Gail Martin - The blood king

A burst of fire glowed around him, a blue aura that sapped the small amount of magic he could reach. It crackled around Jared like lightning, throwing him clear with a jolt.

It was all the opening Tris needed. The heel of his boot swung up and connected hard with Jared's chest. The force of the blow took Tris to the floor, still gasping for air. Jared staggered backward, and the low sill of the open window caught him below the knees. Flailing, Jared fell from the window with the full force of the kick, and Tris grimaced as he heard the sickening crunch of Jared's body landing atop his sharpened pikes. He pulled himself to his feet and looked down. Jared's body, impaled by three of the spikes, contorted and bucked as he slipped lower with the weight of his fall. But the spike that took Jared through the back ended his struggles. As Tris watched he saw Jared's spirit writhe free of his broken body, flickering a sullied light. Tris felt the Formless One's approach even before the dark presence appeared, so close this time that Tris threw up an arm reflexively to shield his face, his soul shrinking back within him in instinctive fear.

From everywhere at once a cloud descended on Jared Drayke, as if the shadows themselves were fluid. From within the whirlwind Jared's spirit gave one wrenching scream of terror and pain. Then, as quickly as it came, the shadows were gone. And with them, Jared's soul.

Tris slumped against the throne room wall and tore the cord from his neck. I've got to find Kiara and jonmarc-and Arontala, he thought, staggering toward where Mageslayer lay on the floor. He fought the urge to pass out, weakened by both the poison and the pain of the wound in his side. He wiped the blood from his face with his torn sleeve. His left arm ached where the poker had burned him, a deep burn that made it agonizing for him to move his arm or clench his fist. With Jared's charm gone, Tris could sense more of his magic returning, slipping in and out of his grasp as he struggled against the wormroot that coursed through his veins. He picked up Mageslayer and felt its power buoy him, lessening the poison's effect. He found that he could control his magic-just barely.

Outside the throne room, Tris felt the magic more strongly, a clue that Jared's charm had not been the only power-dampening talisman in that chamber. Using every trick he had learned from the

Sisterhood, Tris fought to lessen the wormroot's effect. He let Mageslayer's power strengthen him, hoping that the sword's protections might also stay the damage from his wounds. Tris felt at the edge of his cuirass, where his tunic was sticky with his own blood. The odds, never favorable, appeared to be getting worse.

AT THE ENTRANCE to the throne room Vahanian and Kiara hung back a pace, their weapons ready, as Tris approached the heavy double doors. Kiara's sword was ready in her hand. Vahanian notched a quarrel into his crossbow. Tris touched the doors, and the world around them seemed to turn inside out. In a heartbeat, Tris and the throne room were gone and Vahanian was falling through total darkness, into a hole so deep it had no bottom. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard Kiara cry out. Then, just as quickly as it began, the wrenching shift was over. Vahanian found himself tumbled out onto a hard stone floor, his crossbow still notched and ready in his hand. An instant later, Kiara appeared from nowhere beside him. A sense of foreboding filled Vahanian as he took in the room around them-a room that could be nothing other than a wizard's study.

Tapestries covered the walls. Thick candles and torches illuminated the room. One wall was lined with books from floor to ceiling. Scattered over tables and on shelves were a hodgepodge of vials and bowls, stoppered bottles, and unfamiliar tools. Over the mantle, above a darkened fireplace, a nearly life-sized portrait of Jared Drayke glared down with a haughty disdain. As dark as Tris was fair, Jared Drayke still bore a striking likeness to his younger brother. They shared the same high cheekbones, fine nose, and wild mane of hair, though Jared's hair fell in a dark cloud around his face, making the cruel turn to his lips even more pronounced.

Vahanian and Kiara climbed to their feet, weapons ready. At the far side of the large room, laughing at their folly, stood a dark-haired man in the red robes of a Fire Clan mage. Beside him, on a pedestal worthy of the Goddess, was a large crystal orb that pulsed like a living heart.

Moving on instinct, Vahanian leveled his crossbow and sent its arrow flying. With a muttered word, Arontala plucked the quarrel from midair. The mage gave a flick of his wrist; unseen hands slammed Vahanian across the room and against the stone wall, pinning him above the floor. Vahanian cried out as the bones in his right wrist snapped, forcing him to drop the bow. With a sound of dry sticks cracking, his right arm and right leg broke as well. Satisfied Arontala released him. Vahanian fell to the floor, gasping in pain.

Kiara lunged toward the mage with an oath, her heavy sword wielded in both hands. Clucking disdainfully, Arontala gestured and Kiara's sword flew

from her grasp. Her spelled dagger fell from her belt, clattering to the floor.

"You've saved me the effort of hunting you down," Arontala greeted them. He looked at Kiara and smiled coldly. "I told Jared we'd find you, in time."

"Go to the demon."

"My dear," he replied with a smile that revealed his sharp eye teeth, "I am the demon." He gestured once more, and Kiara struggled against a force that pushed her to her knees. "I think a proper attitude is the place to start."

"Leave her alone," Vahanian growled, struggling to reach his bow where it lay below the large mul-lioned window.

Arontala twitched his finger, and the crossbow slid just out of reach. "Ah," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "My tomb robber-and my Eastmark captain. Once again, you have the very bad luck to cross my path."

"Go screw the Goddess.".Arontala turned back to the orb. "You're about to witness history. Tonight, the Obsidian King returns!"

"He'll destroy everything in the Winter Kingdoms," Vahanian said, desperate to stall for time. Their plan had gone horribly awry. Without Tris, his fate-and Kiara's-appeared sealed.

Arontala shrugged. "I think not. But if so, the kingdoms will be ours to remake as we desire."

"Tris isn't going to let that happen," Kiara said, struggling against the mage force to hold her head up defiantly.

A mirthless smile twisted Arontala's lips. "Don't be too quick to trust in your champion," he said, turning his icy gaze back to Kiara. "He's likely dead already-or will be, soon."

"I'm going to enjoy your education," Arontala said, taking a step toward Kiara. "You have much to answer for. We've heard about your little… escapade on the border. And it's no secret that you've aligned yourself with the traitor," he reached out to stroke her cheek, "in more ways than one."

Kiara spat and the mage grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her eyes to meet his. "By ancient law, a royal betrothal is as binding as wedding vows," he said in a low, cold voice. "Treason and adultery are both punishable by death. But there is an alternative." He jerked her closer to the orb.

"Before he can emerge, the Obsidian King must feed," Arontala said, his fingers brushing against the orb that was only inches from Kiara's face. "I've sent many spirits into the orb for him to draw upon, until they're too spent to be of use. Your will, your spirit, and that arrogant pride will do quite nicely. Oh, he'll leave a remnant, enough that Jared can sire his brats by you, enough to remember what you once were. Enough to suffer for the rest of your natural life. And perhaps, I shall extend that life forever so that you can ponder your loss for eternity."