Dark Haven (45 page)

collapsing in stinking heaps as the soldiers held their positions. Through it all, the steady thump of the battering ram shook the battlements.

Tris felt the magic rising, and threw all of his power to shield his men. Images formed in his mind, dimmed by his shielding but not completely pushed from view. He saw his army, decimated. Bodies littered the plain, food for the scavengers and carrion birds that plucked their sightless eyes and ate from their corpses. In the sending, he saw the survivors ridden down and murdered, some by fire, others by the sword, the rest twisting from nooses. The sending grew stronger, and Tris saw Curane’s forces and the Trevath army sweep across Margolan to take Shekerishet by force. He saw soldiers storm the castle and search its rooms for Kiara, saw torchlight glint from the knife as

it rose above her, plunging into her swollen belly, killing her and the child she carried.

“Stand firm! Don’t break ranks!” Tris heard Soterius and Tarq shouting around him. Tris clung to the pommel of his saddle, reeling from the assault on his mind as he struggled to absorb the brunt of the dark sending.

With a shout of anger, Tris marshaled all his power and sent a blast of magic back toward the source. Around him, he heard men crying out in terror and pain as the sending showed them their greatest fears come true. Although the other mages could not join him on the Plains of Spirit, Tris could sense their magic joining with his, a concentrated blast toward the void where the darkness was deepest.

The magic struck its target. Tris felt the blast of power burn as it reached the origin of the dark sending. Just as quickly, all magic disappeared, and then blinked back into place with a recoil as if he’d taken a sword‐strike to the helm. Tris struggled for control against the staggering reaction headache. The magic rose and fell like a storm‐tossed sea. The power inside his mind buckled and folded in on itself. He was falling, and the world opened its maw to swallow him whole. He landed with a thud on the ground. Bones snapped.

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Tris struggled to his feet, rallying his power. Dimly, he could feel Fallon and the other mages around him. With all his remaining energy, Tris and the other mages sent a firestorm against Lochlanimar, hitting the wall to the right of the portcullis. The magic exploded on impact, breaking down the crenel‐lations and collapsing part of the wall.

Let go. Let go now! He could feel the energy drain growing. A few seconds more and it would reach his life thread. Tris flung himself free of the magic and fell to his knees. Too damn close.

“I gave him a potion to ease the pain. It’s wearing off.”

It was Esme’s voice, but it sounded as if she were a league away. Tris tried to open his eyes and thought better of it. His head felt as if he’d been kicked by an iron‐shod war horse. No, worse than that. If I’d been kicked I’d be dead, and not feel the pain.

“Will he be all right?” Soterius sounded worried.

“The fall from the horse didn’t help anything,” Esme replied. “He broke a collarbone and a rib when he landed. The way the men and the horses were out there, he’s lucky he wasn’t trampled.

None of the other mages are in better shape. Whatever the rest of us felt, they must have taken it double.”

“Dark sending.” Tris could barely make his lips move.

Soterius stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Glad you’re back with us. We were 384

worried.”

“How bad?”

“Not as bad as it could have been, considering. The battering ram’s still in place, but that gate isn’t coming down soon. My bet is they’ve reinforced it with rock behind the wood and the portcullis.

“We only lost about a hundred men. Most of our soldiers are volunteers who joined up after we unseated Jared. They’re not career soldiers. They’ve never seen full battle. Still, they held their ground, even with the magic and the ashtenerath. The preparations helped. They knew what the ashtenerath were and how to fight them—and that it was a mercy to end their suffering. That’s a lot more than my fighters knew the first time we met up with those damned things!”

“What did you see… when the sending came?”

Soterius’s voice was not quite steady. “The men, dead, wounded, and captured. A field of corpses. Shekerishet in flames.”

“Like a vision, or a real thing?”

“It was distant. As if I were seeing into a scrying bowl—hazy, not quite solid.”

“Then we did our job.”

“What does he mean by that?” Soterius demanded of Esme.

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“I only know of dark sendings from what the healer‐mages have told me. In a full sending, I’m told that it’s impossible to tell what’s sent from what’s real. Tris and the other mages took the brunt of the sending. What we saw, however bad it was, is nothing compared to what it could have been, what they saw.”

“Sweet Mother and Childe,” Soterius whispered. “What I saw was bad enough to keep me from sleeping. Goddess help the mages, if they saw even worse.”

“Regroup,” Tris murmured. Even the candlelight was blinding.

Soterius looked spent and worn; Tris wondered how many hours had passed and how long he had been drugged. “We will. I’ll give the troops credit—they didn’t bolt for home. Once they get over the fright, I think this may work in our favor. No one wants another king like Jared. Curane’s shown them exactly what kind of regent he would be. I think our soldiers will dig in their heels.

This may not be the most seasoned army, but they’ve already lost a lot to Jared. This is personal.

There isn’t much distance between fear and anger. And from what I saw out there, our folks are covering that distance pretty quickly.”

“If you want your king in one piece, I suggest you let him rest.” Esme’s voice was stern.

Soterius clasped Tris’s forearm. “I’ve posted a vayash moru guard tonight—they can handle ashtenerath better than any of us and they weren’t affected by the sending. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

Tris wanted to reply, but the throbbing pain in his head coupled with exhaustion sent him back into darkness.

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As soon as he was able, Tris met with the mages and the generals in his tent. It was cramped, and Coalan sat in the doorway to give the others as much space as he could. Tris’s ribs and shoulder still ached, though he was healed enough to wield a sword. Soterius and the other generals looked to be in better shape than the mages. Tris guessed that the other mages had taken at least as much recoil as he had in the battle, perhaps more. But while Fallon and her sister mages looked drawn and worn, their eyes were resolute.

“Whatever we do next, I want to get rid of their damn trebuchets,” Senne growled. Outside, a steady barrage continued. Large blocks of stone torn loose in the battle were favorite projectiles. Those were bad enough, requiring constant vigilance from the mages to keep them from landing where they could roll into the camp. For the last day, Curane’s forces had sent a more gruesome payload. Corpses of men and animal carcasses rained down just beyond the outskirts of camp. By the smell, most were not freshly dead. Some of the bodies, those still frozen solid, burst apart like dry tinder on impact. The others… Tris tried not to imagine what the scouts had found splattered across the plain.

“While we’re out of range, we’re not out of danger—especially given what they’ve been sending our way of late,” Fallon said. “We can’t possibly bury the corpses as quickly as they’ve been thrown at us. We already had a hundred of our own dead from the battle with nowhere to bury them and little enough wood to spare for pyres. If the carcasses Curane’s sending our way weren’t diseased already, they’ll draw disease quickly enough. At least it’s not summer, or we’d be thick with flies.”

Palinn nodded. “I thought the same myself. Since the cold shows no sign of letting up, I sent men out to bury whatever they could in the snow. If it freezes solid it may not stink or fester as quickly. But the fresh kills will draw wolves, and the rest will bring foxes and weasels—and worse. Once they come, they may decide we look like better food. We have enough problems without worrying about that.”

Latt nodded. “I’ve already set wardings to warn the animals away from camp. It’s in our interest to let them clean up the carrion—the sooner the better. I don’t think all those bodies are war dead. Curane’s been holed up for a while—and ill humours spread fastest when people are 387

cramped together. My magic tells me that at least some of the bodies carry disease. Sooner or later, what’s out there will be among us.”

“If there’s plague within the fortress, will that work to our advantage?” Senne mused.

“Come the harshest days of winter, there’s always fever somewhere,” Soterius replied.

“So long as Curane can wall off the affected parts, the rest of his people may make it through.”

“What of our supplies?” Tris asked.

Palinn shrugged. “Our supply line is holding. Curane had snipers hidden along the main supply line, but he didn’t count on our having vayash moru scouts. The snipers didn’t last long, so since then, we haven’t been troubled by raids. The biggest problem is there’s not much left. Jared burned enough fields and farms that the people are barely feeding themselves, let alone an army. Even if we were of a mind to take what we could by force—”

“Which we won’t,” Tris said decisively.

“—it wouldn’t be enough. I’ve sent out scavenging parties to within a full day’s ride. Curane’s own people are on the brink of famine. It takes a lot to keep an army fed. We don’t have the luxury of a long siege.”

Tris turned to Fallon. “Have the mages recovered?”

Fallon shared a glance among the other magic users. “We were able to contain the worst of the dark sending. Next time, we’ll work on reflecting it instead of absorbing it. What worries me is 388

the way the Flow is dropping out and then flaring back.”

Tris and Fallon explained to the generals as best they could how the magic had fluctuated wildly.

“If there was anything good about it, I think it flattened Curane’s mages as well,” Trisfinished.

“It’s the Flow itself that caused the problem.”

“One of us is actively using magic at all times,” Fallon added. “So we’re very aware of the Flow.

Just since the battle, we’ve counted more than a dozen times the energy dropped to nothing, then surged back. We’re learning to read the warnings, but this is all new.”

“What happens if you’re caught in one of these surges?” Senne asked.

“Ana isn’t here because of that,” Fallon replied. “She was working with the water supply when the magic buckled around hen She said it was the way she’s always imagined it would feel to be struck by lightning. It’ll be several days before she’s well again.”

“And you’re sure nothing Curane is doing causes the surge?”

Tris shook his head. “Curane’s mages aren’t causing the surge itself, but their blood magic is making the imbalance in the Flow worse. The more they draw on magic for dark power, the more unstable the Flow becomes. The question is—what happens when it shatters? We only have the stories from the Mage Wars. The last time that happened, it was in the Blasted Lands in the far north. That’s why they’re called the Blasted Lands.”

“Have your ghost spies provided anything of value?” Tarq asked.

“From what they see—and they aren’t all‐knowing—Curane still believes he can outlast us. That means he thinks he’s got something we don’t have—or knows something we don’t know. The ghosts have heard talk about some fever and plague in parts of the town, so that explains where 389

they’re getting some of the bodies. No one’s seen the girl and her baby—they seem to be prisoners in the manor’s tower.” Tris looked at Soterius. “We do have the map Tabok’s ghost gave us. Maybe it’s a long shot, but if we could get a mage and a strike force through the caves and into Lochlanimar, we could coordinate another assault like the first one—magic and vayash moru and the siege engines. Bursts of small magic, rather than big pushes to keep the Flow from shattering. Curane’s forces can’t be everywhere at once.” “What about the ashtenerath?”

Senne asked. Soterius shook his head. “We know it takes a lot of power to make them. That means Curane started before we got here. Whether or not he’s used up all he has, they’re hard to replenish and dangerous to keep for any length of time. The troops know how to kill them, and now that they’ve fought them, they’re not afraid of them anymore.” “And the vayash moru?” Tarq pressed.

“They certainly can’t take Lochlanimar alone,” Tris said. “Tabok’s ghost says the tunnels are charmed against the vayash mom, or I’d send a team of them into the caves. I’d like to send Ban and the strike force out tomorrow night, get them in place. Once we attack, maybe we can keep Curane busy until it’s too late.” He grinned. “I think I can manage to bring down the blood charms inside the castle—the ones keeping the ghost horde at bay. As for the vayash moru—

Gabriel always said that those charms aren’t as dependable as the Nargi like to think. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I have some men in my division you’ll want for your strike force,” Tarq said. “They’re from the mines near the Trevath border. They’re not afraid of the dark, and they can navigate underground.”

“Done.”

Tris looked from one face to another. “Let’s hope this works. I don’t know how much more the Flow can take, and if it splinters, it won’t really matter who wins. We’ll all be dead.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY‐FIVE

CARROWAY WAITED RESTLESSLY in the cold night air for the carriage. When it arrived, he glanced up at the driver.

“Yes, m’lord?”

“Take me to Dragon’s Rage Inn.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

Carroway watched the winter landscape slip by as the carriage made its way from the palace down into the town. With the lengthening winter nights, his mood had grown pensive. Spending so much time near Macaria of late only made it worse.

Goddess! I should get it over with. Tell her how I feel. At least maybe then it wouldn’t gnaw at me. Maybe I’d get some sleep. He closed his eyes as the familiar internal battle raged on. I can’t tell her. How could I ever believe her response? She’ll always think of me as her patron, the one who sponsored her at court. If she doesn’t share my feelings, she won’t feel free to turn me down. She’d be afraid I’d have her sent away. She’d lose her livelihood. And if she said she loved me, how would I know it’s love and not just gratitude? He sighed. I know better than anyone what it feels like to be pressured by a patron. By the Dark Lady! I won’t ever do that to someone else. Never. It’s hopeless. I’ve gotten that through my head. But when does my heart catch on?