The Blood King

"Speak, Lord of the Dead," Jared taunted. "Where are your spirits to save you? Where are your mighty spells?" Tris fought for air, trying to gain enough leverage to buck Jared from his back. Jared only laughed, the same cold laugh Tris knew too well from the beatings of his childhood.

"This is too easy," Jared said. "I can't see your face. I want to watch you die, and remember just how you looked when the last breath slipped beyond your grasp."

Keeping the noose taut Jared dragged Tris to his feet, pulling him up against the wall beside the grisly courtyard garden. He closed his hand around Tris's throat. Tris could smell the whiskey on Jared's breath as his brother leaned closer, his dark hair framing his face and his eyes alight with triumph. Jared tightened his grip. "You may see the spirits of the dead," he whispered. "But I can see the soul leave the body. It's in the eyes."

As the world around him began to darken, Tris brought his hand up sharply, wrenching at the amulet around Jared's neck. It burned his hand like fire, but he hung on and the strap snapped. Tris hurled the amulet away, feeling the magic that the null amulet had pushed out of reach grow just a bit closer. Jared howled with anger and twisted his wrist sharply, tightening the cord around Tris's neck.

"You think that's the only null charm in this room, boy?" Jared snarled. "I've got more protection than that!"

Tris's vision blurred and pinpricks of light danced in his sight. Jared slammed him against the wall just to the side of the window, and Tris felt something against his boot. Mageslayer, he realized as he struggled to remain conscious. A tendril of power was almost within his grasp. He shifted his boot onto Mageslayer's blade, and felt a tingle of power, faint but present. Tris gasped for air, focusing on Mageslayer. Protect!

A burst of fire glowed around him, a blue aura that sapped the small amount of magic he could reach. It crackled around Jared like lightning, throwing him clear with a jolt.

It was all the opening Tris needed. The heel of his boot swung up and co

From everywhere at once a cloud descended on Jared Drayke, as if the shadows themselves were fluid. From within the whirlwind Jared's spirit gave one wrenching scream of terror and pain. Then, as quickly as it came, the shadows were gone. And with them, Jared's soul.

Tris slumped against the throne room wall and tore the cord from his neck. I've got to find Kiara and jonmarc—and Arontala, he thought, staggering toward where Mageslayer lay on the floor. He fought the urge to pass out, weakened by both the poison and the pain of the wound in his side. He wiped the blood from his face with his torn sleeve. His left arm ached where the poker had burned him, a deep burn that made it agonizing for him to move his arm or clench his fist. With Jared's charm gone, Tris could sense more of his magic returning, slipping in and out of his grasp as he struggled against the wormroot that coursed through his veins. He picked up Mageslayer and felt its power buoy him, lessening the poison's effect. He found that he could control his magic—just barely.

Outside the throne room, Tris felt the magic more strongly, a clue that Jared's charm had not been the only power-dampening talisman in that chamber. Using every trick he had learned from the Sisterhood, Tris fought to lessen the wormroot's effect. He let Mageslayer's power strengthen him, hoping that the sword's protections might also stay the damage from his wounds. Tris felt at the edge of his cuirass, where his tunic was sticky with his own blood. The odds, never favorable, appeared to be getting worse.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

AT the entrance to the throne room Vahanian and Kiara hung back a pace, their weapons ready, as Tris approached the heavy double doors. Kiara's sword was ready in her hand. Vahanian notched a quarrel into his crossbow. Tris touched the doors, and the world around them seemed to turn inside out. In a heartbeat, Tris and the throne room were gone and Vahanian was falling through total darkness, into a hole so deep it had no bottom. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard Kiara cry out. Then, just as quickly as it began, the wrenching shift was over. Vahanian found himself tumbled out onto a hard stone floor, his crossbow still notched and ready in his hand. An instant later, Kiara appeared from nowhere beside him. A sense of foreboding filled Vahanian as he took in the room around them—a room that could be nothing other than a wizard's study.

Tapestries covered the walls. Thick candles and torches illuminated the room. One wall was lined with books from floor to ceiling. Scattered over tables and on shelves were a hodgepodge of vials and bowls, stoppered bottles, and unfamiliar tools. Over the mantle, above a darkened fireplace, a nearly life-sized portrait of Jared Drayke glared down with a haughty disdain. As dark as Tris was fair, Jared Drayke still bore a striking likeness to his younger brother. They shared the same high cheekbones, fine nose, and wild mane of hair, though Jared's hair fell in a dark cloud around his face, making the cruel turn to his lips even more pronounced.

Vahanian and Kiara climbed to their feet, weapons ready. At the far side of the large room, laughing at their folly, stood a dark-haired man in the red robes of a Fire Clan mage. Beside him, on a pedestal worthy of the Goddess, was a large crystal orb that pulsed like a living heart.

Moving on instinct, Vahanian leveled his crossbow and sent its arrow flying. With a muttered word, Arontala plucked the quarrel from midair. The mage gave a flick of his wrist; unseen hands slammed Vahanian across the room and against the stone wall, pi

Kiara lunged toward the mage with an oath, her heavy sword wielded in both hands. Clucking disdainfully, Arontala gestured and Kiara's sword flew from her grasp. Her spelled dagger fell from her belt, clattering to the floor.

"You've saved me the effort of hunting you down," Arontala greeted them. He looked at Kiara and smiled coldly. "I told Jared we'd find you, in time."

"Go to the demon."

"My dear," he replied with a smile that revealed his sharp eye teeth, "I am the demon." He gestured once more, and Kiara struggled against a force that pushed her to her knees. "I think a proper attitude is the place to start."

"Leave her alone," Vahanian growled, struggling to reach his bow where it lay below the large mul-lioned window.

Arontala twitched his finger, and the crossbow slid just out of reach. "Ah," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "My tomb robber—and my Eastmark captain. Once again, you have the very bad luck to cross my path."