Gail Martin - The summoner

With a grin, Soterius patted, the ledge for Tris to join him. Tris fought a moment of vertigo as he looked down into the courtyard.

"All right, here goes." Soterius pushed off, spinning for a moment until he oriented himself with his back to the courtyard and his feet against the stone wall.

"We should have painted a bullseye on your back to make it easier for the archers," Carroway hissed.

"Funny," Soterius muttered. "Just keep that flag of yours handy, Tris, in case someone gets ideas."

Tris patted the pennon of the king's second son in his pocket. It was meant to identify him in battle, but tonight, if a guard spotted them, letting the flag unfurl might make the archer hold his fire long enough to identify the bearer.

"All right, Tris. Your turn."

Swallowing hard, Tris let himself over the ledge. "I just remembered how much I hate heights." He caught his breath sharply as he spun for a moment in the chill fall air, and fought the urge to close his eyes. Aware that his friends were watching, Tris nodded his readiness.

Soterius worked his way carefully down the smooth stone wall of the castle. Tris followed, trying not to constantly reassure himself by jerking on the rope. Although he and Soterius climbed the cliffs around Shekerishet frequently during good weather, Tris had not been out since summer's end, and he felt the lapse in his aching muscles.

It was colder than he expected, and the chill nipped at his face. Tris glanced at Soterius, but the guardsman grinned as the wind whipped his dark hair into his eyes. If the king were to look out of one of those windows just now, they would all have some explaining to do, but that was the beauty of Haunts. Nearly everything could be forgiven in the name of the night's revelry.

As he drew close to the windows of the second floor, Tris frowned. There was a light in the window, a strange, red glow that did not look like firelight. The light glowed from Foor Arontala's chambers, pulsing like a heartbeat. Ignoring Soterius's concerned glance, Tris worked his way over.

Tris eased closer to the window and felt the familiar prickle at the edges of his senses that signaled magic close by. But the magic here felt different from his grandmother's power, Tris thought, his breath steaming in the cold night air. Even an arm's breadth away from the window, there was an aura of dread that almost drove him back. He pressed on, though the foreboding was almost palpable, and while no physical barrier slowed him, he had the feeling of wading through deep, ice-cold water the closer he got to his goal. Forcing himself past his fear, Tris leaned in to get a glimpse through the window. The room was dark, but the embers in the fireplace made enough light for him to recognize the trappings of a wizard's workplace. Chalices and athames, cords braided from materials of all descriptions, a scrying bowl, chits and bones-the stuff of divination-and clusters of dried herbs crowded for space with vials of powders and potions. But only one thing in the sorcerer's room commanded his attention, transfixing him as if it knew he was there. On a pedestal in the corner of the room sat a crystal globe the size of a man's head, and from the globe pulsed light the color of blood. As Tris stared, the light seemed to focus, and for an instant, Tris could have sworn it oriented itself on him, like one bloody eye, aware of his presence. Tris's heart hammered in his throat, and he was suddenly unsure he could tear himself away.

"Have you lost your mind?" Soterius hissed from beside him, making him jump.

"Can't you feel it?" Tris murmured, backing away from the window.

Soterius looked at him skeptically. "I can feel my rump freezing, if that's what you mean." They heard angry men's voices from just outside the door to the wizard's room, and both Tris and Soterius swung back, flattening themselves against the wall as torchlight flared in the room and the voices drew closer. Jared and the king, Tris thought with a sinking heart. And this time, whatever the topic of their argument, it was more heated than usual, with Bricen almost apoplectic in his anger, though Tris could not catch the words over the din of revelry in the village. Edging his way close enough to see into the room, Tris caught his breath in horror.

It was magelight, not torchlight that lit the room. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Blue magelight glowed from Arontala's hands, pinning the king against the rough stone wall.

Although Tris could hear none of what was said, the expression on King Bricen's face needed no explanation, nor did the leer that distorted Jared's features as the heir closed the distance between himself and his father, his dagger raised. Commonsense and terror finally won out over shock. Soterius began to jerk at his rope with all the fright of a first climber, signaling for Carroway to begin winching them up. Tris's heart thudded in his throat as Jared sank the dagger deep into Bricen's chest. Just as Tris readied himself to kick through the panes, Soterius swung against him, slamming him into the wall hard enough for him to lose his breath.

"Are you crazy?" Soterius hissed. "You don't have a chance. We've got to get the guards," he argued, fighting against Tris's struggles with all his might. Just then, Carroway heeded his signal and began to hoist them skyward. Fighting shock, Tris found the presence of mind to begin to climb on his own the last few lengths and dove more than crawled into the window, gasping in fright.

"You look like you've seen the Avenger herself!" said Carroway, helping Soterius to his feet.

"The king!" Soterius stammered, numb with fear and cold. "They've killed the king!"

"That's not funny," Carroway said, glancing out the window once more to make sure they had avoided the guards' attention. His voice trailed off as he looked at Tris, and he paled.

"It's true," Tris gasped, leaning forward and steadying himself on his knees. His heart was

thudding so hard he could hardly speak. "I saw Jared-"

"You couldn't have seen anything very well," Carroway said, shooting an uncertain look at Soterius. "You weren't down there very long."

Soterius started freeing himself from the climbing gear as fast as his cold fingers would go. "It was the king and it was Jared," he repeated as if he were speaking with a slow child. "And Arontala. There was blue light pinning the king to the wall. Then Jared came closer and, dear Goddess, stabbed King Bricen, over and over." he said, shutting his eyes to escape the memory.

Tris started past him for the door toward the servants' steps. "I've got to warn Mother and Kait."

"Tris!" Soterius cried, catching Tris by the arm. "If Jared's killed the king, he's going to want you, too. We've got to get you out of here," Soterius grated with military calm. "With Bricen dead, the crown is at stake. Jared's goings to want to eliminate loose ends. We've got to get you to safety."

"Not without Kait and Mother," Tris snapped as shock gave way to anger. He shook free and wrenched the back stairs door open.

"All right, then we're coming too," Soterius said, and tossed the rope to Carroway. "Here. Carry this. I've got a sword and you don't." He barred the door to their chamber and drew his sword. "At least if they come looking for us, it will hold them for a while."

He turned toward Carroway, but the bard had already drawn a small dagger from the folds of his tunic. "You thought it was just for the stories?" Carroway asked. "Some of your army friends like to rough up bards now and again."

Soterius slipped past Tris and led the way down the stairs. He tried the handle on the door at the bottom, and eased the unlocked door open. The bedchamber was in a shambles. Queen Serae lay in a heap near the door, her party gown stained crimson with blood.

"Mother!" Tris called, feeling the panic rise in his voice as he shouldered past Soterius and scrambled across the room.