The Blood King (23 page)

“You burned my body!” the ghost cried out. The red flames flared and faded, leaving only a charred corpse.

“You won’t be needing it,” Tris said, his thoughts elsewhere. That the brigand told the truth about his past and about his mission Tris had no doubt, sens-ing the spirit’s complete lack of remorse. He deserves everything he was going to get, and more, Tris thought bitterly, struggling and failing to find neutrality. I could let him go to the Crone. It would be so easy to just step aside…

In his mind, he could hear Sister Taru’s voice. Such power is reserved for the Lady alone, Taru had warned. The Obsidian King became the judger of souls, and would have made himself a god.

Swallowing hard, Tris turned his attention to the presence he felt in the shadows, the Aspect of the Crone, come to take Her prize. “Lady most power-ful, giver of souls and taker of breath, hear me.” It was half prayer, half supplication, and he knew he was on dangerous ground. There was no response, but Tris sensed that the Crone was listening.

“This soul fears his due,” Tris said honestly. “And I’m a poor advocate, since he has harmed my friend and would have killed my betrothed. But I gave him my word that I’d ask for mercy if he told his story. And so I keep that word, and know that it is given to the Lady alone to be the judge of souls. If there is a way for him to go to an Aspect other than your-self, m’Lady, hear my prayer.”

Tris could feel the presence of the Aspect, though his mortal eyes could not see it. Behind him, he heard Gabriel whisper a blessing, and to the side he saw both Staden and Hant make the sign of the Lady. The guards dropped to their knees.

I hear your plea, Summoner, as I have heard his story. The rasping voice of the Crone sounded in his mind, and his soul shrank within himself. I’ll give him to the Aspect he deserves the most.

The guards cried out in panic, and Staden cursed in fear. A yawning darkness opened up, like a potent stew of nightmares, revealing visions too ter-rifying to comprehend. Tris knew, without doubt, that it was the Formless One who came for the cringing assassin. The most terrible of the Aspects, this Face of the Lady was known to the old religion, but disavowed now in the Winter Kingdoms.

The

Formless One reached out a shadowy tendril toward the shrieking spirit, and drew him into its maw.

Then as quickly as it came the Aspect was gone, and the ghost’s cries abruptly fell silent.

Wearily, Tris released his wardings and slumped forward, caught by Gabriel’s strong grasp.

“By the Whore!” Staden cried, looking at Tris with a mixture of fear and admiration. “Never have I seen such a thing!”

“And never again do I want to,” added Hant fer-vently. Tris noted that it was the first time he had seen Hant look rattled. The guards regained their feet, looking at Tris as if he had just transformed into a dragon.

“I didn’t call the Lady,” Tris said as Gabriel helped him to a seat. “I don’t presume to have that kind of power.”

“We heard,” Gabriel said, pressing a mug of warm, mulled wine into Tris’s hand. Tris took a pinch of Carina’s headache powder from a pouch at his belt and added it to the wine, swirling it until it dissolved.

Hant turned to the guardsmen. “You heard the assassin. Go find the man Turas.

Strip him of all his clothing and any jewelry. Search even his hair. Then give him to me. We’ll see if there are more rats to catch.” He turned to Staden and bowed. “If there are others, we’ll find them, Your Highness.”

Staden nodded stiffly and Hant left with several of the guardsmen, leaving two soldiers behind as an escort. The king looked from Tris to Gabriel. “It seems Jared has a longer reach than I imagined,” Staden mused. “It’s been a generation since anyone’s been bold enough to strike at court. We’ll make provision.” He looked at Tris soberly. “My complacency nearly cost your life. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Tris inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We’ve placed you and your court in great danger.”

Staden dismissed his comment with a gesture. “I’m too old to start running from upstarts. You’re welcome for so long as it serves your purpose.” He paused. “It’s late. I suggest you find some rest, if you think you can sleep.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. But we have business with the Blood Council.”

“May the Bright Aspects ride with you,” Staden said, raising a hand in blessing.

With the guards at his back, Staden strode from the greatroom, leaving Tris and Gabriel alone.

“After all this,” Tris said, “I hope you’re not expecting fireworks and some show of power at the Blood Council. I’ll be doing well if my head quits hurting enough for me to ride.”

“We have a candlemark before we must leave,” Gabriel said. “Mikhail will be joining us. Between us, you’ll have nothing to fear from any mortal.”

Tris gave him a sideways look and drained the last of his mulled wine. He stretched out on the bench. “It’s not the mortals I’m worried about.”

next

contents

THE HORSES’ HOOVES crunched through the hardened snow as Tris, Gabriel, and Mikhail made their way across the rolling foothills of Principality by moonlight. Even with his heavy cloak, the bitter wind chilled Tris; neither of his companions was affected by the cold. His horse snickered and fidgeted in protest against the wind and the nearness of the vayash moru. Ice glinted on the road, forcing them to ride slowly. Tris pulled his cloak closer around himself.

They left the plank road just beyond the city gates. For a time, the road was wide, hard-packed dirt well worn by wagons and travelers to the palace. Gabriel turned from the main road, and the forest seemed to close in around them, blotting out the moonlight and the distant silhouette of the high, sharp mountains. This was an ancient forest. Tiis could sense the stirrings of primal magic, old and powerful, in its shadowed depths. Nearby, a wolf howled.

Another answered. Tris shivered, though Gabriel and Mikhail were more than a match for any wolf. More likely, he thought, the wolves were known to the vayash moru, and announced their coming.

“Who formed the Blood Council? How did it come to exist?” Tris asked Gabriel as they rode, their shadows sharp on the snow in the moon-light. “I meant to ask you earlier, but we got a bit busy.”

“Four hundred years ago, there was no Council, and no truce.” Tris noticed that his guide’s breath did not steam in the bitter cold. “I was newly brought across. I ran from the hunters, the mortals who broke into our day resting places, seeking to destroy us. I saw my kind burned and dismem-bered. Many mortals used that fear for their own purposes, and not all of the victims were vayasb moru.

“In time, my kind retaliated, and many mortals were killed. Others of my kind sought to stop the killings by taking control, ruling behind the throne as Arontala seeks to do. It couldn’t go on. So the King of Eastmark brought together the rulers of the Winter Kingdoms and made an offer to the vayasb moru.

“In exchange for an end to the mortals’ attacks, we agreed to stop trying to control mortal king-doms. He gave us Dark Haven, in the disputed lands between Margolan, Eastmark, and Dhasson, as our sanctuary. Principality was not yet a king-dom in its own right. In return, we formed the Blood Council, a ruling body among ourselves, to punish those of our kind who broke the truce, and to enforce the truce with honor.

“Then the unexpected happened. The Dark Lady appeared to the King of Eastmark in a dream. She told him that Dark Haven must have a mortal lord, one She would choose herself, lest we grow to think ourselves as gods. Many of the elders of my kind also dreamed that dream. The Dark Lady is our patroness.

So the King of Eastmark named the first Lord of Dark Haven, and Dark Haven has had a mortal lord ever since.”

Tris rode in silence for a moment, thinking through the implications of Gabriel’s story. “You knew of Jonmarc even before I met you. And now he’s the new Lord of Dark Haven. How do you know him?”

“On the eve of the Feast of the Departed, the Dark Lady appeared to me in a dream. She asked me to guide Her chosen. I am Her most humble ser-vant.”

“And Jonmarc is the Dark Lady’s chosen?” Tris asked. “Does he know this?”

Gabriel chuckled. “My Mistress warned me that Jonmarc could be difficult. He will sleep better if some things are revealed when the time is right.” He sobered.

“But I fear that I may have failed in my duty. I didn’t anticipate what happened this evening.”

“Jonmarc is rather difficult to keep safe,” Tris observed wryly. “What does the Council require of me?”

“We go to the Council tonight to seek their approval—or at least their neutrality—to strike against Arontala.”

“Why do we need their approval? And why should they withhold it? Arontala is killing as many vayash moru as he is mortals.”

“That’s true. Yet there is a strict code of conduct among my kind, and infractions are severely pun-ished. Vayash moru are forbidden to wage war against each other.”

“Arontala’s already declared war on the vayash moru of Margolan.”

“True again. But there’s a difference between hav-ing him found guilty by the Council and executed as a traitor to our kind, and permitting vayash moru to join with mortals to overthrow both Arontala and a mortal king. Such rules are necessary to keep my kind from meddling overmuch in the affairs of mortals.

You can, no doubt, understand the need for that.”

“So what does the Council’s ruling mean? If they decline, will you change your mind about traveling with me to Margolan?”

Gabriel was silent for a moment. “I’ve committed myself to seeing you on Margolan’s throne, my prince. And for that, I’ll pay the necessary price. But we will be more successful if we can gain the Council’s approval for vayash moru to strike with impunity against Jared’s men. They destroy not only our kind, but make Margolan a place of mis-ery for mortals as well.”

“Very well. Now what of the Council them-selves?”

“There are five on the Council,” Gabriel said. “Rafe is even older in the dark gift than I. He comes from a noble family in Eastmark. In his mortal life, he managed his holdings well. Rafe may prove to be an ally. He is swayed only by reason, and he is given to logic.

“Riqua is also of great age in the dark gift, though younger in it than Rafe. She was the wife of a wealthy trader; even now, she drives a hard—but fair—bargain. She also may be an ally. Then there is Astasia.” His tone became carefully neutral. “Astasia was the daughter of a wealthy landholder. She was brought across against her will by a poor-ly chosen lover. Astasia is wild, and she listens to her heart as often as she does to her head. She can be more astute than one might guess, and she can be treacherous. But there are times when she will choose wisely and stand by her choice. She must be handled carefully.

“Finally, there is Uri,” said Gabriel. “In life he was a thief and a highwayman, brought across as the penalty for a deal gone wrong. He found the dark gift to be an asset to his pursuits, and his for-tunes have been amassed by questionable means. He. is dangerous. He alone among the Council is skeptical of the truce.

He questions why we, with greater speed and strength, should not rule over mortals, as he believes our gift intends. When the truce is broken, it will be most likely at the hands of one of Uri’s brood.”

Tris looked at Gabriel. “You said there were five on the Council. You’ve only named four.” Gabriel turned toward Tris, his blue eyes unreadable. “I’m the fifth member of the Council. I seek to preserve the truce.”

Tris digested that last piece of information slowly as they rode through the bitter night. How much wealth could one accumulate, over several lifetimes? And when, in the accumulating, would material goods cease to matter? Yet even as he asked the question, Tris could guess the answer. Wealth bought security, not just baubles. Great wealth could assure privacy, buy off authorities, bend problematic rules. Yes, the privileges of wealth might be very attractive to the vayash moru, even though they were beyond partaking of many of its indulgences.

He chanced a look at Gabriel. The flaxen-haired vayash moru was handsome, appearing to be in his third decade. Only his blue eyes disclosed his true age.

Gabriel, who never made any reference to his own lands, position or wealth, who seemed to show up at the most opportune times, and who pledged his personal support to overthrowing Jared. Just when I get some answers, I find out I wasn’t asking the right questions. He knew he would be thinking about the Blood Council long after this evening was over. Assuming that he lived through the night.

Gabriel and Mikhail turned their horses between the wrought-iron gates of an estate. Dark, bare trees loomed over the long carriage road that led to an elegant stone home. A sense of foreboding nagged at Tris, although the windows of the estate glowed brightly with candlelight. From the shad-ows, grooms appeared without a sound to take their horses. Tris’s mount whinnied nervously. Tris shared the horse’s uneasiness.

The three men dismounted and headed up the sweeping, grand stairway. Gabriel led the way. Mikhail followed Tris, who had the strong sense that the group had been watched from the time

their horses became visible in the carriage drive. He stretched out his mage sense, searching for signs of danger, but felt only the odd emptiness that signaled the presence of vayash moru. That sense of empti-ness was more encompassing than he had ever felt it—broken neither by the warm tingle of a living soul, nor the resonance of departed spirits. Tris assumed that meant that the grand chateau teemed with vayash moru, and that the few he might meet in the council chamber were not the only undead present.

It took all of Tris’s willpower to keep his mortal fear at bay. Although they encountered no one as they walked down the long, dimly-lit hallway, something deep and primal within Tris urged him to flee.

“We have arrived.” Gabriel swung open two wide, double doors. Inside, torches lit a formal din-ing room decorated in the most current style. Rich brocade curtains hung from the tall windows, com-pletely covering the openings. A fireplace the height and length of a tall man sat empty and unlit along one wall.