Soterius and the guards stepped back, giving him room to work. Tris closed his eyes and stretched out his power, calling for the dead man's ghost. The spirit of a blond, thick set man appeared and threw itself at Tris's feet.
"Your highness!" the ghost cried, crouching in fear. "Forgive me! I couldn't help what I was doing. I bear you no ill will."
Tris could sense the truthfulness of the spirit's words. He frowned, puzzled. "How can that be?"
The ghost remained prostrate. "We were bewitched. You're a Summoner. Read my thoughts—I'll keep nothing back."
"Tell me what happened. Sit up, so that I can see your face. Who bewitched you?"
The spirit of the terrified brigand rose to its knees. "My mates and I were hanging about a pub in a town not far from here. Tafton-on-Kalis—it's on the main road to Ghorbal. We were for hire—usually escorting a merchant to market or getting paid good skrivven to make sure some noble lady gets where she's going without a problem. We'd done our soldiering in the war and we fought with your rebels," the ghost said with a glance toward Soterius. "Other than a brawl or two in the bar when we'd had too much ale, we mostly stayed on the right side of the law."
"Say on."
"Last night, a strange gent came into the pub. Never saw the likes of him around. Kept his cloak on and his hood up."
"Did he have an accent?"
The ghost shook its head. "Spoke like a Mar-golan man. Didn't have the look of a foreigner, or the smell of one, if you know what I mean. Said he was looking for escorts for a pay wagon, and we took him into the back room to talk. Can't talk business in the common room—don't know who's about.
"The deal he offered us was straight. Ride with a pay wagon for a merchant who was doing business with rug traders in Ghorbal. Said we'd need to arm heavy, as we'd be guarding gold. Offered to pay us half up front—that's the kind of deal we like to get, so we all agreed right then, even though we didn't know how he found us." The spirit's gaze darkened. "Must have been a curse on the gold. As soon as we accepted it and put it in our pockets, it started to glow. We couldn't get rid of it. By the Crone! I've never felt like that. Like someone else had pushed into my mind and taken over my body. I couldn't think, couldn't run, couldn't move from the spot.
"Then the stranger told us what we'd really been hired to do, to ride down your party when you left the temple and kill everyone. It didn't matter what I thought—my body obeyed him. I knew what my body was doing, but I couldn't help myself. We knew whether we failed or succeeded we'd be dead men, that we'd never live to spend that accursed gold. But no matter how I fought it, I couldn't help but do the stranger's bidding. So I'm free of one curse, and sure to go to the Crone for trying to murder the king. Please, Your Majesty. Have mercy!"
"Can you read anything from his memory?" Soterius asked. Tris stretched out his power, and found nothing.
"Not a thing. It's been wiped clean. I'm betting we'd find the same with the rest of them. Someone wasn't taking any chances."
"Whoever sent them has some dark mages on his side."
"But is it Curane, or someone else?" Tris returned his attention to the ghost at his feet. "Rise," he said, taking pity on the panicked spirit. "I can tell that you've told me the truth. The Lady has heard your story. You've no reason to fear."
On the Plains of Spirit, Tris could sense the approach of the Lady, but it was Athira the Whore, not the Crone, that came for the bewitched fighters. He sensed the spirits as they recognized her call and murmured the passing over ritual as the spirits fled toward rest. He stepped toward the horse and nearly fell as his ankle gave out under him. Even so, he refused help swinging up to the saddle.
"Let's get back to Shekerishet. I've got to figure out how we're going to explain this."
His hands burned with the cold and his feet were numb. Despite his confidence in the spell he'd set on the horses, he was worried about Kiara. How Kalcen and Donelan might view the incident worried him more than the talk of gossips at court. I wouldn't blame Donelan for rethinking bis blessing. A king who can't control his own lands is no use to anyone. Curane knows that. And he's not waiting for us to bring the war to him.
Before Tris and the guards had ridden half a candlemark, the sound of horses on the road ahead reached them. "Shields up!" Soterius commanded. "Surround the king."
The soldiers fell into a defensive mounted formation, and Tris drew his sword, though he was in the center, surrounded by armed men and their raised shields. The oncoming riders slowed their pace just before they reached the rise in the road.
"Don't shoot!" It was Harrtuck's voice. Three riders cleared the rise. Even from a distance, Tris recognized Cam, Harrtuck, and Jonmarc. .
Soterius's guards lowered their weapons at their commander's signal, and moved their mounts so Tris could ride forward. Tris saw a contingent of at least fifty armed soldiers on horseback behind his three friends.
"Where's the party?" Jonmarc wore no visible armor, but Tris was sure that after Winterstide, his friend was unlikely to venture far without a chainmail vest beneath his cloak.
"Kiara's carriage reached Shekerishet? Is she safe?" Tris rode up to meet them with Soterius close behind.
Harrtuck nodded. "Aye. The horses were galloping as if the Formless One was chasing them. Kiara's fine—just a bit bruised from the rough ride."
Tris glanced at Vahanian and Cam. "You're supposed to be guests. What are you doing out here?"
Jonmarc shrugged. "We were with Carina when the page sent for her to look after Kiara. Figured we'd make ourselves useful."
"We're glad to see you, but the fight's over," Soterius said. "Left the bodies back in the clearing. I can fill you in on the details once we get Tris back for his wedding."
"What about the guests? How much of an uproar is there?" Tris asked.
Jonmarc grinned. "Carroway caught news of it at about the same time we did—don't know how, but he beat us down to the courtyard. He and Crevan engineered an impromptu concert in the great room and sent pages round to gather the guests with news of music and plenty of food. Kept gawkers out of the courtyard and away from the windows. It's early enough that I'm betting most of them aren't out of bed yet, after how much ale they drank last night!"
Tris grimaced. "The last thing we need is a major incident with a house full of royalty. As it is, I've got my hands full explaining this to Donelan—and Kalcen, too, I'll wager."
"You'll have more to explain if you're late for your own wedding," Jonmarc observed. "How about if we get you back there, and worry later."
Tris, Jonmarc, Cam, Soterius, and twenty of the soldiers rode back at full gallop, while Harrtuck and the remaining guards stayed behind to clean up the battlefield. To Tris's great relief, the bailey was quiet when they arrived. Tris dismounted, and fell.
"I can recommend a good healer," Jonmarc remarked dryly as he helped Tris up.
"If we bind up the ankle, maybe I can get through this without everyone knowing," Tris grumbled, accepting Jonmarc's help to get across the courtyard. "I'm not bleeding, and the bruises won't show."
"You have an odd way of getting ready for a wedding."
Tris shot him a sidelong glance. "Oh really? What about you? Are congratulations in order yet?"
"Nah. We didn't want to steal your big day."
"I hope your day is less eventful than ours is shaping up to be." With Cam and Jonmarc's help, Tris made it up the back stairs, out of sight of the partygoers. He was not surprised to find Carina with Kiara, nor to see that Donelan and Kalcen were in the sitting room. Tris's dogs padded to the door, following him into the room, nuzzling close as if they sensed that something was wrong.