idea what she meant. She told me to ‘protect the bridge.’ ”

“You think now that she might have meant Cwynn?” Jair asked.

Tris shrugged. “It’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think? But if he is
the
bridge, or
a
bridge, then the question is, a bridge to where? A bridge between what two things?”

“And from whom does he need protecting?” Jair murmured.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt about the last question.” Talwyn’s voice startled them. “We face a common enemy. Potent magic is calling the Durim and courting the Dread. Something terrifies Cwynn, even if he’s too young to understand. It may be that our enemy has found something attractive about Cwynn, or perhaps Cwynn will come to his attention. You don’t yet know what Cwynn’s gifts are. Maybe right now, we don’t need to know what Cwynn bridges. If the enemy wants him, then he is a prime asset in the war that’s coming. Protecting
him is more than a matter of succession. For all we know, Cwynn might be the point of the whole war.”

At dusk the next evening, Tris and Talwyn met to answer the summons of the Dread. Kiara and Jair insisted on coming. Fallon and Nisim came to provide warding and a magical anchor, grounding Tris and Talwyn in the realm of the living. Ban Soterius also was adamant about being present, and he brought with him half a dozen handpicked guards to seal the area from intruders during the working.

The only ancient barrow near Shekerishet had been desecrated. After making a quick scout of the area, Talwyn had selected a suitable compromise. The spot she chose was near the mouth of a cave just at the forest’s edge, not far from the banks of a stream. It was a place where many small shrines had been erected over the years by passersby. Stacked stones and guttered candles marked the offerings people had made in this place, sensing that the other realm was close here. Bits of colored cloth fluttered in the trees, tied to the lower branches as petitions to the Lady.

“Why here?” Soterius grumbled. “There are too damn many places someone could shoot from cover. Why can’t you do magic out in the middle of a nice, flat field where I can see who’s coming?”

Talwyn smiled. “I really don’t pick the place for magic like this. The spirits pick it. There is power in this place.” She swept a hand to indicate the small shrines. “I’m not the only one to feel it. And I’ll bet that if you look closely at the rocks around that cave, you’ll find runes scratched into them, maybe some more offerings. The deep places
have their own power. Barrows or not, the Dread and the Nachale walk in the deep places. Those realms belong to them.”

Tris nodded. “I feel it. You know, I spent my boyhood avoiding places like this, and I didn’t know why. Grandmother didn’t tell me about my magic to protect me from Jared. She thought he’d kill me if he suspected, and I think she was right. I just knew that the ghosts I wasn’t supposed to be able to see were stronger in places like this. Ghosts—and other things that weren’t friendly.”

Talwyn shut her eyes. “I don’t sense dark spirits here. This area feels neutral. That’s another reason why I chose it.” She opened her eyes and glanced up at the setting sun. “I’d like to work this before full dark, just to be on the safe side. Let’s get started.”

Fallon and Nisim raised wardings around the area. An outer warding protected a large area around the group. A second warding separated the four mages from the others. Soterius’s guards were prominent and fully armed, creating a third, practical level of protection. While the others prepared the space, Talwyn readied the materials for the working. She built a small fire midway between the creek bank and the cave opening, just paces from the edge of the trees.

The shadows were stretching long as Talwyn called to the Consort Spirits while she set the fire. Herbs from her pouches raised thick smoke that smelled of juniper and sandalwood. Around the fire, she placed polished stones in recognition of the eight Aspects of the Lady. Chalcedony, aventurine, peridot, and citrine for each of the Light Aspects, and at the cross quarters she placed bloodstone, garnet, iron, and salt, tribute and wardings for the Dark
Aspects. Talwyn took a talisman for each of the Consorts and placed them atop the stones on the four quarters: an eagle feather, a bear claw, the tooth of a stawar, and a wolf’s tooth.

Through Talwyn, Tris could feel the light touch of Nisim’s magic like a gossamer rope to secure her return. He knew that Fallon was anchoring him in a similar manner. When Fallon and Nisim were satisfied, Talwyn looked to Tris. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he said, and his voice was steady.

Talwyn took his hand. “Since we don’t know for certain whether I spirit walk in the space you call Nether, watch me make the shift, and then see if you can follow.” She managed a smile. “It wouldn’t do for us to end up in different places.”

Talwyn gathered her magic around her, drawing on the images of the Consorts and the Faces of the Lady. Tris was very aware of her magic, and he could sense it through their bond. Talwyn let the musky incense fill her lungs and Tris felt the loosening of the bonds that secured her spirit within her body. It wasn’t the complete separation Tris could make with his summoner’s magic. As Talwyn had explained it to him, it was her spirit, her consciousness, that walked, and not what some called a soul. Beneath his tunic, Tris wore Marlan the Gold’s talisman on a strap around his neck, hoping that it might serve as a vouchsafe.

Once Tris joined her, Talwyn let her magic call to the Consort Spirits. In his mind’s eye, Tris saw a figure with the head of a wolf and the body of a man step from the mists. The being wore the mantle of a Sworn shaman and a beaded belt hung with charms and amulets. The Consort
Spirit wore the rough woven pants of a Sworn warrior but he was bare chested. His body was covered with thick, brown hair, although he was clearly in the form of a man. The guide beckoned for Talwyn and Tris to follow him, and then turned and began to walk down a path that appeared out of nowhere just a step in front of him.

Still clasping hands, Talwyn and Tris followed. Tris could feel their magics resonating through the skin of their palms. Their powers seemed to feed each other, and Tris almost expected to see an arc flash between them, although none did.

The Wolf Consort guided them through heavy mist. Tris could see few features of the terrain, but there was enough to tell him that their spirits walked somewhere far different from the landscape they had left behind. Time ceased to have meaning. They might have walked for a candlemark or a day. Finally, the Wolf Consort stopped, and with a bow and a sweep of his hand, he indicated that they should pass in front of him.

“Thank you, Spirit Father,” Talwyn said. “I ask that you await our return, to guide us back safely.”

The Wolf Consort nodded in assent, and then vanished into the mist.

Before Talwyn could say anything, Tris felt the coming of the Dread. Cold, ancient power rolled over him, like a wave on a storm-ravaged sea. It was enough to make Talwyn stumble. Tris tightened his grip on her hand, but he did not move. The mist roiled, but it did not part to show a solid figure, although Tris thought he could make out an outline blurred by the fog. The Dread’s shape was larger than most men, and taller. Its arms and hands seemed too long—not quite, and perhaps never, human. Its face was
darkness, and as the mist shifted, Tris could not make out any clear features.

“Yes, you are indeed a true summoner.” The voice might have sounded in their minds, or all around them.

“Why have you called me?” Tris’s voice was firm, making it clear in his tone that the Dread had issued an invitation, and a king had chosen to respond.

“We would take your measure.” Now, Tris heard the low murmur of multiple voices, and he sensed that more shadows moved beyond the veil of fog.

Tris withdrew Marlan the Gold’s talisman from beneath his tunic. It glowed in his hand. “See for yourself. I’m Marlan the Gold’s heir in blood and power. What more would you know?”

A rumble of voices sounded just below Tris’s ability to catch their words. Or perhaps they spoke a language that he did not recognize, even on the Plains of Spirit.

“Your power is great. We have been touched by another power from beyond these borders. Others have tried to call us to their aid. Always, we have refused. We may still refuse this call, but we would know more of you, Marlan’s heir. What would you offer us in exchange for our support?”

Tris took a deep breath. “Honored spirits, I didn’t choose to call you from your slumber. I respect your choice to be apart from mortal concerns. But if you choose to walk among the living once more, then I would ask you to protect Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms from those who would cross our borders unbidden. Judge the measure of the magic by how it’s worked. I have not called you with blood magic.”

“And yet, it is your blood itself that calls to us,” the
voice replied. “Blood is the oldest magic, and the most powerful. Marlan knew this.”

Tris nodded. “Yes, as did Hadenrul. But I don’t shed human blood in sacrifice, or destroy the undead as offerings. And if it’s possible, I would rather avert this war than pay its price in blood, although if it comes to that, I would pay in my own blood to protect my people.”

“Interesting,” the voice replied. “What spoils would you offer us to ally with you? What payment would you make for us to tip the balance?”

There was a note of anger in his voice when Tris spoke. “Once, long ago, you walked these lands. My ancestors trusted you as their protectors. Marlan trusted in your power to protect his people. I would call on those vows to ask that you protect Margolan once more, if war comes. I have nothing to offer you as payment, except honor’s satisfaction. I won’t barter my kingdom’s freedom. I won’t accept any power as master of Margolan, yours or the invader from across the sea. We will fight any hand that tries to dominate us. We may lose, but we will die free.”

Tris’s jaw was set. He felt the Dread’s power like a low hum that reverberated in his bones, almost too low to hear but impossible to ignore.

“You are indeed Marlan’s heir. He, too, was not afraid to challenge us.” Tris thought he heard a note of amusement in the voice. “What of the Nachale? You’re the Summoner King. You’ve called the recent dead to your aid in battle. We felt your power across the graves when you raised the spirits in your recent war. Would you seek the power of the Nachale to win your cause?”

“If Margolan faced defeat, I would ask for help from all allies, living, dead, and undead. I would use my power
to gain their willing help. But I would not loose a greater bane upon my people to rid us from a mortal threat.”

Again, the sound of low conversation just at the threshold of sound. “We must give this matter thought.”

“Wait!” Tris moved a step closer, nearly pulling his hand out of Talwyn’s grip. “Is this a War of Unmaking? Is there still a way to keep this war from coming?”