Tris and Fallon explained to the generals as best they could how the magic had fluctuated wildly. "If there was anything good about it, I think it flattened Curane's mages as well," Trisfinished. "It's the Flow itself that caused the problem."
"One of us is actively using magic at all times," Fallon added. "So we're very aware of the Flow. Just since the battle, we've counted more than a dozen times the energy dropped to nothing, then surged back. We're learning to read the warnings, but this is all new."
"What happens if you're caught in one of these surges?" Senne asked.
"Ana isn't here because of that," Fallon replied. "She was working with the water supply when the magic buckled around hen She said it was the way she's always imagined it would feel to be struck by lightning. It'll be several days before she's well again."
"And you're sure nothing Curane is doing causes the surge?"
Tris shook his head. "Curane's mages aren't causing the surge itself, but their blood magic is making the imbalance in the Flow worse. The more they draw on magic for dark power, the more unstable the Flow becomes. The question is—what happens when it shatters? We only have the stories from the Mage Wars. The last time that happened, it was in the Blasted Lands in the far north. That's why they're called the Blasted Lands."
"Have your ghost spies provided anything of value?" Tarq asked.
"From what they see—and they aren't all-knowing—Curane still believes he can outlast us. That means he thinks he's got something we don't have—or knows something we don't know. The ghosts have heard talk about some fever and plague in parts of the town, so that explains where they're getting some of the bodies. No one's seen the girl and her baby—they seem to be prisoners in the manor's tower." Tris looked at Soterius. "We do have the map Tabok's ghost gave us. Maybe it's a long shot, but if we could get a mage and a strike force through the caves and into Lochlanimar, we could coordinate another assault like the first one—magic and vayash moru and the siege engines. Bursts of small magic, rather than big pushes to keep the Flow from shattering. Curane's forces can't be everywhere at once." "What about the ashtenerath?" Senne asked. Soterius shook his head. "We know it takes a lot of power to make them. That means Curane started before we got here. Whether or not he's used up all he has, they're hard to replenish and dangerous to keep for any length of time. The troops know how to kill them, and now that they've fought them, they're not afraid of them anymore." "And the vayash moru?" Tarq pressed.
"They certainly can't take Lochlanimar alone," Tris said. "Tabok's ghost says the tunnels are charmed against the vayash mom, or I'd send a team of them into the caves. I'd like to send Ban and the strike force out tomorrow night, get them in place. Once we attack, maybe we can keep Curane busy until it's too late." He grinned. "I think I can manage to bring down the blood charms inside the castle—the ones keeping the ghost horde at bay. As for the vayash moru—Gabriel always said that those charms aren't as dependable as the Nargi like to think. I'll see what I can do."
"I have some men in my division you'll want for your strike force," Tarq said. "They're from the mines near the Trevath border. They're not afraid of the dark, and they can navigate underground."
"Done."
Tris looked from one face to another. "Let's hope this works. I don't know how much more the Flow can take, and if it splinters, it won't really matter who wins. We'll all be dead."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CARROWAY WAITED RESTLESSLY in the cold night air for the carriage. When it arrived, he glanced up at the driver.
"Yes, m'lord?"
"Take me to Dragon's Rage Inn."
"As you wish, m'lord."
Carroway watched the winter landscape slip by as the carriage made its way from the palace down into the town. With the lengthening winter nights, his mood had grown pensive. Spending so much time near Macaria of late only made it worse.
Goddess! I should get it over with. Tell her how I feel. At least maybe then it wouldn't gnaw at me. Maybe I'd get some sleep. He closed his eyes as the familiar internal battle raged on. I can't tell her. How could I ever believe her response? She'll always think of me as her patron, the one who sponsored her at court. If she doesn't share my feelings, she won't feel free to turn me down. She'd be afraid I'd have her sent away. She'd lose her livelihood. And if she said she loved me, how would I know it's love and not just gratitude? He sighed. I know better than anyone what it feels like to be pressured by a patron. By the Dark Lady! I won't ever do that to someone else. Never. It's hopeless. I've gotten that through my head. But when does my heart catch on?
The patrons of the Inn recognized him as he entered, and cheered at the sight of his lute. The regulars remembered him from the early days, when he played for drinks and food. The innkeeper remembered also and, though he knew his bard was now court musician to the king, came out with a tankard of ale and a plate of cheese and sausage that Carroway accepted graciously.
"C'mon Carroway. A song or two for your old mates!"
The tavern patrons moved to clear a seat for him and Carroway settled in, tuning his lute quickly. His first song was one he had written for the royal wedding, and the crowd cheered when he finished.
"One more! Give us something new!"
Carroway considered for a moment, and then, on impulse, strummed a minor chord. He closed his eyes and began to sing. It was one of the songs he'd written last year, when they'd been at the Library of Westmarch. It told of a girl whose music was so pure that it moved the ghosts to tears, and of the ghost who loved her, forever separated from her by death. He did not open his eyes until he was finished, letting the music fill him completely. When the song was over, there was an instant of silence, and then the crowd roared its approval. Carroway looked up just in time to see Macaria in the doorway watching him, but she slipped away before he could meet her eyes.
Carroway ended the impromptu concert to a round of hearty applause and slipped up the back steps, carrying the plate of food.
"We thought that must be you downstairs," Halik greeted him, slapping him on the back as he entered. In return for the regular services of Carroway's troupe of bards, the innkeeper at the Dragon's Rage kept this small room for them. It was over the kitchen, so it remained warm without a fireplace. The bards used it to store their instruments and music, gather in privacy, and often, bed down for the night.
Halik and Macaria were there as well as Paiva, who was tuning her lute. Tadhg, a barrel-chested man whose skill on the fiddle defied the size of his large hands, lounged nearest the food, picking at the sausage on a large tray. He laughed often and loudly, and was first always with the newest ribald rhyme. Bandele, a waifish woman with long, strawberry-blond hair, leaned against the wall, seated on the floor at the warmest part of the room, clearly lost in her own thoughts, her harp by her side.
They were the regulars, although at least a dozen more might come and go on any night. The bard's room was an open secret, though not all musicians were welcome. Some, whom Carroway knew to be aligned with nobility of questionable allegiance to the king, were never invited. Others, whom the group knew to be too free with their gossip or too enmeshed in court politics, were equally unwelcome. This group had remained constant since Carroway's fostering, with the addition of Paiva a year before. Paiva was the sole survivor of a family killed by Jared's raiders, and when she sang of those times, she didn't realize that she wept as she sang.