The Summoner

"Look, there he is!" Berry gasped.

The librarian began to chuckle. "Serves you right, you old coot. Now you won't be able to sneak up on people." Royster paused and looked to Tris. "That's your doing, isn't it?"

Tris nodded. "And I'm afraid he can't stay that way," Tris replied. "It's hard to explain. I don't think he likes it. But he doesn't mind that we've met him," he added.

"Do as he bids," Royster agreed. "It's nice to see there's still someone there," he added wistfully. "It's been so long, sometimes I feared I was talking to myself."

Tris closed his eyes once more. Kessen's relief washed over him as the revenant vanished.

"You know all of these books?" Kiara asked, picking up the conversation once more. She looked u

Royster nodded. "Every one." He chuckled. "I'm the index. After di

"Do they talk?" Vahanian asked irreverently, washing down his bread with a mouthful of ale.

Royster laughed, and they could hear a murmur of amusement pass among the figures at the other tables. "Oh yes, we talk," he said. "But after so many years together, we often have little new to say to one another. Be careful what you wish for—now that we have guests, our curiosity might give us more questions than you want to answer!"

"Could you show us the healing guides?" Carina asked. "Especially about mage-sent illness? Oh, I'd like to see all the texts!" She looked at Kiara, her eyes shining. "What an opportunity!"

"I'll be glad to help Carina," Kiara put in, "but the Oracle sent me here to find a way to save Isencroft. I'm not sure what to ask you to look for," she confessed. "The servants of the Lady said I would find what I needed here."

Royster considered her request for a moment. "Perhaps a place to start is with the histories of Isencroft and the stories of her kings. You may find something to be of help."

"You wouldn't happen to have any histories, would you?" Carroway asked, looking up as he finished his di

Royster's eyes twinkled. "You're a bard?" At Carroway's nod, Royster gri

"Can I come with you?" Berry asked excitedly. "I'd like to hear some of those stories." She looked at Royster. "Do any of them have princesses in them? I like stories about princesses. Especially ones that get into trouble and get rescued."

Royster smiled paternally and chuckled. "Aye, you'll find more than a few of those. I'll pick out the best for you myself... if you can read," he said, narrowing his eyes quizzically. At Berry's decisive nod, he brightened. "Good girl. That's rare for a girl." He turned to Vahanian. "How about you?"

Vahanian put up a hand, "I've seen all the magic I want to see for a while. Just give me a nice empty room and let me get the weapons ready. You wouldn't happen to have a salle here, and a blacksmith's shop, would you?" When Royster nodded, Vahanian smiled. "Well now, that's different. I'd like to have a look at that. I'd rather not train in the snow, and there's work to be done with the horses and weapons."

Royster turned to Tris. "You've been quiet, son. What can I find for you?"

"I'm not quite sure," he said. "If there are books about summoning and spirit mages, perhaps I can find out why the magic works and what I'm really doing." He gri

"At your service, my lord," Royster said, in all seriousness. "I suspect that perhaps for this need we have trained all our lives. I will find what you require." He gestured toward a gray-bearded man at the next table. "Devin is our Summoning expert. Maire," he said, and nodded to a white-haired woman, "knows all about the meaning of dreams and unlocking memories that do not wish to be found. And I," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "have always been partial to stories about the Obsidian King, so I shall work with you on that."

"Thank you," Tris replied.

"I take it these are the guests you were expecting?" A voice came from behind Tris, startling everyone but Royster. Tris turned to see a thin, dark-haired man who looked scarcely older than himself—until he met his eyes. Lifetimes, not a mere two decades, haunted those eyes, set within the pallor of a fine-featured face. The man held himself like a soldier, and his dark hair was close-cropped, as if for a helm.

Royster smiled. "Yes indeed. Mikhail, let me introduce Martris Drayke and his friends," he said, introducing each in turn. Royster looked back to Tris. "This is Mikhail, from King Harrol's court."

Mikhail made a courtly bow. "I am honored," the vayash moru said. "King Harrol sent me to Westmarch since Dhasson's borders are—difficult— for mortals to pass."

"We've noticed," Vahanian muttered.

"I was sent to learn how to dispel the beasts that plague Dhasson," Mikhail went on. "The king also asked that I watch for you, should the fates bring you to Westmarch. I will be pleased to report success in both matters."

"You've found a solution to the beasts?" Tris asked.

Mikhail shook his head. "Unfortunately, all evidence points to the work of one mage—Foor Arontala. Whether he created the beasts I ca

"Gabriel warned us that the border was spelled against my crossing," Tris said. "Otherwise, we would have headed for Valiquet. Did Harrol have any other news?"

Mikhail withdrew a pouch from his pocket and handed it to Tris. Inside was a letter, and a seal. Tris sca

"King Harrol expected, I am sure, that what I found here would confirm his suspicions. He believes that to defeat the beasts, the power of the beasts' sender must be broken," said Mikhail. "It makes Margolan's troubles Dhasson's business, until the mage Arontala is destroyed."

"Good luck," Vahanian muttered darkly.

"Now can we get the stories?" Berry interrupted. They chuckled as they rose from the table. As they were about to leave, a cool breeze blew past them and the crockery rose, piece by piece, suspended in midair.

"Kessen," Royster sighed. "It bothers him to no end if I don't tidy the table the minute I'm through." He planted his hands on his hips. "Leave the dishes!" he shouted at the empty room. "Fifty years, you've done the dishes. The grandson of Bava K'aa comes for training, and all you can think of are dishes!" With a gesture of dismissal, he turned and motioned the others to follow. Behind them, the dishes crashed to the floor.

"He always had a bad temper," Royster muttered without a backward glance at the pile of broken crockery.