Dark Lady's Chosen (33 page)

It was early evening. Lisette and Riqua had just arisen, and they were making preparations with Royster for tonight’s working. Carina had insisted on remaining awake today, hidden from the sun in Dark Haven’s windowless inner circle of rooms or behind its heavy draperies.

She turned and took a small candle from a holder, lighting it from a larger lamp. Carina crossed to the shrine in the corner of her room where candles burned to small ivory images of the Lady in Her Aspects of Mother and Childe. Although Isencroft was partial to the warrior aspect of Chenne, Carina had always sought comfort from the Mother and Childe.

Earlier, Carina had made her offering for good measure in Istra’s chapel beneath Dark Haven.

Now, she poured dark mead into a goblet and set it in front of the ornately carved figurines.

She removed a napkin from over a honey cake and laid the cake next to the mead, and then she made the sign of the Lady and whispered the Prayer for the Dead. She had often murmured those words on the battlefield, over the war dead she could not save. Now, she said it for Jonmarc and for herself, hoping that tonight they might be reunited in the arms of the Lady.

“I’m sorry, Carina.” Taru stood in the doorway, and the expression on her face made Carina sure that Taru had seen her putting the dress away.

Carina swallowed hard. “Jonmarc and I made a handfasting. That’s all most people do. I guess married is married, even without a ritual ceremony.”

“You should be resting to save your strength for tonight.”

Carina gave a wan smile. “If this is my last day, I’d really rather be awake for it. Besides, I needed to meet with Neirin. I know Jonmarc hasn’t been Lord of Dark Haven for long, but he and

Gabriel made so much progress that I don’t want it all to fall to ruin again.” Carina knew that Taru understood what she left unsaid: Jonmarc was as unlikely to live through this day as she was.

“Promise me something, Taru.”

“If it’s within my power, you know I’ll do anything I can.”

Carina met Taru’s eyes. “Promise me that if I die, you’ll find a healer to replace me. The need here is so great. I understand why it’s uncomfortable for a healer here. Getting used to the empty feeling around
vayash moru
takes a while. But the humans and the
vyrkin
here need a healer.” She sighed. “I had hoped to become a mind healer. Lisette thought that with mind healing, I might be of help to the
vayash moru,
since I was able to ease Raen’s suffering. Immortality is more painful than I ever expected! And I wanted to experiment with healing magic and potions to see if I could come up with something that would ease the
vayash moru
’s pain when they’re injured.” She shook her head. “It’s all ending too soon, Taru. There’s too much left undone.”

Taru put her arms around Carina and drew her close. “I know. And it’s scant comfort to know that if you do heal the Flow tonight, you may be able to end a lot of other suffering. I wanted this to work out differently for you.”

Carina stood back and clasped Taru’s hands. “So did I. But maybe this will still count for something. I just hope the messengers reached Tris in time. Otherwise, this may be a very short healing.”

Taru winced at the thought. “Riqua believed they could. Will you have any way to sense Tris’s presence before you step into the Flow?”

Carina shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll see when we get there.”

Taru indicated the glass on the table filled with the noxious blood and milk mixture. “You should eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Carina wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps I’ve found one good thing about tonight after all. I won’t have to drink this awful stuff again!”

When Taru left, Carina let herself into Jonmarc’s rooms and lit a torch. Although Jonmarc had been gone for days, the servants kept the fire banked in his room, awaiting his return.

Carina sat down in the leather chair near the hearth. A shirt lay discarded across the back of the chair. She pulled it to her and caught a breath of his scent. She buried her face in the linen, wishing she could cry.

Since late morning, the sounds of battle rang across the plain as the Margolan army resumed its siege of Lochlanimar. Despite a bitter wind that swept down from the mountains, Tris’s remaining soldiers held their positions, battering at the stronghold’s crumbling outer walls. For most of the day, Tris stayed at the forefront of the battle, taking the active role Soterius was not yet well enough to play. By agreement, he let the remaining mages take turns striking Lochlanimar with magic to preserve his own power for the night’s working. He was grateful that the constantly shifting battle kept his mind focused in the moment, leaving no time to worry about either Kiara or the Flow.

Come nightfall, the
vayash moru
surged forward to help their mortal comrades. And as the evening of Candles Night approached, Tris felt his own sense of dread grow. Finally he heard the sound of a gong, and wheeled his horse and rode for the relative shelter of the rear lines. The guards parted for him to enter. Fallon waited for him inside his tent.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Hardly. Is there a choice?”

“No. But I still don’t understand how you think I can help.”

“I need you to shield me. I have no idea what Curane’s mages can read from the Flow, but I’m betting they’ll realize we’re up to something pretty big. With my attention on anchoring Carina, I’ll be vulnerable. They could blindside me—assuming that I even
could
pull free from what I’m doing without causing a catastrophe. I need you to watch my back,” he said with a nervous half-smile as he removed his cloak.

“Is that all?” Fallon replied, her eyes softening the retort.

“Yeah, and drink a glass of brandy in my honor if I go up in a puff of smoke,” Tris cracked.

He wondered if Fallon had any idea of how nervous the night’s working made him.

“I’ve brought the things you asked for.” Coalan stood in the tent’s doorway. He held out a flat, intricately worked metal plate the size of a man’s palm, a labyrinth to help Tris center his thoughts. A scabbard hung over his shoulder, with the hilt of a sword protruding. A braided rug made of wizard’s cords hung over his arm.

“That’s not just any rug,” Fallon observed as Tris spread the small, circular rug out on the tent floor.

Tris managed a nervous smile. “It was my grandmother’s. I don’t know what made me bring it with me. It was her workspace in her room. I learned my first magic there as a boy. I don’t know if you can feel it, but I can still sense Grandmother’s power in the cords.”

Fallon nodded. “Great power leaves a signature, like a residue. I’ve encountered that same feeling before, in other magical items that belonged to Bava K’aa. And it’s also in that sword.” She glanced at the sword Coalan held out to Tris, a different weapon than the heavy broadsword Tris had carried with him into battle. “That’s the sword Taru gave you at your coronation, isn’t it? Bava K’aa’s sword.”

Tris took the sword and drew it from its worn scabbard. It was beautifully forged but without ornamentation, save for the faint tracery of runes inscribed on the blade. Now, the runes were almost invisible, but when he had first been presented with the sword, they had blazed with fire. “Another one of those things I threw into my trunk without knowing why. I’ve been leery of carrying it into battle until I had a better idea of its power. But for this working, I’ll take all the help I can get.” He glanced at Fallon. “Taru was cryptic about it when she gave it to me. Can you shed any light on what it can do?”

Fallon frowned and closed her eyes, letting her hand skim just above the sword, palm down as she extended her magic. “There is a trace of your grandmother’s power. I can feel it, like a signature. Beyond that… its magic won’t speak to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it requires a Summoner’s power to activate it.” She opened her eyes. “I’d warn you that it’s risky to use a magic object if you don’t know its power, but considering what you’re about to try, the danger seems small by comparison.”

Fallon, Tris and Coalan arranged a workspace in the center of the tent with a pillar candle on a small flat board and the labyrinth in front of it. Coalan took a place blocking the tent doorway, with his own sword in hand. Fallon glanced at the notched candle on the desk that measured the time. It was burned down nearly to the nineteenth notch. “Nearly seventh bells. We’d better get into position,” she said.

Tris nodded, fighting back his own nervousness. What Carina’s letter suggested had never been tried before—at least not to Fallon’s considerable knowledge. The idea that he could send his magic across the Flow to anchor Carina’s soul all the way in Dark Haven seemed absurd. But at the same time, the damaged Flow was making it nearly impossible to harness magic for this night’s battle. “If I’m going to burst into flames, better here than on the battlefield,” he said with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. He stepped onto the braided rug and raised his sword as his athame.

Tris walked the circle of the braided rug as his grandmother had taught him long ago. He spoke the invocation of the quarters as he focused his concentration on the tip of the blade.

Around him, the warding flared in a dome of blue-white power. Once his warding was in place, Fallon walked the same circle in the opposite direction, adding a golden dome of power to reinforce the warding. Looking out toward Coalan and Fallon, Tris saw their images distorted as if through rising waves of heat on a scorching summer’s day as the wardings surrounded him.

Tris knelt on the rug and laid his sword at his knees. He focused first on the pure flame of the candle, slowing his breathing as Bava K’aa had taught him until the roar of the battle beyond the thin canvas walls of the tent faded and only the flame remained. Centered, he turned his focus to the silver labyrinth. He lifted it reverently into his left hand, holding it in his palm as his right index finger began to slowly trace its intricate pattern. Chanting to himself, he felt his heartbeat and breathing slow further as he entered into a trance.

Slipping onto the Plains of Spirit, Tris saw himself walking the complex labyrinth that appeared before him, carved into the gray stone at his feet. In the Nether, Tris felt his focus shift fully from where his mortal body knelt to a place in his consciousness where only spirit and magic existed. In this place between the living and the dead, Tris reached out his power to touch the Flow.

Carina heard footsteps in the doorway to the sitting room.

“It’s nearly time,” Taru said quietly.

Carina rose and put Jonmarc’s shirt aside. She straightened her healer’s robes and squared her shoulders. With a confidence she did not feel, she walked with Taru down the long corridor toward the stairway to the ruined vaults beneath Dark Haven. Royster, Riqua and Lisette waited for them at the top of the stairs, and Carina could see Raen’s ghostly shape glowing in the shadows.

“I took the liberty of asking Neirin to secure anything that might shake loose and to keep the servants and the refugees well away from this end of the manor,” Royster said, clearing his throat. “Just in case.”

Carina took his meaning clearly. The last person to tamper directly with the Flow had been Foor Arontala, when he had torn loose the orb that imprisoned the soul of the Obsidian King. The resulting burst of unharnessed power had collapsed part of the manor house, killed the last lord

and wounded the Flow. “You shouldn’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.”

“And miss history in the making?” Royster protested. Carina saw a scroll, quill and bottle of ink bulged from one of Royster’s pouches.

“We will see this through,” Riqua said in a voice that let Carina know the matter was settled.

Carina managed a half smile, grateful for their courage. “Let’s go.”

They made their way down the stone stairway, picking through the rubble. Raen led the way, followed by Riqua and then Royster, carrying a torch to light the way for the others.

The lower they descended the colder it became, until Carina could see Taru’s breath and Royster was shivering despite his woolen robes. The frigid air was still, and as they reached the bottom step, they heard the tower bells chime the seventh hour.

“Hurry. I doubt Tris can hold on for long,” Carina said, picking up her skirts to move more quickly.

Beyond the archway, Carina could see the coruscating lights of the Flow. Like the Spirit Lights of the far north, the colors of the Flow flashed across the reflective crystals of the cave walls. Even without touching the powerful energy, Carina could sense that it was more damaged than when she visited before. But this time, she sensed something else: within the pulse of the Flow’s wild energy, Carina felt Tris Drayke’s magic.

Carina took a step toward the Flow as if approaching a wounded beast. The chamber flared with light as the energy river acknowledged her presence. Carina moved closer, one halting step at a time. She struggled to quell her own fear, searching for a place of inner calm.

Holding her breath, Carina stepped into the power of the Flow.

Light surrounded her. Carina felt as if she were completely surrounded by the glittering ice crystals of a sudden snow squall. The Flow enveloped her, filled her, becoming the essence of her blood and bones. At the same time, she felt a comforting and familiar presence. Tris’s magic found her and anchored her to his power.

A torrent of pain and primal anger washed over Tris. He kept chanting. The violence of the Flow’s contact slammed into him, but the chant and the labyrinth kept him anchored. In the Nether, Tris could see the Flow in all its brilliance, a radiant ribbon of light and color. Its sheer beauty took his breath away as it undulated, glistening like powdered diamonds. He stretched out

his mage sense further, seeking Carina. He felt nothing but the turmoil of the Flow and forced despair from his thoughts, struggling to hold the trance.

Suddenly, he felt the Flow shift. The patterns of the colors changed. Tris pictured Carina, sought her through the Flow, throwing out tendrils of power on the wild currents of magic.

Willing his power along the course of the Flow, he felt Carina’s presence like a flutter against his skin.