Gail Martin - Dark Haven

Tris had done his best to prepare himself during the long ride. Candles would be difficult with the autumn wind, so Tris decided upon a token element instead to set the wardings, with handfire as a focus.

The soldiers drew back to permit Tris to pass among them. He directed the guards to make a small pile of rocks. On this rough altar, Tris set out honey cakes and a flask of ale to honor the Goddess. When Tris reached the edge of the field, he drew his sword as an athame and made the sign of the Lady.

Tris felt power gathering around him as the wardings rose. He set a warding over the soldiers and the audience, and called a second warding around himself. When the wardings were in place, Tris called hand fire and focused on the pure, cold, blue flame that rested in his palm. He closed his eyes. As his concentration grew deeper, he extended his mage sense, inviting the spirits of the dead to come from their exile and join him. Tris could feel their energy all around him. As they began to manifest, the intensity of their feelings grew.

Tris opened his eyes. At least two hundred ghosts stood before him. He had expected a village, perhaps thirty or forty. But this! The dead were of every age-elders, young children, men, and women. They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching him, waiting. It was clear that while some had been hanged, most had perished by the sword.

"I can't restore to you the life that was taken," Tris said to the spirits. "The usurper is dead. On my soul, no one will harm the villagers of Margolan while I live. You have the word of the king."

"We would make our peace with those who live," said the spirit of an old man.

"Have I your word that you'll harm no one?" Tris asked. The spirits nodded.

Tris expended more magic, enough to assure that the families of the Scirranish who huddled together on the outskirts of the field could see the revenants. A collective gasp told Tris he had been successful. He watched as the spirits moved among the living. The families cried out in recognition, sagging to the ground in grief or clinging to each other sobbing. Some of the soldiers stepped forward to greet loved ones, unashamed of the tears they shed. "Would you go to your rest now?" Many of these spirits had. rallied to Tris's summons during the rebellion. Drawing on Tris's magic, they made themselves visible to Jared's soldiers, attacking the marauding troops. Now, their vengeance complete, the ghosts' anger was spent.

When he had the spirits' agreement, Tris stretched out his hands toward the ghosts and spoke the words of power. The image of the Lover impressed itself in his mind, arms stretched forth in welcome, offering healing and succor. As the spirits began to wane, Tris felt them make the passage over. When the last had passed, he closed the energy behind them. Soterius had a cup ready for him and pressed it into his hands. Tris's hands shook as he accepted the brandy and downed it in one swallow. The Scirranish gathered around them.

"Your Majesty," Sahila said, bowing low. Behind him, the others did the same until Tris motioned for them to rise. "We offer our thanks and our loyalty. Your gift is beyond price."

"What was stolen from you can't be replaced," Tris replied. "But your loved ones rest with the Lady. They're at peace."

Sahila made a sign of blessing. "You and your soldiers may sleep without fear tonight, my king."

Tris inclined his head. "Thank you." When the families of the Scirranish withdrew to their encampment, the soldiers returned to their evening chores, and Soterius appeared at Tris's side.

"Are you sure you're up to going to Hunt-wood?" Soterius asked, refilling Tris's cup and guiding him to a seat. "You look like you're going to fall over."

"Really? Then I'm doing better than I thought." The night was chill. He startled as a soft footfall came on the other side, and looked up to see Mikhail.

The vayash moru bowed. "We've secured the forest's edge. The wolves won't disturb you." He glanced over at Soterius. "I promised Ban that I would come to Huntwood with him. A dozen of my family' are already waiting there. They, too, lost loved ones. You'll be safe there."

Tris looked into the dark amber liquid in his the struggle to retake the throne, he had not acquired a taste for brandy. Now, it was the surest way to a peaceful sleep. "I wonder how many more there are."

"Of what?" Soterius replied.

Tris motioned toward the field. "Places like this. Massacres."

"A lot, I'd bet."

Coalan and another young man came forward with their horses. Tr-is exchanged glances with Soterius. "Are you ready?"

"It's time. Let's go."

Half a dozen soldiers and as many vayash moru fell in behind Tris and Soterius as they rode for the manor. Coalan looked pale and nervous. Tris gasped as Huntwood Came into sight. The manor house was a ruined shell. In the moonlight, Tris could see where fire had burned the casements around the shattered windows. The sky was visible through holes in the roof. A burly man stepped through the manor's doorway.

"Thank you for coming, your majesty," he said with a bow. Tris swung down from his horse and greeted Danne, Soterius's brother-in-law, with an embrace.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't come sooner," Tris said. All around him, he could feel the press of familiar spirits. Bricen had been fond of the hunt, as had Soterius's father. Bricen and Tris had spent many weeks at Huntwood. The manor was as familiar to Tris as Shekerishet.

"Where would you like to do the working?" Tris asked.

"In the garden," Danne replied. "We haven't made as much progress on the house as we'd like, but Anyon and I got the worst of the mess in the garden cleaned up. It's quiet there."

Anyon, Lord Soterius's groundskeeper and the only living witness to the massacre, waited for them in the garden. Tris looked across the once-manicured garden and past it to fields that should have been high with grain. Even with Danne's care, the garden showed where the soldiers had trampled the plantings and uprooted the beds. Below on the hillside was the stone fence, only partly rebuilt. The fields were empty. Beneath the trees were the barrows where Danne, Anyon, and Coalan had buried their dead.

Tris moved down the steps toward the rear lawn of the manor house, motioning the others to remain where they were. Coalan moved closer to his father, and Danne laid a hand on his shoulder. Tris opened himself to the magic. The spirits obeyed his summons. Lord Soterius, a round, stout man, bore a deep wound where a sword had run him through. Lady Soterius had a knife gash in her chest. Tae, Soterius's sister and Coalan's mother, stood with her murdered children, all of whom looked to have been trampled. Servants came, bearing the scars of fire. Soterius's three older brothers, Caedmon, Innes, and Murin

appeared, each stabbed multiple times, their necks still red with the mark of the noose.

Tris felt the spirits' anger and sorrow. Blinding flashes of their memories seared through him. Soldiers in the livery of the king, breaking down the door, running Lord Soterius through. Lady Soterius, fleeing toward the gardens, only to face more soldiers coming from the back. Terror, as Tae and the children fled toward the woods with the sound of pounding hoof beats growing ever closer behind them. All-consuming fire as the manor burned, trapping servants between the flames and the soldiers' swords. Tris sent his power to the revenants to appear without their death wounds. Lord Soterius's ghost approached him. "I am so sorry," Tris said. Lord Soterius's ghost took Tris's hand in his own and knelt in fealty.

"I know you are, m'boy," Lord Soterius said. "There was nothing you could have done."

"Father-" Ban Soterius's voice was a strangled cry. Lord Soterius rose. "Welcome home," Lord Soterius said. "I never meant to bring this on you," Soterius said. "Anyon told me what the soldiers said-"