Gail Martin - The blood king

"I thought this was just supposed to be a diversion," Carina said as they watched the fire from afar.

"I think there's more loose tonight in the crowd that some ale," Carroway said. "Looks like we touched a raw nerve."

"Aye, but can you control what you've started?" Alyzza cackled as the flames grew higher.

CAREFULLY, TRIS, KIARA, Vahanian and Gabriel made their way into Shekerishet. Outside the tenth bell chimed, reminding Tris that within two candlemarks' time their quest must be successful or lose everything. Gabriel slipped ahead of them to clear their path and disappeared into the shadows. Tris felt for the pouch at his belt and took a wad of rope vine from it, holding the bit of dried leaves clenched in his teeth as a precaution against wormroot-tainted traps.

Tris stretched out his senses. The absence of castle ghosts left an uneasy void. In their place was a new, dark presence that chilled him.

Arontala, Tris thought, and the orb. The dark magic permeated the castle, although Tris could not pinpoint any single place as its locus. He headed for the throne room with every mortal and mageborn sense on high alert, his sword in hand, Kiara and Vahanian behind him.

Tris found his way through the corridors of Shekerishet easily, memories returning as he wound through the darkened hallways. Twice they pressed themselves into the shadows as a servant passed by. Around one corner, they found the still-warm bodies of half a dozen guards, the corpses unmarked except for the bloodless punctures on their necks. Three more guards happened upon them from the opposite direction. Vahanian's crossbow silenced one before he had time to realize he was under attack. Kiara made short work on the second, running him through. Tris swung into a clean Eastmark kick, sending his opponent sprawling, and finished the third with a single sword stroke. They did not bother to hide the bodies, but their pace increased. Tris hoped that Gabriel had made a clean sweep of the area in front of them.

Tris moved carefully, mindful of the traps he had encountered in his training at the citadel. Surely Jared has protections in place, Tris thought. There are enough of his subjects who want to kill him. Mortal guards could be easily removed by Gabriel without the sound of a scuffle. But the further into Shekerishet they got without springing any traps, the more concerned Tris became.

He's expecting me. He knows I'm coming for the orb. Like a spider with a web. All he has to do is wait.

"I don't like this," Vahanian muttered under his breath. "I don't trust anything that's this easy."

"Do you think we've been betrayed?" Kiara whispered.

Tris shook his head. "Jared doesn't need a spy to guess that we'd come for the Hawthorn Moon. Arontala probably thinks it's too far gone for us to turn it around. Jared figures he'll sit back and let Arontala do the fighting, and come in for his fun once we're beaten."

"It still means we're being set up," Vahanian said, his grip tight on his crossbow. "The question is- when does the trap spring?"

Just before they reached the throne room, Vahanian put up a hand for caution and moved ahead slowly, his attention drawn to a dark pile on the floor. He ventured ahead a step or two, and then waved for the others to follow. Four men in the livery of the king's personal guard lay dead in a heap.

"Gabriel's going to need a week to sleep this off." Vahanian shivered as he looked at the punctures in the dead men's throats.

A few more steps and the doors to the throne room stood before him. Tris paused, stretching out his senses once more. He felt the blood magic that wrapped itself around Shekerishet like a moist shroud, so strong that it seemed to come from everywhere at once. He focused his senses on Mageslayer, and felt the spelled blade thrum with power. The sword itself seemed to pulse, sensing their mission. Tris glanced at Kiara and Vahanian. They nodded, their weapons ready. Trap or not, the night's work would begin in earnest as soon as they found Jared.

Sword in hand, Tris pushed open the great doors. As his hand touched the door a light flared, pulling him into the room through an invisible curtain of power. Behind him, Kiara and Vahanian vanished.

As he crossed the threshold, Tris felt a gut-wrenching lurch. Mageslayer, so full of power a moment before, became dead steel in his hands, its magic gone. Fearing for the others, Tris looked behind him but the corridor was empty. And as he reached out to ward himself, he realized that in this room, his magic was suddenly out of reach.

"I HOPE TRIS has everything under control up there," Carroway breathed as they watched the crowd. The revelers tumbled out of the heart of the city, moving up the hill toward the palace itself. Rioters took up staves and bricks, shouting curses and threats as they backed the overwhelmed garrison toward the city gates.

The bells in the tower at the heart of the city tolled eleven.

"Tris is running out of time," Carina fretted, looking toward the dark shape on the cliffside. Lights burned within Shekerishet's many windows, but nothing hinted of unrest within the great, silent castle.

Carroway shared her worry. There was no middle ground. Come morning, Martris Drayke would be King of Margolan, or he and the others, if still alive, would surely hang.

"We've certainly kept the guards out of the way," Carroway observed as soldiers from the palace streamed toward the city gates and the fire at the garrison. At the approach of the soldiers, the mob drew back, and then surged forward again.

"Disperse!" the captain-at-arms cried. Behind him, a dozen soldiers armed with longbows took the field. "Disperse now, or risk the consequences!"

But the crowd, riled by the minstrels and made foolhardy by ale, pressed forward. A dozen men at the front fell to the flying shafts, and a roar went up from the mob in fury. Before the archers could ready their bows again, the crowd lurched toward them like an angry wave, trampling the guards.

Carroway lifted his head. "Do you hear something?"

"No. What-?"

The sound of hoof beats thundered louder. Alyzza's curse told Carroway that the old witch heard it as well. As they watched, fighters on horseback streamed toward the city gates at a gallop.

"WELCOME HOME," JARED Drayke said to Tris. "What took you so long? Planning to use grandmother's magic to just wink me out of existence?" Jared moved from his place near the tall window, and fingered an amulet beneath his robes, a null magic charm. "Your magic won't work on me, boy. I've a few protections in place, and a sorcerer in my employ. I've spent the better part of a year trying to find you, brother dear. And then I realized that in time, you'd come to me. All I had to do was wait.

"The doorway was spelled for you alone. As for your friends," Jared shrugged. "My mage has use of them. Tonight, we raise the Obsidian King."

"I have no intention of letting that happen," Tris said, advancing steadily, his sword ready. "I came to kill you-and destroy Arontala and his orb." With or without magic, he added silently.

"Still the dreamer. How pathetic." Jared took a step toward Tris. "In here, without your magic, you're just the same boy I've thrashed before. I could always whip your ass."

"I've seen what you've made of Margolan, how many people you've killed to get a throne that would have been yours in time."

"In time," Jared spat back. "In time. Only if Bricen couldn't find a way to have me removed from the succession. He threatened that, you know. He threatened to set me aside, and pass the crown to you. And if he'd known you'd become a mage he would have certainly done it. I couldn't allow that." Jared drew his sword. "And so I took matters into my own hands."

"You've destroyed Margolan. You have to be stopped."