Gail Martin - The Sworn

As clearly as Tris could feel the boy’s terror, he felt the poison the attacker left behind. Esme can’t heal this. It’s not just poison and not just magic. Dimonns leave their own mark. Tris reached out with his magic toward the thin, blue-white strand of light that was the boy’s soul. The dimonn ’s poison wasn’t just in the flesh or blood, but in the soul itself, like a growing rot. Tris brought his power to bear on the darkness that stained the strand of light, willing his magic to cast out the shadows. Even for a summoner of Tris’s power, such a working took a tremendous amount of energy. Gradually, the shadows faded and the blue-white strand glowed more brightly, unsullied by the dimonn ’s touch. Tris withdrew his magic gently and looked up to see Esme watching him closely.

“I would like very much to know how you did that,” the healer said, a smile touching the corner of her lips.

“If I could explain it in words, I’d tell you.” Tris could hear the tiredness that colored his voice. Power always came at a price, and although Tris had learned over the last two years to wield powerful magic, such workings took a toll.

The boy’s eyes snapped open. “Who are you?”

“He’s your king, lad,” Soterius said quietly. “You’re safe.”

The boy eyed Tris warily. “I must be fevered.”

Tris gently took the boy’s hand. “What’s your name?”

“Evan of Treganowan.”

“I’ve seen your memories, Evan,” Tris said quietly. “What attacked your village was a dimonn. Have you heard the term?”

Evan nodded, eyes wide. “It was something evil, that’s for sure.”

“I’m going to have to put it right, and I need your help,” Tris said.

“My help? For the king?”

Tris managed a smile. “Yes. I need you to remember, where did the dimonn rise?”

Evan’s eyes darkened. “From the foot of the barrows outside the village.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye. Saw it when I went to gather firewood.”

Tris thought for a moment. “Has anything disturbed the barrow?”

Evan gave him a frightened look. “How did you know?” His sudden movement made a silver talisman slip into view beneath his ruined shirt. Tris reached down and lifted it into the light. It was the mark of the Lady, wrought in silver, and by the look of it, very old.

“Where did you find this?”

Evan slumped back into the bed. “I didn’t disturb the barrow, if that’s what you’re thinking. But two nights ago, when the moon was dark, something did. The next morning, when I went to gather wood, I saw that someone had dug into the barrow. I was curious, so I looked closer. There was a pile of rocks to one side, a lot of them carved with markings. What was left looked like a doorway into the barrow, with stone doorposts and more of those funny marks.”

“And the necklace?”

“It was in the pile of rocks. I meant to give it to my mum. She likes-liked shiny things.” His voice caught as he corrected himself.

“Did you go into the barrow?”

“I’m not crazy!” Evan suddenly remembered where he was. “M’lord,” he added hastily.

“Smart boy,” Tris said. “I have a feeling that necklace saved your life. It’s been touched by old magic, very old.” He looked up at Soterius and the others. “Whoever or whatever disturbed the barrow also weakened its protections. The runes Evan saw were part of those wardings, and so was the talisman, I’m betting. That dimonn didn’t get out by accident.”

“The black robes,” Evan murmured.

“What did you say?”

“The night the moon was dark, my brother said he saw two strangers on the road outside the village. That’s odd, because we don’t get many outsiders our way. Said they wore black robes. They didn’t stop and they didn’t speak to anyone, so I didn’t think of it again.”

“Did your brother say anything else about the men?” Tris asked.

Evan thought for a moment. “He said he didn’t like their look. He didn’t see them up close, but he thought one man wore a necklace made of bones.”

Tris and Soterius exchanged glances. “Shanthadura followers,” Soterius muttered.

“Sounds likely,” Tris replied. He stood and looked to Esme. “The poison is gone, but it will take a few days before he feels better. Since he can’t go home, let’s see about finding him a place here in the castle.” He didn’t say it aloud, but since the dimonn had marked the boy once, Tris preferred to keep him within the wardings, to prevent the dimonn from returning to finish what it had started.

“Call for Coalan,” Tris continued. His valet, Soterius’s sixteen-year-old nephew, would be the perfect person to help Evan. Like Evan, Coalan had also lost his family to violence, but in his case, it had been Jared’s soldiers and not dimonns who were responsible for the slaughter. “Have Coalan sit with him until Evan’s feeling better.” He met Esme’s eyes. “Get whatever you need to fix him up.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Soterius and Harrtuck fell into step beside Tris as they left the guard tower. “That story about an amulet from a tomb remind you of anyone?” Soterius murmured.

Tris glanced at him. “Yeah. Jonmarc.” Long before he had become Dark Haven’s brigand lord, Jonmarc Vahanian had been a blacksmith’s apprentice in a poor Borderlands village, hired by a stranger to retrieve an amulet from one of the cliffside tombs. That night, magicked beasts overran the village, slaughtering everyone except Jonmarc, who was wearing the amulet during the battle. The scar that ran from Jonmarc’s ear down below his collar was a permanent reminder of that fight.

“Only it was a blood mage who wanted the amulet then. Foor Arontala,” Soterius replied.

Tris shrugged. “The way I see it, Arontala’s blood magic isn’t that different from what the Shanthadurists are doing. The question is… what do they want from the barrows?”

“I have this awful feeling you’re going to feel the need to ride out there and take a look for yourself,” Soterius said, resignation in his voice.

Tris gave a lopsided grin. “Of course.”

A small group of heavily armed soldiers rode out from Shekerishet with Tris and Soterius the next morning. Sister Fallon also rode with them, and Beyral the rune scryer, along with Esme, the king’s healer. Although the morning was bright, the group rode in silence, alert for signs of danger. After a candlemark’s ride, they arrived at the crossroads just beyond the village lane.

“Can you feel it?” Tris said to Fallon.

She nodded. “There’s power that shouldn’t be here. It feels wrong.”

Tris nodded. “Just as well it’s daylight.”

If they had doubted Evan’s word, the stench of rotting bodies quickly proved the truth of the boy’s tale. The villagers’ bodies, many of them torn to shreds, lay strewn across the village green. Nothing else appeared to be touched, verifying that the murders had not been the work of raiders.

Tris nudged his horse on, past the carnage and toward the path that led from the village into the forest. Soterius and two of the guards led the way, with Fallon and Tris in the middle, followed by three more soldiers. Tris appreciated Soterius’s attempt to protect him, but if the dimonn manifested, the soldiers were unlikely to be able to hold it off.

They had timed their arrival for just after the sun’s highest point, since the netherworld was at its closest at noon and midnight. Dimonns were among Tris’s least favorite supernatural foes, and he had the scars to justify his opinion. After a short ride, they reached the barrow.

The barrow was a mound covered with sod. If someone hadn’t looked closely, it might have passed as a hill, and many of the ancient barrows were assumed to be part of the natural landscape by those who lived in their shadow. Tris knew otherwise. Barrows like these dotted the landscape of the Winter Kingdoms. Some were just the resting place of long-dead warriors and warlords, men who lived and fought before the kingdoms had come into being. Other barrows held the remains of something else, and while Tris was not sure what that something was, the legends said it wasn’t human.