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."
"Go screw the Goddess." .Arontala turned back to the orb. "You're about to witness history. Tonight, the Obsidian King returns!"
"He'll destroy everything in the Winter Kingdoms," Vahanian said, desperate to stall for time. Their plan had gone horribly awry. Without Tris, his fate—and Kiara's—appeared sealed.
Arontala shrugged. "I think not. But if so, the kingdoms will be ours to remake as we desire."
"Tris isn't going to let that happen," Kiara said, struggling against the mage force to hold her head up defiantly.
A mirthless smile twisted Arontala's lips. "Don't be too quick to trust in your champion," he said, turning his icy gaze back to Kiara. "He's likely dead already—or will be, soon."
"I'm going to enjoy your education," Arontala said, taking a step toward Kiara. "You have much to answer for. We've heard about your little... escapade on the border. And it's no secret that you've aligned yourself with the traitor," he reached out to stroke her cheek, "in more ways than one."
Kiara spat and the mage grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her eyes to meet his. "By ancient law, a royal betrothal is as binding as wedding vows," he said in a low, cold voice. "Treason and adultery are both punishable by death. But there is an alternative." He jerked her closer to the orb.
"Before he can emerge, the Obsidian King must feed," Arontala said, his fingers brushing against the orb that was only inches from Kiara's face. "I've sent many spirits into the orb for him to draw upon, until they're too spent to be of use. Your will, your spirit, and that arrogant pride will do quite nicely. Oh, he'll leave a remnant, enough that Jared can sire his brats by you, enough to remember what you once were. Enough to suffer for the rest of your natural life. And perhaps, I shall extend that life forever so that you can ponder your loss for eternity."
Arontala seized Kiara by the hair, forcing her to stare into the orb. She shut her eyes, and the mage muttered words in a language that sounded like wind against sand. Against her will, Kiara's eyes slowly opened, unable to avoid the orb's glow. "Enter the abyss," Arontala said, as the miasma within the orb swirled and brightened. "The time has come to feed the master."
"They're in the king's livery," Carroway observed tersely. Hundreds of horsemen were now at the gates, forcing their way through into the crowd. The insurrectionists stood their ground.
"Stop them before they escape!" shouted the beleaguered garrison commander. "We've got an uprising!"
The captain of the mounted troops lifted his helm and archers leveled their weapons, their aim on the soot-streaked garrison instead of the panicked mob. "There's an uprising all right," Ban Soterius said. "We ride in the name of Martris Drayke of Margolan. Surrender, and we'll guarantee your safety. Otherwise, we're prepared to fight you to the last man." Beside him, Mikhail lowered his hood and drew back his lips to show his eye teeth, making it plain just what a fight that would be.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Carroway swept Carina up in his arms, dancing in a little circle and planting a kiss on her forehead. The garrison commander, his provisions and guardhouses in flames, looked from the drunken crowd to the horsemen, and then to his weary command. With an oath, he gestured for surrender. Soterius's soldiers rushed forward to secure their prisoners.
Carroway grabbed Carina's hand and began to fight his way through the unruly crowd, intent on reaching Soterius.
"Ban!" he shouted above the din. "Ban, Mikhail—over here!"
Soterius began to search the crowd. At the sight of them, he swung down from his horse and ran to greet them, clapping them both into a hearty embrace. Mikhail joined them, grinning broadly.
When Alyzza reached them, the old hedge witch looked approvingly at Soterius.
"Well, well," she said. "So this is what you are. Tent rigger indeed. You wear that armor as if it were made for you."
"Stolen, actually," Soterius said with a lopsided smile. "Stole the whole lot—horses, weapons, soldiers, and livery. Learned it from Jonmarc. Nice touch, don't you think?"
"I gather you found some discontented troops?" Carroway asked. He, Carina, and Soterius stood arm in arm, watching Soterius's soldiers secure the last of the garrison prisoners.
"More than I imagined," Soterius said. "I'll tell you all about it later." He glanced toward Shekerishet. "Tris is up there?"
"With Jonmarc and Kiara," Carina said. "And Gabriel."
"Where now?" Carroway asked as Soterius swung back up on his mount.
"To Shekerishet," Soterius replied, reining in his horse. "Between the soldiers and the mob, we should give the palace guard something to think about."
"To Shekerishet!" The mob took up the cry. The garrison commander looked on haplessly. Soterius's horsemen urged their mounts forward, through the boisterous crowd that cheered their passing and closed ranks behind them. Up the hill toward the palace the mob followed, torches aloft.
At the palace gates the soldiers stopped. Behind them, the mob came to a halt.
"Open the gates!" Soterius shouted, the banner of the Royal House of Margolan fluttering above him in the breeze. "We come in the name of Prince Martris, to overthrow the tyrant!"
To their amazement, the gates swung open. Soldiers and servants poured out, waving white cloths in makeshift flags of surrender. The palace soldiers threw down their arms, and the fear-stricken servants surged toward the mob.
"Save us!" they cried, yielding willingly.
"There's demons loose in there!" one man cried, white-faced in panic. "Naught but the Dark Lady can save you if you go there."
"At least we know Gabriel's been hard at work," Carroway observed dryly. Carina looked around for Alyzza, but the hearth witch had disappeared into the crowd.
"Let's take the castle, men!" Soterius shouted, gesturing forward with his sword. "Prince Martris is in there. Are we with him?"
A resounding chorus of "aye" echoed from the stone walls of the bailey. The crowd surged forward in a cloud of torch smoke, smelling of sweat and horses and ale. The rearguard attempted to quiet the mob and set them to work securing the outbuildings and the outer bailey, leaving the true night's work for the trained soldiers. Some soldiers remained behind to keep the mob under control, while the others began to infiltrate the palace.