The Blood King (3 page)

Tris inclined his head in acknowledgment. “We are in your debt.”

Staden waved his hands in dissent. “Now none of that, or you’ll be thanking me and I’ll have to turn around and thank you again, and we’ll be here all night.

Now that the decision’s made, who’ll have a glass of port with me?”

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TRIS PULLED HIS cloak tighter around himself as the king’s carriage carried him to the citadel of the Sisterhood. Beside him, Carina looked equal-ly cold.

“I’m still wondering—what kind of training requires a healer?” Carina asked, pulling her lap robe closer and rubbing her hands together.

Tris managed a wan smile. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. And I can’t come up with any good answers.”

Carina frowned. “Tris—how sure are you that the Sisterhood is on our side?”

Tris shrugged. “Grandmother always said the Sisterhood was on its own side,”

he replied. “I got as much out of Royster last night as I could—he’s been the Keeper of their Library at Westmarch for almost fifty years. What he said—and he was damn cagey until I pushed him—was that since grandmother’s death, there’s been a split in the Sisterhood that goes back to the war with the Obsidian King.

“According to Royster, there were so many of the great mages killed in that war that the ones who lived through it were either badly wounded or very frightened. The Sisterhood took very heavy losses. Grandmother was nearly killed.” He sighed. “Even after grandmother recovered and became the head of the Sisterhood, Royster says that the Sisterhood split into two groups: one that thought the Mage War proved that the Sisterhood shouldn’t intervene, and one that thought careful intervention was the only way to keep the peace.” “What about your grandmother?” Tris looked out the carriage window at the cold win-ter dawn. “Grandmother always said that power of any kind—physical, magical, or political—was a gift from the Goddess to be used for the good of all.”

“That’s a hard balance to strike,” Carina said, burrowed so far into her cloak and lap robe that only her face showed.

“What I could pry out of Royster makes me think that there have been some heated arguments about what to do with me,” Tris said. “For now, apparently, the mages who sided with grandmother are winning, and so the Sisterhood has agreed to train me. But I’m not sure that’s the same as giving us their full support. I don’t think we can count on them to come to the res-cue if anything goes wrong.”

“But we’ve heard that Arontala is hunting down mages! Doesn’t that make this war the Sisterhood’s business?”

Tris shrugged. “Not every mage is one of the Sisterhood. They’re a rather elite group. And the

impression I got from Royster was that some of them think that the Sisterhood shouldn’t be involved in the outside world at all. They want to study magic and let the rest of us be damned.” He paused. “Although Royster didn’t say as much, I wondered whether the mages who run the Sisterhood now are as powerful as the Sisters who fought the Mage War. Perhaps they’re turning inward because they’re not what they once were,” Tris speculated. “Maybe they don’t think they can go up against Arontala—let alone the Obsidian King reborn—and win, so they don’t even want to try.”

“But they’ll send you? That’s not making me feel any better about this training.”

Carina shiv-ered.

Tris chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re not the one being trained.”

Carina’s concerns only made him more nervous. Though Bava K’aa said little about the Sisterhood, what little she did say was usually about Sisters tak-ing sides or pursuing competing agendas. Now, as the carriage headed for the citadel, Tris wondered whether, in the Sisterhood’s game, he was the king or the pawn.

“You said Sister Taru sent the message?” Carina’s question stirred Tris out of his brooding.

He nodded. “That’s the one bright spot. After training with her at Westmarch, she’s someone I trust.”

“She knew your grandmother?”

“Taru was grandmother’s assistant.”

“I trust Taru,” Carina agreed. “The others, I’m not so sure about.”

THE CARRIAGE TURNED and Tris saw the citadel, a large gray walled area, almost a city within the city. The cut stone that made up its outer walls looked older than the buildings around it, which seemed to keep their distance, giving the citadel a wide span of open area despite the crowding of the rest of the city.

Only a few high narrow windows broke the citadel’s facade, which rose several stories above the ground. A portcullis opened to admit the carriage, and Tris felt his stomach knot at the thud of the iron gate falling shut behind them.

A robed figure waited for them in the snow as Tris helped Carina down from the carriage. “Welcome,” Taru said, pulling back her hood. Taru’s chin-length dark hair framed a round face, and her cloak covered an ample frame. Her broad smile was a sincere welcome. Tris felt himself relax, just a little.

Tris gave a courteous bow, and Carina embraced Taru. “Thanks for meeting us,”

Tris said as they headed up the broad, snow covered steps that led into the citadel. The facade of the citadel was as imposing as any palace, and the archway over the heavy, iron-bound doors was carved with intricate runes and interlocking designs.

Even before the doors opened, Tris could sense old, strong magic. Power seemed to radiate from the stones of the walls, as if they retained the imprint of the workings done within. Tris hoped to pick up the lingering sense of his grandmother’s magic, the sense that her rooms at Shekerishet held like old perfume. But there was no familiar reso-nance, and Tris found that its absence heightened his nervousness.

A footman gathered their bags and followed behind them. “You’ve come prepared to stay for at least a fortnight?” Taru questioned.

Tris chuckled. “We’ve learned to travel light,” he replied dryly. “Since I left Shekerishet with only the clothes on my back, a whole pack seems like a lux-ury!”

Carina shrugged. “I brought my herbs and pow-ders—and some of the books Royster and I brought from Westmarch. Cam and I lived on the road for so long, I’ve learned to make do.” She managed a grin. “You weren’t expecting us to dress for court, I hope!”

Taru smiled. “No dear. We have robes to spare— what you wear underneath them is your business,” she added with surprising mischief.

Inside the great doors, a high-ceilinged entrance-way made an imposing first impression. Around the grand entrance room, eight larger than life size mar-ble figures of the Goddess—four light and four dark—encircled the room on pedestals. Tris looked to the statues of the Mother and Childe, Margolan’s patron Aspects, but in the kindly gaze of the Mother and the mystical eyes of the Childe, he found no assurance. It was Istra, the Dark Lady, who drew his attention. Istra, patroness of the vayasb moru and the outcast, the champion of lost souls. Tris could not shake the feeling that the eyes of Istra’s statue seemed to follow him.

Carina seemed preoccupied as they headed deeper into the massive building.

Tris looked around. Tapestries covered the walls from floor to ceiling, and Tris could tell at a glance that they were even older and more finely woven than any he had seen in Staden’s palace or in his own home at Shekerishet. Everywhere he looked—at the furnishings, the finely wrought candelabra and torch sconces, at the scrying basins and leather-bound books—Tris saw evidence of wealth and power that would impress any king in the Winter Kingdoms.

For a group that isn’t supposed to be involved in mortal affairs, the Sisterhood has done well for itself, Tris thought.

“This citadel was built over five hundred years ago,” Taru said as they headed deeper into the building. “It’s older than Staden’s palace. We can comfortably house over two hundred Sisters, although only about fifty live here at most times. Many come and go, staying for a few months and then moving on to one of our other holdings.”

They climbed a broad, curving staircase that can-tilevered from the walls, seeming to rise of its own accord. Down through its center hung a massive candelabrum easily as large as the carriage that brought them to the citadel, and Tris wondered if its dozens of candles could be lit by means other than magic.

The stairs narrowed as they reached the upper floors, and Taru led them down a long corri-dor. Tris felt engulfed by the remnant of old power, as if the lingering tingle of magic would smother him. Even Mageslayer seemed to respond to the magic that surrounded him; the ensorcelled blade drew his attention as if awakened.

Taru stopped in front of two doors that opened off the right side of the corridor. “I’ve put you in adjoining rooms—I hope you don’t mind,” she said.

“There’s a sitting room in between. I thought it would give you some privacy—and make it easier if Carina needs to check in on you.”

Tris frowned. “You seem to be taking it for grant-ed that I’ll need serious healing. What kind of training—exactly—do you have in mind for me?”

Taru motioned them inside, and gestured to the footman to leave the bags in the sitting room. A fire already blazed in the large stone hearth, and the sit-ting room, while less lavish than the entranceway, was still the equal to the guest rooms in any palace. A pot for tea and another small cauldron of water simmered in the coals, and several chairs plus a small couch offered ample seating. There was a broad study table with a four-candle candelabrum, and one wall was covered with shelves of books. One glance gave Tris to guess that they were heal-ing tomes, and his uneasiness increased again.

Taru closed the door behind them with a quick glance in either direction down the hallway to assure they were alone. Carina moved to warm her-self by the fire, and Tris stretched their cloaks over two chairs near the fire to dry. “There’s only one kind of training that can build the skills you’ll require in the short time available,” said Taru, and Tris could hear concern in her voice. “Simulated battle—both physical and magical.”

Carina gasped. “Against whom—the entire Sisterhood?”

Taru met Tris’s eyes. “Yes. You’ll be led through a series of tests. Some will be quests past the traps in the labyrinth beneath the citadel. They’ll test your cunning and your ability to use your magic with precision. Others,” she said,

“will test your battle skills and your magic for defense and for attack.” Taru watched him, gauging his reaction. “In some tests, you’ll face a Sister—or two—in per-son. In other tests, you’ll face avatars—golems animated by magic—controlled by Sisters.”

Tris looked at Taru. “There’s something you’re not saying. Something important.”

Taru nodded. “When you fight the avatars, they will have the face and form of others. Jared, per-haps. Arontala. And you may find allies—like Vahanian, or Kiara.” She paused again. “The magic and the weapons will be real. In the most extreme simulations, wardings will be set that cannot be broken except by completing the task. In the case of a confrontation with Jared’s avatar, for example—” “It’s not over until one of us is dead,” Tris fin-ished tightly. Taru nodded.

“Taru, you can’t be serious!” Carina protested. She moved away from the fire to join them.

Taru met Carina’s gaze. “If he can’t stand up to the Sisterhood, what chance has he against Arontala—or the Obsidian King?”

“And so you thought to do Arontala’s work for him?” Carina demanded.

Taru looked down, and began to pace again. “There’s been a great deal of debate—heated debate—about whether the Sisterhood should involve itself at all in your training,” she said with a glance at Tris. “I suspect the decision to bring you here was made more out of fear that some of us would do it, regardless.”

“From the Sisterhood’s perspective—and I’m not saying it’s my view—the only thing that matters is keeping the Obsidian King from rising again, or at least, containing the damage if he does.” She looked to Tris and Carina. “The Sisterhood is not con-cerned with the kingship of Margolan, or with undoing Jared’s damage—or with healing King Donelan by destroying Arontala.” Taru shook her head. “The Sisterhood tends to take a historic view of such things which can be damnably impersonal.” “What could be worse than the Obsidian King rising and taking over Arontala’s body?” Carina burst out. Even before Taru spoke, Tris knew what she would say, and that knowledge chilled him to the bone.

“It would be worse if he arose in the body of a great Summoner,” Taru said quietly. “The Sisterhood agreed to train you because they need to assure themselves that you will not fail. Above all, they don’t wish to face the Obsidian King again as he once was, with a Summoner’s power.”

“Then grandmother was correct—Lemuel was possessed?” Tris said. Taru nodded. “So if I’m not strong enough to succeed, they want me to fail here, even if it kills me?” “Yes.” “I see.”

“You don’t know how much they fear the Obsidian King,” said Taru. “You passed one small test when Alyzza found you in the caravan—”

“Alyzza was a Sister?” Carina exclaimed, remem-bering the disheveled old woman who had traveled with their caravan in Margolan.

Taru smiled. “Did you really believe she was a hedge witch? Many years ago, Alyzza was a great sorceress. When Bava K’aa was taken prisoner by the Obsidian King, Alyzza and King Argus used their magic to enable Lord Grayson to rescue Bava K’aa from the Obsidian King’s stronghold.”

She shook her head. “The effort killed King Argus, and badly injured Alyzza.

Her mind was never the same afterwards. Bava K’aa barely sur-vived. Elam was Bava K’aa’s healer, and Elam wouldn’t let anyone else near your grandmother, even though it took a long time to heal her. Elam performed the marriage between Grayson and Bava K’aa when your grandmother was barely recovered from her injuries. And Elam delivered Bava K’aa’s child—your mother, Serae,”

Taru said with a glance toward Tris.

Outside, the bells tolled eight times. Taru looked at Tris and Carina apologetically. “I know you’ve barely had a chance to get warm and put down your things, but we’re due in the council cham-bers,” Taru said. “You’ll be formally introduced, and Sister Elam will present your first trainers. Your challenges begin today.”