Gail Martin - Dark Lady_s Chosen

Tris awoke to find himself in his own tent, flat on his back on his cot. Someone had treated and bandaged the worst of his burns, and the headache was now just a dull throb behind his temples. As soon as he opened his eyes, Coalan bent over him. "Fallon said I'm to give you this," the young man said, in a tone that told him the healer had vested Tris's squire with the authority to enforce her wishes. "She says it will help with the pain and speed the healing." Coalan slid another pillow behind Tris, helping him to sit enough to drink the warm elixir. "How long have I been out?"

Coalan shrugged. "Almost seven candlemarks. It's nearly dawn. After Esme and Fallon

took care of you, they went to handle the casualties. We have a lot of men down. Not everyone got out of the way of whatever that thing was." "An Elemental," Tris murmured.

"If that's what you call it, then I hope to the Lady that I never see one again," Coalan said fervently. "Thought we were all good as roasted, until you turned it." Tris ignored Coalan's protests as he swung his legs down and sat up, stifling a groan. "I need to see what's going on."

"Beggin' your royal pardon, but you don't look like you can make it out of the tent on your own. Tell me what you want and I'll be your eyes," Coalan volunteered. "Please, Tris. Be sensible for once. The battle's over and you're the hero. But nothing's served if you push yourself until you collapse again."

Tris tried to stand and fell back to the cot. His legs refused to hold him and as soon as he was upright, his headache returned with a vengeance. "All right," he said hoarsely, lying back down. "But only for a few more candlemarks. Then I'm going out there even if I have to prop myself up on crutches."

Coalan gave a lopsided smile. "And you would, too. How about this? I'll be your spy for now, and while I'm out there, I'll give Fallon an update on how you're doing. You rest, and by midday, if you still need them, I'll fetch the crutches for you myself." Tris managed a weak grin. "Agreed." He closed his eyes. "I want to know how soon Senne thinks we can get a reconnaissance team into what's left of Lochlanimar. If there are survivors, we need to find them. And if anything remains of Curane and his mages, we need to know that, too."

"Done, m'lord," Coalan promised, grabbing for his cloak. "And I'll bring lunch, too, when I come back. Can't wage war on an empty stomach," he said before he disappeared through the tent door.

Tris lay back and closed his eyes. He knew better than any of them how unlikely it was for there to be survivors in the wreckage of Lochlanimar. Drifting between sleep and drugged unconsciousness, he opened the channels of his power, beckoning to the ghosts to give their report. The temperature in the tent plummeted as the spirits surrounded him. Tris did not have the strength to give them form, but he saw them clearly on the Plains of Spirit. Tabok and Mohr appeared before him and saluted. "All is done as you bid us, Your Majesty," Tabok said. "Mohr broke the concentration of the dark mages who called the Elemental.

When it returned to the workshop, it consumed everything. Nothing remains. Cadoc, Dirmed and Curane burned to ash in its fury and along with them, everything in that cursed workshop. All but these." Tabok gestured to three small orbs that lay on the table, hurled from the wreckage by Mohr, the poltergeist. "You recognize this magic?" Tris nodded. "Spirit orbs. Cadoc, Dirmed and Curane didn't leave. Their souls are right there, in those orbs. And before we're through, they'll account for what they've done." The spirits from the necropolis moved forward. "We've searched the caves and tunnels beneath the castle," their leader reported. He wore the spectral remains of a style of armor several hundred years old. "There are no survivors in the passageways. We saw no one alive anywhere inside the ruins." He paused. "It would not be wise to send living men into the tunnels. The fire that swept the castle has weakened parts of the tunnel roof. It isn't safe for those who wish to remain alive."

Next came the report from the spirits of the fallen Margolan soldiers, both those who returned to fight and those newly dead in the latest battle. Tris recognized Pell and Tabb among the ghosts, two men who had fought beside Soterius in the rebellion and who had been betrayed to their deaths by Tarq. He beckoned for them to come forward. "What report would you make?" he asked.

"We spirits held our positions when the firestorm came," Pell replied. "It had no power to harm us. We saw ghosts aplenty rise from the ruins after the explosion, but no living man, woman or child escaped the walls."

Standing before them on the Plains of Spirit, Tris nodded. "Very well. How many of our own have we lost?"

From the ranks of the dead, he could hear the count begin. On and on it went, and his heart grew heavier with each number. "There are sixteen hundred and eighty-nine of us, Your Majesty, including those who fell with fever," Pell reported. "And to a man, we were honored to lay down our lives to keep Jared's bastard off the throne."

Tris swallowed hard at the enormity of the sacrifice. "Margolan honors your memory," Tris replied. "As do I." He paused. "Would you go to your rest?"

Pell looked back to the ranks of the dead, toward the shadowed men who stood in somber silence. Tris recognized many of the fallen as Scirranish, those who had lost families to Jared's brutality. He saw in their faces quiet resignation, the completion of duty, and a weariness that he

was beginning to understand. Pell turned to him and nodded. "Yes, m'lord. We would be grateful if you would make the passage for us."

On the Plains of Spirit, Tris stretched out his hands in blessing toward the spirits who desired rest. "Let the sword be sheathed, and the helm shuttered. Prepare a feast in the hall of your fallen heroes. These men have died with valor. Make their passage swift and their journey easy, until their souls rest in the arms of the Lady," he said, closing his eyes as he felt the power of the Goddess at the very edges of his senses. He was not surprised that it was Chenne, Aspect of the warrior, who came for them, wearing a golden helm and wielding a sword of flame. Tris extended his power, easing the passage for the soldiers as they turned to follow the soulsong that they heard. He grieved to see Vira, Ana and Latt from the Sisterhood among the dead. They nodded in farewell as they followed the gray paths toward the Lady's rest. Soon, the spirit plain was empty except for him. Not until he was certain he was alone did he dare to seek the one spirit he did not wish to heed his call.

"Kiara?" he asked, hearing the fear in his voice that she would answer. "Kiara?"

There was no answer. Exhausted and heartsick, Tris slipped from the Plains of Spirit and returned to himself. He felt stretched thin as fog, and if it weren't for the feel of the stiff cot beneath him, he might have doubted that he was more than a shade himself.

"Tris?" It was Coalan's voice, close to his ear. "Are you awake? Uncle Ban is here to see you. He has a report from Senne and Rallan."

Tris groaned and opened his eyes. "Send him in." He struggled to sit up, knowing that Soterius would not be fooled into thinking that he was functional.

"Goddess! You look awful," Soterius said as he entered. "Lie down. I promise not to tell anyone." He gave a tired smile. "After seeing you turn that Elemental, half of the men think you're a god. And the other half just don't ever want to get on your bad side."

"How long before the army can go home?"

Soterius pulled a chair up alongside Tris's cot. "Senne doesn't think we can even get into the ruins for a couple of days. Most of the village and the manor are still on fire. We took more wounded on this battle, largely from the ones who didn't outrun the Elemental. I just saw Esme. She says we have about three hundred men who won't be able to travel for at least a week, maybe longer, even with healing.