Gail Martin - The summoner

"Comar, what's happened?" Tris asked, still trying to calm his panicked horse.

"Time is short, my prince. Follow me and I will lead you to safety," Hassad said, wheeling his mount soundlessly and heading off down the forest road at a gallop.

Tris had to spur his mount to catch sight of Hassad. They rode single file, with Hassad in the lead, then Tris, followed by Carroway. Harrtuck and Soterius brought up the rear. Tris had to strain his eyes to follow their guide in the nearly total darkness of the forest. Only hoof beats broke the stillness of the night. The moon above was hidden by the dense trees, and the horses picked their way with care. Hassad led the way, keeping a steady pace despite the darkness.

Moonlight streamed down through a rare break in the trees. Hassad was already on the other side of the clearing, waiting in the shadows. Tris felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. As they re-entered the shadows of the forest, he listened more closely to the hoof beats around him. The sound of four horses rose clearly above the silence of the night and as Tris stared at their guide, he realized that the soldier's mount gave off none of the sweaty mist of the other heaving horses.

The coldness of the air around them had nothing to do with the growing numbness he felt inside, as he wrestled with pain and fear and grief. The simple mechanics of urging his horse

forward helped him stave off the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

They followed their guide for most of a candle-mark, until Shekerishet and the palace city were far behind them and they were nearly through the pitch-black forest. Finally, Hassad slowed and then stopped.

"I can go no further, my liege," the man said, almost hidden in the shadows. "But I have a gift for you. Take it," he said, withdrawing a long, slim package wrapped in cloth, and passing it reverently to Tris. "It is the sword of your father's father. May it guide you home to rule Margolan as a good and true king," he said solemnly as Tris received the package.

"You are nearly through the woods," Hassad continued, looking up to the others. "On the other side is a small village. There is a tavern called the Lamb's Eye. Stay there tonight. You will be safe. Those who keep the tavern will provision you for your journey."

"The Lamb's Eye?" Harrtuck repeated from behind Tris. "When did they rebuild that? It burned last year."

"Seek your shelter in the inn. There you will be safe," Hassad repeated.

The leaves rustled behind them as an animal scurried for cover. When Tris turned again to question their guide, the road ahead was empty. "He's gone," Carroway said quietly, looking around them.

"He didn't just vanish," Soterius protested, reining in his skittish mount. A dozen paces ahead, he stopped. "I think you need to see this," he said, gesturing for the others to follow.

Tris, Harrtuck and Carroway closed the distance, sidling up to where Soterius's horse stood restlessly. A dead horse with the livery of a Margolan man-at-arms lay in the roadway felled by a crossbow bolt. Its hapless rider, half pinned beneath the dead beast, lay still, his armor no protection against the crossbow bolt that pierced his chest.

"It's him, isn't it?" Garroway croaked. "And that didn't just happen a moment ago, did it?"

"Uh uh," Harrtuck said uneasily, taking in the scene with battle-practiced detachment. "Been dead several hours, I reckon."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Carroway whispered.

Soterius glanced sideways at the bard. "More grist for your stories, minstrel-if we live that long. You'll hold them in awe with this one."

"If we live that long," Tris repeated, looking out over the dark forest around them.

Carroway's expression clearly reflected his terror. "Those stories, about the spirits being able to be solid on Haunts, I never really thought-"

"The sooner we get off the road, the better," Soterius broke in. He looked no less comfortable than the others felt, but his battle training won out over fear. "We'd better get going."

"Where?" Carroway asked, his voice nearly a whisper. Tris glanced back at the minstrel, to see the young man's face pale and his eyes wide. Tris doubted he looked much better, from the way his own heart was pounding.

"To the Lamb's Eye," Tris shrugged and nudged his horse into a canter. "Unless someone has a better idea."

They came to the edge of the woods at the top of a hill. Below them, the fires of the village cast a reassuring glow in the darkness. Even the country folk celebrated Haunts, although with less abandon than their city cousins. There was sure to be no shortage of ale and wenching going on in the streets below, while the more pious made a candlelit pilgrimage to the barrows. In the distance, Tris saw a single-file line of walkers heading for the burial grounds. The pious appeared to be in the minority, as the sounds of music and revelry rose above the cold, still darkness.

"There, that must be the inn," Carroway said, pointing to a lone structure that squatted near the road on the outskirts of town. Its windows glowed and smoke rose from its chimney, and even at this distance, Tris could smell roasting meat.

"Looks pretty solid for a place that's not there any more," Soterius said, glancing skeptically at Harrtuck, who shrugged.

"I haven't been this way in quite a while. If it made enough money for the innkeeper, I imagine he rebuilt it."

"Or else, it's one of those illusions, like in the tales," Carroway whispered.

"Do your tales give any helpful hints for telling the real thing from the illusion?" Soterius grated.

"Not that I know of," Carroway replied, his voice a few tones higher and more pinched than usual.

"I try not to disobey a ghost," Tris observed dryly, urging his horse down the steep road. "If it was important enough for Hassad to send us there, he had a reason. Let's go."

A very solid wooden door gave reassuringly to Tris's touch. The common room was empty, but the air was heavy with the smell of roasting meat mingled with tobacco smoke. Despite a log fire glowing in the hearth, a chill hung in the room.

"Awfully quiet place for a feast night, isn't it?" Soterius murmured, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Considering how we must look, maybe that's lucky," Tris replied under his breath with a glance at their disheveled costumes. They approached the empty bar warily, and Tris thudded his fist against the wood to call the innkeeper.

"We'd like a room for the night," Harrtuck rasped as the innkeeper appeared in the kitchen doorway, a florid, heavy-set man whose ample apron was stained with ale and meat.

"Ah yes," the man said flatly from the shadows, gesturing for them to enter. "Two coppers a person. Find a room for yourselves upstairs."

Tris stretched out his senses, feeling the warning tingle of nearby spirits. It was strong here, but wordlessly reassuring. He eyed the silent innkeeper, extending his mage-sense. The image, seemingly solid, wavered and blurred to Tris's sight, and the revenant bowed his head in acknowledgement.

On my soul and by the Lady, you and yours are safe here tonight, Tris heard in his mind. Tris glanced at his companions, who were edgy from the fight and unnerved from the ride, but who did not seem to sense anything other-worldly about their host. He said nothing as they climbed the steps, noting that neither of the fighters took their hands far from their swords, and even Carroway kept his hand near the shiv in his belt.

"Bed for four here," Soterius said, opening the first door. A candle was already burning on the nightstand as they entered. On the table lay a platter with sausages, cheese and hard biscuits, and two full buckets of ale with four mugs.

"Nothing but dried meat and cheese," Carroway groused, collapsing into a chair. "Can't tell me that's not venison stew I smell."