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Authors: Gail Z. Martin
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“Arontala will try to use your fears against you. Darkness always does. It’s as if we’re each followed by a dragon, Tris, made up of those fears and those old wounds. And if you don’t turn and face your dragon and call it by its true name when you’re young and strong, then when you’re old and weak, it comes by night and devours you in your bed. You’ve faced your dragon,” she said quietly. “You know the price of your worst fears.
You know now that the future isn’t certain. And as a Summoner, you know that death itself can’t sunder love.”
Tris nodded, feeling his throat tighten. “I know.” Tris caught at her sleeve as she stood and turned away. “Thank you.”
Taru nodded in acknowledgement. “Tomorrow night, you and Carina will return to Staden’s palace until after Winterstide. Then your training will resume.”
CHAPTER FOUR
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THE WOMAN’S PIERCING scream ended abruptly as she slammed against the stone wall and slid limply to the castle floor. Jared Drayke stood, pant-ing and sweat-soaked, his fists balled and ready to strike again.
“You ought to know by now that the human neck is a fragile thing,” Arontala’s comment sounded from the doorway. Jared wheeled.
“Shut up.” When Arontala made no reply other than a shrug, Jared strode over to the battered body and hefted it in his arms, then crossed the room with his burden to fling wide the curtains to the garderobe and dump the body down.
“That’s the third in as many months,” Arontala observed acidly. “Not counting the ones you’ve given to the guards for their sport when your use is over. At least they’re buried in a trench behind the barracks.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“The common folk think you’re sacrificing maid-ens to the Crone,” Arontala continued without pause. “Or that you’ve conjured a demon.”
“I’d need a mage for that, wouldn’t I?” Jared shot back. “A real mage, not just one that promises everything and delivers nothing.”
Arontala shrugged again. Beneath the volumi-nous red robes that marked him as a Fire Clan mage he was slightly built, standing a head shorter than Jared. The undead pallor lightened the duskier complexion of his native Eastmark. He crossed his arms, and the long, thin fingers of his right hand tapped with boredom. “You wear the crown. Margolan is yours.”
“For now. My brother’s still out there, and every thing you’ve tried to do about it has failed.” Jared began to pace, running a hand through his long, wavy dark hair. He had his late mother Eldra’s black eyes and an olive complexion that was a mixture of Bricen’s fair skin and Eldra’s darker tones. But the high cheekbones and angu-lar features were all Bricen’s, and the family resemblance between Jared and his hated half-brother Tris was as near as the reflecting glass.
“He slipped right through your slavers’ fingers. And Staden of Principality welcomed him like a hero! You heard the spies.” Jared fingered the null magic charm that hung around his neck. Although it limited any magical control over him that Arontala might try to wield, Jared did not trust the charm completely against the dark mage, nor did he underestimate the power of Arontala’s abilities as a vayash moru.
“There’s no cause as romantic… or hopeless… as an exiled prince’s,” Arontala said. “There are no Principality troops at the border, and your guards have burned a swath through Principality to make Staden pay for his indiscretion.”
“You forgot to mention the Isencroft bitch. The spy said she was with Tris in Principality. She’s defied me, and joined him in treason.”
“Then you can watch her hang for it. You’d most likely have killed her before you could have sired a brat by her.”
“I want more than promises!” Jared’s face was only inches from the vayash moru. “Summon your great spirit. Secure my throne!”
“Patience is a virtue.” Arontala turned
You know now that the future isn’t certain. And as a Summoner, you know that death itself can’t sunder love.”
Tris nodded, feeling his throat tighten. “I know.” Tris caught at her sleeve as she stood and turned away. “Thank you.”
Taru nodded in acknowledgement. “Tomorrow night, you and Carina will return to Staden’s palace until after Winterstide. Then your training will resume.”
CHAPTER FOUR
prev
next
contents
THE WOMAN’S PIERCING scream ended abruptly as she slammed against the stone wall and slid limply to the castle floor. Jared Drayke stood, pant-ing and sweat-soaked, his fists balled and ready to strike again.
“You ought to know by now that the human neck is a fragile thing,” Arontala’s comment sounded from the doorway. Jared wheeled.
“Shut up.” When Arontala made no reply other than a shrug, Jared strode over to the battered body and hefted it in his arms, then crossed the room with his burden to fling wide the curtains to the garderobe and dump the body down.
“That’s the third in as many months,” Arontala observed acidly. “Not counting the ones you’ve given to the guards for their sport when your use is over. At least they’re buried in a trench behind the barracks.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“The common folk think you’re sacrificing maid-ens to the Crone,” Arontala continued without pause. “Or that you’ve conjured a demon.”
“I’d need a mage for that, wouldn’t I?” Jared shot back. “A real mage, not just one that promises everything and delivers nothing.”
Arontala shrugged again. Beneath the volumi-nous red robes that marked him as a Fire Clan mage he was slightly built, standing a head shorter than Jared. The undead pallor lightened the duskier complexion of his native Eastmark. He crossed his arms, and the long, thin fingers of his right hand tapped with boredom. “You wear the crown. Margolan is yours.”
“For now. My brother’s still out there, and every thing you’ve tried to do about it has failed.” Jared began to pace, running a hand through his long, wavy dark hair. He had his late mother Eldra’s black eyes and an olive complexion that was a mixture of Bricen’s fair skin and Eldra’s darker tones. But the high cheekbones and angu-lar features were all Bricen’s, and the family resemblance between Jared and his hated half-brother Tris was as near as the reflecting glass.
“He slipped right through your slavers’ fingers. And Staden of Principality welcomed him like a hero! You heard the spies.” Jared fingered the null magic charm that hung around his neck. Although it limited any magical control over him that Arontala might try to wield, Jared did not trust the charm completely against the dark mage, nor did he underestimate the power of Arontala’s abilities as a vayash moru.
“There’s no cause as romantic… or hopeless… as an exiled prince’s,” Arontala said. “There are no Principality troops at the border, and your guards have burned a swath through Principality to make Staden pay for his indiscretion.”
“You forgot to mention the Isencroft bitch. The spy said she was with Tris in Principality. She’s defied me, and joined him in treason.”
“Then you can watch her hang for it. You’d most likely have killed her before you could have sired a brat by her.”
“I want more than promises!” Jared’s face was only inches from the vayash moru. “Summon your great spirit. Secure my throne!”
“Patience is a virtue.” Arontala turned
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