The Summoner (56 page)

they made us drop our swords.”

“Could Mageslayer have been absorbing some of the effect?” Carroway asked.

“It’s quite possible,” Royster said quietly. “Such powers are not uncommon for spelled objects, and it would be a handy thing for a mage’s weapon to possess.”

Carina rolled Tris over onto his back and ripped his pant leg wider to expose the injury.

Taking the hem of her cloak, she cleaned the wound the best she could, and made a paste of dried leaves from her pouch with the stale water Carroway fetched from a bucket in the corner.

Within half a candlemark, the burning pain had stopped, and Tris felt the shaking cease.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Carina, who was tending the gash on Vahanian’s shoulder.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” Vahanian whispered in a low rasp. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that the army was practically waiting for us on the other side of the bridge?” Carroway said. “Do you think the general is in cahoots with Jared? Think about it,” the bard said tightly. “On the other side of the bridge, by night, at least we had the vayash moru and Argus. We lost both those defenses come dawn, as soon as we crossed the bridge. And that’s when the army happened to be waiting for us.” They exchanged worried glances as they considered the bard’s scenario.

“But King Staden is a good king!” Berry protested. “At least, that’s what everyone says,” she added when they looked at her.

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“Staden might not have anything to do with it,” Vahanian replied, wincing as Carina worked on his shoulder. “Once this general gets us to the city, what he does with us is anyone’s guess.

Orders are easy enough to fake.”

Kiara was on watch near the high slit that was the cell’s only window. “Uh oh,” she said. “Looks like the general has arrived.”

Tris pulled himself into a sitting position and hoped he looked better than he felt. The Principality captain strode in, leading the way for a dark‐haired man in a cloak. “These are the foreigners we arrested, general,” the captain said as he stepped aside to give the general a look through the bars. “Came across Gibbet Bridge like the demon herself was after them. There are a couple extra, but four of them fit the bill.”

Tris heard Carina gasp. Kiara glanced at her cousin, who had gone quite pale and stepped toward the back.

Kiara stepped forward. “Sirs,” she said, making a perfunctory bow. “My companions and I were beset by highwaymen, which accounted for our haste last night. Two of my party are injured.

We were traveling on business to Principality City. We have harmed no one. Please, let us be on our way.”

The general looked them over. He was of medium build, with dark brown hair and intelligent eyes. But for the hard set to his mouth and a tightness around his blue eyes, he might have been considered handsome. That he was likely no older than Vahanian and held the rank of general spoke to his competence, and Tris guessed by his manner that he was accomplished with the sword that hung at his belt.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, m’lady. I have my orders from the king. What he seeks with you, I do not know, nor do I care. We will leave within a candlemark for the city. You can make your case there.”

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He was about to go when Carina stepped forward. “Gregor,” she called softly.

The general turned, and his eyes widened when he saw the healer, as if he had seen a ghost.

“You?” the general breathed. “But I saw you die… with Ric… what magic is this?”

Carina bowed her head and stepped closer to the bars. “No trick, Gregor. Cam took me to the Sisters. They brought me back, from the very arms of the Lady.”

Gregor’s face hardened. “More than you could do for my brother.”

Carina flushed. “Please Gregor, listen to me. Our mission is urgent. Please, let us go.”

“I have my orders.”

“Then give sanctuary at least for the girl and the old man,” Carina begged. “Send them to the Sisters. The king said nothing of them.”

“How dare you beg a favor of me?” Gregor demanded. “Why should I?”

Carina looked up at him, and her face was wet with tears. “For Ric’s sake,” she said quietly, “for what was before. Please, Gregor. Please.”

Gregor looked at her in silence for a moment. His face was unreadable. With an oath, he turned away. “Take the child and the old man to the Sisterhood,” he commanded the captain. “Make it 482

clear they are to be kept there until the king gives permission for their release.” He turned back to Carina, and looked at her coldly.

“All debts are paid,” he said. The venom in his voice made Vahanian start toward the bars, but Kiara laid a warning hand on his arm, and he stayed where he was. Tris felt his own anger bristle, and saw fire glint in Carroway’s eyes.

Carina looked at the floor. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Most people treat a healer with respect,” Vahanian observed acidly from where he stood. His hand fell from habit to where his sword should have rested in his empty scabbard.

Gregor regarded him icily. He glanced at Carina. “Two of a kind, Carina?” he said with an edge, and the healer turned scarlet. Gregor looked back to Vahanian. “I had the utmost respect for my late brother’s betrothed, until she failed to save him. To think she died trying made the memory bearable. Knowing she survived and he did not is a different matter entirely.” He looked at the group. “I do not know what the king requires of you, but I am a willing instrument of his justice.”

With that, the general turned on his heel and left.

The cell door opened, and the captain gestured for Royster and Berry. Carina hugged Berry tightly.

“It will be all right, Carina. You’ll see,” Berry said with a child’s certainty. Carina managed a smile.

“You’ll be safe with the Sisterhood,” she said, her voice tight.

Royster laid a hand on Carina’s shoulder. “I’ll see to the girl,” the librarian said. “Thank you.”

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Carina nodded as the two were led out of sight. The guards returned to their post, and Carina buried her face in her hands. Kiara knelt next to her cousin and waved the others away, wrapping her arms around Carina as she sobbed. Vahanian

turned away from the cell bars with a potent curse, and kicked at a rock. Carroway sat down next to Tris.

“At least we’re headed in the right direction,” the bard observed, with as much hope as he could muster.

Tris closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “The question is—do we get to stay?”

“It’s nearly two days’ ride into the city,” Carroway said quietly. “Do you think… tonight… that Gabriel…?”

Tris shook his head. “Doubtful. Their fight is with Jared, not this king. And the vayash moru decide their own schedule. Technically, we’re not in danger—at least, not yet. They won’t risk reprisals here killing mortals.”

“If the witch biddies are as smart as they look, maybe they’ll figure out something’s wrong when Royster and Berry show up on their doorstep,” Vahanian said, leaning against the wall.

“Although they don’t ride to the rescue very often.” He cursed again. “Which means, we’re on our own.”

The captain returned in a candlemark with six armed men to lead them to their horses for the ride into the city. He stood before Vahanian, fists on his hips. Vahanian’s eyes narrowed and he spat just shy of the captain’s boot.

“You will be taken for questioning,” the captain announced. “Cooperate, and no harm will come 484

to you,” he advised. “Get moving.”

They spent the night under heavy guard at another outpost, and woke at dawn for the ride into Principality City. The roadway grew wider, leading to the castle. Merchants and beggars moved aside to let them pass. They reached a heavily gated entrance in the base of the castle, and as they entered, the massive iron portcullis creaked back into place behind them.

“I don’t like this,” Vahanian muttered.

“For once, I think I agree with you,” Carina murmured.

Tris’s imagination supplied many possibilities during their march, none of them pleasant. When they reached the castle, he expected to have the party split up, searched for the rest of their weapons, and locked—perhaps chained—in dungeon cells, awaiting an escort to Margolan.

The king’s guardsmen met the captain at the inner bailey. “We’ll take the prisoners from here,”

the guardsman said.

“General Gregor gave me orders to deliver them personally,” the army captain countered.

“You may give the general the king’s thanks. But we will take the prisoners from here.”

The army captain’s displeasure was clear in his face, but he gave a bow and signaled to his men to retreat.

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“You will come with us,” the captain of the guard said expressionlessly, as the liveried men‐at-arms formed a column on either side of the prisoners. The captain of the guard marched them past the cells, and Vahanian and Tris exchanged puzzled glances as they climbed up a winding stairway toward the higher levels of the palace. They emerged behind a heavy wooden door in a well‐appointed room.

“You will wait here,” the captain said. He drew a dagger from his belt and split the cords that bound them, then gave a crisp bow and retreated, leaving only enough guards to block each exit.

The prisoners looked at each other warily.

“Do you know this king, Tris?” Kiara asked.

“I’ve never met him. But perhaps Jared has,” Tris replied. The reception hall, while not opulent, was quite comfortable, with a fire blazing in the hearth. A large, stern portrait glowered above the mantle, a strapping king dressed for a hunt, his trophy fox kill hanging from his grip, one black leather boot poised in triumph atop a downed stag. Finely woven tapestries covered the other walls.

“I’d say we’re going nowhere fast,” Vahanian said, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t get it. First they inarch us here as if they’ve got a gallows waiting. Now it looks like they’re going to serve dinner.”

“Maybe they are,” Carroway replied uneasily. “Question is, are we the guests or the peace offering?”

Just then a door burst open. A streak of green brocade, the rustle of taffeta and running footsteps caught them all off‐guard as their visitor lunged at Vahanian, nearly carrying him backward. Caught by the fighter’s sharp reflexes, the newcomer beamed at them, a bright‐eyed girl 486

with a cascade of auburn hair braided with pearls on strands of gold.

“I told you I’d be all right!” Berry exclaimed, and before Vahanian could react, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the

cheek.

“I see I have no need to inquire which of you might be Vahanian,” a deep baritone voice said from the door, and the astonished group found a bearded, sturdily built man watching them, powerful arms crossed across his chest, his expression no longer stern as in the portrait above the fireplace, but mirthful and indulgent.

Berry released Vahanian, running with undignified joy to greet each of the travelers. Gone was her tattered tunic, replaced by an ankle‐length gown of Mussa brocade, its bodice alight with small gemstones and pearls. The unruly auburn curls were tamed into a dignified braid that shimmered in the firelight, plaited with gold. Scrubbed clean, perfumed and powdered, the tomboy had disappeared, replaced by a beautiful young girl too excited by her guests to worry about her finery. “And this is Carina,” Berry concluded her introductions.

“I have heard much concerning each of you,” the king said, stepping closer. “Forgive the…

irregular greeting,” he said with a smile and a perfunctory bow. “I am King Staden of Principality.

I believe you already know my daughter, Berwyn.”

Behind Staden, Soterius and Harrtuck crowded their way into the gathering room, followed by Royster. They greeted Tris and the others with hearty cheers.

Tris stepped forward. “Greetings, gracious king,” he said with a bow. “Forgive our surprise, but we had no idea—”

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The king chuckled. “Yes, Berwyn told me of her ruse. She has, I fear, her mother’s love for a prank,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And I believe her role‐playing may have saved her life, for her captors might have gone harder on her had they known the truth,” he said, sobering.

“For that same reason, when her traveling party was beset by bandits, we did not publicize that it was my daughter who was captured.”

“The noble’s daughter,” Vahanian said, and King Staden nodded in confirmation. “The one the travelers at the inn said had been taken by slavers.”

“We knew she could not conceal her noble birth,” the king replied, “but we hoped to make her less of a hostage.” His eyes grew serious. “When Berwyn returned to me last night, she told me about your capture. Forgive my use of the guards,” he said with a gesture toward the soldiers who now filed from the room, dismissed. “But your friends here,” he said with a nod to Soterius and Harrtuck, “warned me that you might not answer my summons any other way.”

Staden smiled. “I, and my kingdom, are in your debt,” he said. He walked among them, and stopped in front of Vahanian. “Yes, you fit Berwyn’s description of an adventurer,” he said with a grin, extending his hand to the mercenary, who shook it dubiously. “She told me you were her special champion,” he said. “Tonight, there will be a banquet in your honor,” he proclaimed. “For all of you, and your bravery in returning my daughter to her home. You have only to ask of me, and it will be done.”

“Your Majesty,” Tns began, and King Staden turned to him, taking his hand in greeting and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Berwyn told me of your circumstances, Prince Drayke,” the king replied. “I shared many hunts with your father, and found him a worthy companion. I understand the urgency of your journey.”

“I am grateful for your hospitality,” Tris said. “But I fear that an open welcome may place your kingdom in peril.”

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Staden dismissed Tris’s warning with a gesture. “On the morrow, we will talk, and you shall have the resources of my kingdom, my best men‐at‐arms, and my wisest military strategists at your service,” Staden announced. “I have no love for Margolan raiders within my boundaries and I have heard the tales of the refugees who crowd my border villages. We shall all be better off when Margolan answers to a fit king.