The Summoner

They rode in silence, guided by moonlight, riding as fast as they dared over the snowy roads. No other travelers were about at this hour, and the i

"Not far now," Vahanian said wearily an hour before dawn. They could see the riverbank, and in the distance, Gibbet Bridge. Tris's imagination supplied dangling corpses, though he knew it was only the swaying of branches. A small hamlet sat to one side of the road, near a bend in the river. As they approached, the thatched roof of a house burst into flames, startling them and driving them back a pace with the rush of heat.

"Watch out!" Carroway shouted as arrows flew from the darkened houses.

"Ambush!" Vahanian yelled. "Ride for the bridge!"

Tris felt an arrow slice through his thigh, opening a gash. A rush of fire streamed from the darkness, averted at the last moment as Tris snapped his shields up, barely in time. Something was wrong, very wrong, he thought, as his heart began to pound and his blood thundered in his ears. The fire streamed brighter, as Tris fought to keep his seat on his horse. The fire pulsed once more, and Tris lashed out, on instinct more than plan, unsure later even of what power he sent in return. An explosion shook the night, sending a stream of sparks high into the sky and the blue light winked out.

"Ride!" Kiara shouted, as mounted men pounded from the hamlet's streets. Tris fell forward on his horse, gripping its mane, as vertigo washed over him. He heard the clang of steel and the swish of quarrels as his horse thundered through the snow behind the others.

In the moonlight, Tris sensed more than saw dark shapes, moving too swiftly for the eye to track. He heard a strangled cry from one of the archers, and then the panicked shriek of a horse as its rider was snatched from the saddle.

"Don't look back!" Carina shouted, grabbing Royster's reins and pulling the librarian's frightened horse along with hers.

Disoriented, struggling for breath, Tris held on to his horse with sweaty hands, feeling as if both sight and magesense were distorted by strong wine. He saw the spirits that rose up behind them as they neared the bridge, and knew by instinct that it was Argus and his routed men, risen to fight one last battle. The frightened cries of those few pursuers who remained assured him that the ghosts were not a product of his sudden delirium. He tried to raise a hand in warding, tried to work a simple spell to cover his friends, but found his power distant, unwilling to respond to his command.

The winter wind whipped their hair and stung their faces as they rode for the arched stone bridge. Their horses thundered across the roadway, over the dark, icy waters of the Nu River. Though they left behind both pursuers and protectors at the bridge, none of the companions slowed until the crossing was well behind them. Dawn was breaking as Vahanian, still leading, finally reined in his foam-flecked mount. The others nudged their exhausted horses to catch up. Vahanian rose in his stirrups and counted heads. "Everyone's here," he said, fatigue clear in his voice. "Let's find somewhere to sleep."

The sharp staccato of quarrels hitting the ground rang out in the morning air. A line of arrows, launched at close range by crossbows, cut across the road in front of them. From out of the bushes, soldiers in the livery of the Principality army stepped into view. "Drop your weapons," their captain grated. By reflex, Vahanian reached for his sword, and cried out as a quarrel clipped his shoulder.

"The next shot finds your heart," the soldier warned. "Drop your weapons."

With a curse, Vahanian dropped his sword. Tris and the others exchanged worried glances, but did the same as more soldiers ringed them, crossbows raised and notched. Two soldiers came forward and gathered up their weapons.

"We have urgent business," Tris said, hoping he looked better than he felt. It was taking all of his concentration just to stay in the saddle, and he felt feverish. He felt suddenly worse as Mageslayer fell from his grasp. His power still seemed out of reach, and it left a wrenching void that made him feel physically ill.

"I'll bet you do," the captain chuckled. "The king put a watch for a group with two swordsmen, a bard and a healer," he said with a nod toward Carina's green belt and the lute-shaped sack on Carroway's pack. "You can tell your urgent business to the general."

They rode for a candlemark in silence, ringed by armed soldiers. The gash on Tris's thigh burned, and he had begun to shake. Once, he saw Carina watching him worriedly. The soldiers led them to a small fort a few hours' ride from Gibbet Bridge. The captain motioned for them to dismount, and Tris fell rather than swung down from his horse, but managed to keep his feet.

"You'll wait here, until the general returns," the captain said, leading them to a large, sparsely furnished cell. Four soldiers with crossbows kept their weapons trained on the group until the door was secured, and two more remained on guard as the captain left.

Tris leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, as Carina rushed to his side. "What happened? Are you hit?" she said, and Tris wondered if he were as pale as he felt.

"Something's wrong," he murmured. "The magic... is out of reach."

"What does he mean by that?" Vahanian whispered, as Carina found the gash on Tris's leg. She frowned, and pressed one finger against the wound, then lifted it to her nose.

"Wormroot," she said, and looked through die pouches on her belt that the soldiers had permitted her to keep. "The arrow tips were poisoned."

"Wormroot?" Vahanian questioned. "It doesn't grow anywhere near here. And besides, at worst it causes a stomach ache—"

"That's because you're not a mage," Carina replied in a low voice. "I heard stories when Cam and I were with the mercenaries, here in Principality. They said to stop a mage, use worm-root. In large enough doses, over a long period, they say it will kill or drive a mage mad."

"Can you help him?" Carroway said anxiously. Royster kept watch for the guards, who stood at their posts, paying their captives no heed.

"I'll try," she replied. "But I never heard what the antidote was for wormroot, except that it should wear off over time. I'll start with rope vine," she said, digging in her pouch. "It helps with some of the poisons that fog the mind. The wound wasn't deep, so he can't have gotten much."

"He seemed to get worse when we were captured," Kiara mused. "In fact, he nearly fell when they made us drop our swords."

"Could Mageslayer have been absorbing some of the effect?" Carroway asked.

"It's quite possible," Royster said quietly. "Such powers are not uncommon for spelled objects, and it would be a handy thing for a mage's weapon to possess."

Carina rolled Tris over onto his back and ripped his pant leg wider to expose the injury.

Taking the hem of her cloak, she cleaned the wound the best she could, and made a paste of dried leaves from her pouch with the stale water Carroway fetched from a bucket in the corner. Within half a candlemark, the burning pain had stopped, and Tris felt the shaking cease.

"Thank you," he murmured to Carina, who was tending the gash on Vahanian's shoulder.

"Glad you're feeling better," Vahanian whispered in a low rasp. "Now, how do we get out of here?"

"Don't you think it's odd that the army was practically waiting for us on the other side of the bridge?" Carroway said. "Do you think the general is in cahoots with Jared? Think about it," the bard said tightly. "On the other side of the bridge, by night, at least we had the vayash moru and Argus. We lost both those defenses come dawn, as soon as we crossed the bridge. And that's when the army happened to be waiting for us." They exchanged worried glances as they considered the bard's scenario.