Gail Martin - The summoner

Kiara shook her head and looked up at the salle roof. "One more thing to worry about," she said resignedly. "Trouble on the northern border, Cam and Carina gone these weeks and no word, Father…" Her voice drifted off. "And now, at any time, to be called by the Sisterhood for my Journey-"

"You are finding, perhaps, that to rule is not so easy, hmmm, my little falcon?" he said, sheathing his own sword. "But trust the Sisterhood. They do not choose these things lightly. And for you, Goddess Blessed, I expect that your coming-of-age Journey will not be ordinary."

"I'm not sure that's comforting, if you were trying to reassure me," Kiara said, already feeling her aching muscles protest as she rose. Once more, to no one in particular, she cursed Isencroft's tradition of insisting that all of its nobility, male or female, excel at the swordsmanship which distinguished the realm. She knew better than to let Darry hear her, since the arms-master was wont to remind her that even the peasant folk, except for women with suckling babes and children too young to wield a weapon, were expected to drill with the homeliest of arms. To be of Isencroft was to know the sword. She prayed that her people's preparations might be enough.

She feared otherwise. Broad and vast, Isencroft was populated more by herds than people; scattered pockets of townspeople staked a hard-won home on Isencroft's flat plains of fertile ground and good pastureland. There had been no famine in Isencroft for longer than anyone could remember. But in generations past, wars came almost as regularly as the rains, as one neighbor or another advanced, hungry for Isencroft's land and access to the Northern Sea.

Kiara no longer trusted in the skill at arms of her people. The threat that lurked beyond the borders was of magic, not of men. "And then, there's Margolan," she sighed, helping Darry pick up the weapons strewn around from their practice.

"I heard there was a messenger," Darry replied noncommittally.

Kiara gave an undignified snort. "Messenger indeed. A little overstuffed hedgeweasel arrived with an invitation from His Majesty, Jared of

Margolan, bearing royal greetings and an invitation to visit the palace. And a reminder of a betrothal contract signed when I was born." She grimaced as she helped Darry replace the weapons. "His Majesty," she repeated derisively. "All our spies report the same thing, that he murdered his family to seize the throne-"

"Dangerous words, my princess," Darry cautioned, "even if true."

"Of course they're true!" she retorted, resting her hand on her hip and fixing Darry with a glare. "And now he wants to enlarge his empire. By marriage."

"Your father would never force you-"

"But my father is not himself," Kiara replied, dropping into a dispirited slump on the salle bench. "We both know that. And if Jared has any spies at all-let alone the dark mages that are supposed to be at his bidding-he knows that. If he didn't cause it," she added darkly. "That demon of his, Arontala, could probably create a curse at least as strong as the one on Father, before breakfast, no doubt."

"You worry too much, Goddess Blessed," Darry said gently, resting one foot on the bench beside her and leaning on his knee. "Our people will hardly let you be carried off into a marriage against your will."

Kiara shrugged. "You've told me enough times yourself that we of the blood royal often have less choice about our lives than the poorest peasant. So many things hang by a thread right now, Darry," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest like a child and wrapping her arms around them, hugging herself tight. "The nobles must suspect that father's not well. He can't even keep up appearances now, and the longer he's 'indisposed,' the more they'll talk. Two poor harvests in a row plus foul weather this year, and we may have famine on our hands come winter. Margolan used to be a trusted ally. But now, weak as Isencroft has become, all it might take is a threat from the east, or magicked beasts from the north, to give us no choice. Give me no choice," she whispered, "except to buy Isencroft's safety with myself."

"By the Childe and Crone, you're gloomy today!" Darry exclaimed. "Any other disasters you would care to consider? Plague? Flood? Locusts?" He grinned wickedly. "Perhaps extra practice sessions for a morbid princess would turn her mind to more useful things?"

Kiara lifted her head just far enough to glare balefully above her folded arms. "There's a penalty for killing a princess with too much arms practice. There has to be. And if there isn't, I'll see that Allestyr creates one right away."

Darry laughed. "Since Carina's gone away, you brood too much, my princess," he chided. "Trust the Bright Lady. One day Isencroft, and you, will see happier days."

With a sigh, Kiara uncurled and stretched, standing. She patted the instructor on the shoulder affectionately. "I hope you're right, Darry. For all of us," she said, painfully aware of her aching muscles and knowing that, even with a

hot bath, she would feel their session in her bones come morning.

The much-coveted hot bath was over far too soon, and the night's work that awaited her gave Kiara far more concern than her sore muscles. In the private parlor outside her sleeping rooms, Kiara's closest advisors waited for her arrival. She slipped into the room and greeted the group. Their reserve gave her an indication of their concern.

"Is everything ready, Tice?" Kiara asked the thin, white-haired man.

Tice nodded. "All is ready, Your Highness. But I beg you, please reconsider. The risk is just too great."

"You know as well as I do that there is no other way," Kiara replied stubbornly, and reached out to accept the small velvet pouch in Tice's hand. From it she drew out a finely worked necklace, set with stones that glimmered in the candlelight. Pressing her candle into his hand, Kiara secured the clasp around her throat and lifted her head

"You are too young for such great responsibilities," Tice clucked.

Kiara gave him a sidelong look. "You coddle me, Tice," she chided gently. "Hasn't father told you that I'm already almost too old to make a 'suitable' bride? By this age, almost twenty summers old, in the farmlands, a girl has already whelped four brats, five if she starts young and keeps at it each year," she said with a wicked grin.

"Your Highness," Tice said with a "tsk tsk" that did little to hide his amusement. "I hope you restrain your language in public."

Kiara chuckled. "That all depends. I'd like the Margolan ambassador to convince his king that I'm not at all suitable for such a great ruler," she replied, her voice thick with sarcasm.

"Another scrying might not be necessary," Tice argued. "You should conserve your strength. You're driving yourself too hard."

Kiara fingered the intricate designs of the ancient pendant. It was set with oval stones in each of the five gems sacred to the Goddess: diamond, the stone of the deepest caverns; ruby, the color of fire; emerald, green as the seas; sapphire, blue as the skies; and amber like the Lady's eyes. Its metal was worn smooth from the years, and its power made her fingers tingle. "Really, Tice," Kiara said, touching his arm gently, "you worry too much." She smiled her most engaging smile and Tice shook his head in resignation.

"You have always gotten your way with me, Kiara," Tice replied. "And I don't imagine that is going to change. I just beg of you to conserve your strength. Isencroft needs you."

"Everyone is here, Your Highness," said Kellen, a trusted guard. Although the man-at-arms had been at every Ritual since the start, he still looked decidedly ill at ease.

Kiara looked at the small, anxious group. Her five closest advisors awaited the Working, apprehensive yet committed. Allestyr, the king's