Gail Martin - The summoner

the best he might hope for would be her friendship.

Kiara looked at him for a moment before speaking, and he could see the conflict in her eyes. "I'm betrothed to Jared Drayke of Margolan."

Tris felt the force of the words like a physical blow. "No."

Kiara looked away. "It was an old pact, made long ago. Father wanted more security for Isencroft, and he liked and trusted your father. It seemed logical to unite our kingdoms and so they made a pact that I should wed the heir to Margolan's throne."

"You can't marry Jared," Tris protested. "He'll never honor the pact. He'll tear Isencroft apart to feed Margolan and leave the rest for bandits." But the image that came to his mind was not about kings and treaties. The image was of Jared, the night of the coup, and of the rape Tris interrupted. And when his mind supplied Kiara's face in place of the terrified servant girl's, his blood felt turned to ice.

"Don't you think I know that?" Kiara cried. "I've already eluded his ambassador twice. And if I had any doubts, I don't any more. Not after riding through Margolan."

"Tell me, please. What did you see?"

Kiara recounted the tales of the refugees and her flight from the border guards. Tris felt his anger rise as she described ruined villages, murders and rampaging guards. They sat in silence when Kiara finished, the weight of the matter between them.

Finally, Tris spoke. "You know that I'm going to have to kill him."

"I know."

Tris reached out to take her hand. "Listen to me," he said. "If I live to rule Margolan, I swear to you that nothing will ever be required of Isencroft by force. You have my word."

"Thank you," she said, so quietly that the words were nearly lost on the wind. She squeezed his hand before she pulled away. "You can't imagine how much that means."

They were silent for a few moments. "Where will you go, when it's time to leave here?" she asked.

Tris looked away, to the cold horizon where the first light of dawn was fading. "First, to Principality City. Uncle Harrol's accounts are there. We'll need them to pay Vahanian. And then there's Berry I was hoping Carina could find a safe place with the healers for her.

"Then, we raise an army and plan the assault on Jared," Tris continued quietly.

"You'll have to kill Jared's mage first, won't you?"

"I don't know if I can," Tris admitted. "But I swore to the Lady on the souls of my family that I would do it, and I will."

Kiara's smile was bittersweet. "Then you'll find a way."

"Quite an errand for a prince who never wanted to be king, don't you think?" Tris mused aloud. "I guess they're right when they say the Lady chooses our path."

"She does," Kiara agreed, and told him of her vision on the battlefield. "Ever since then," she admitted quietly, her breath freezing in the chill air, "I've known that there was something She meant for me to do." She shrugged. "Only I still don't know what it is," she admitted. "Maybe that's why She gave me the Journey."

Footsteps on the dry leaves startled them both and they turned to see Vahanian. "There you are," he said, planting his hands on his hips like a schoolmaster. "They've turned the Library upside down looking for the two of you. It's practice time."

When practice had finished, Tris headed back, anxious to resume his studies. His aching muscles told him that Vahanian had put him through a particularly grueling session. Inside, the smell of stew and baking bread greeted them-testimony that Royster was already at work on supper. He took a platter of bread, fruit, dried meat and cheese with him, along with a pitcher of water, and headed up the stairs to the tower for his lessons with Devin and Taru. They were still at work when Berry scampered up hours later, to remind him of evening arms practice and dinner.

By the time Tris and the others had finished their work in the salle with Vahanian, Royster and the others were already gathered in the dining hall. The group became accustomed to unseen hands setting the table for dinner as Kessen helped with meals. Royster kept up a onesided banter with Kessen's ghost the whole way through the meal, ending in the shattering of a goblet when one of Royster's barbed comments annoyed the spirit beyond restraint.

"I wish I could see Kessen all the time," Berry said, reaching for another piece of the warm bread. "I haven't met any ghosts at all, other than the nasty ones with the slavers." She bit off a large piece of bread and chewed it hungrily.

"Royster," Mikhail said, "are there any books I haven't found yet about the beasts?" He paused. "Short of burning down the world, there seems to be nothing about how to turn them."

Royster drained the last of the ale from his mug. "Well," he said, licking his lips, "the only way to get rid of them is to destroy the mage who sent them." The old librarian looked thoughtful. "The last time, ten years ago, it was the same way."

"Ten years ago?" Vahanian asked, leaning forward with sudden interest. "Where?"

Royster pulled at his beard in thought. "Up north, along the border between Isencroft and Margolan, just below the great sea. Terrible things got loose up there."

"What do you know about it?" Vahanian pressed.

Royster paused again, staring at the ceiling as he thought. "Haven't thought about that in years," he mused. "I lose track of things a bit here in the Library." He frowned, thinking. "Ah, yes," he said, brightening. "There was a dark mage who called himself Lustari, 'the fearsome one,'" he recounted. "He raised the beasts to keep his rivals at bay. They did some awful damage until he was destroyed."

"By the Sisters?" Vahanian asked intently.

Royster shook his head. "No, no that was the odd thing about it," he remembered. "Fallon said that the Sisters hadn't found a way to destroy him. But someone did," Royster said, nodding. "I guess he underestimated one of his rivals."

"Royster, have you ever seen this?" Tris asked, sliding his hand across the table toward the old librarian. When he lifted his palm, the dull metal talisman lay before the librarian.

"Why did you bring that cursed thing with us?" Vahanian demanded.

"A madman gave it to me in a burned-out village," Tris said to Royster. He told the story while Vahanian listened, white knuckled and tight-lipped.

"That thing calls those monsters," Vahanian said in a rough voice. "You should have left it with the madman."

Tris shook his head. "It turned the things, not called them." He paused and glanced from Mikhail to Royster. "But would it have been powerful enough to get me across the Dhasson border?"

"Nothing turns those things," Vahanian retorted. "Nothing but fire."

"Tris is right, Jonmarc," Royster replied quietly. "Here. Let me show you." The white-haired man sprang up from his seat, disappearing into the stacks to emerge a few minutes later with a dusty, leather-bound tome. "Look here," he said, as they gathered around him. His gnarled finger moved down page after page of yellowed parchment, along lines of carefully inscribed manuscript in a language Tris did not recognize.

"It's an old Eastmark book," Royster said, answering their unspoken question, "from before the days of the Obsidian King. It details the rise and fall of a dark mage, and all of the damage he inflicted. But look here," he said, his finger pointing to an illustration. He slid the metal talisman over the page until it lay over the drawing-a perfect match.

"See," he said, and began to read from the text, interpreting as he went.

"'But in the days of the final battle," he read, "the mage fashioned a metal working with the power to protect its wearer against beasts born of magic. The king took the talisman, and none of the beasts harmed him. The king smote the beasts with fire, and they were destroyed.'" He looked up. "There you have it," he said with a shrug. "Doesn't call them. Protects the wearer. Handy thing." He thought for a moment. "As for getting across the border-I don't know that I'd trust my luck if Arontala's spell called hundreds of those things. Amulets have their limits. And there's no protection for the rest of your party. Me, I wouldn't chance it."