"The woods are no place for the living at night," the bard cautioned. "Let's go back to the fire. You look like you could use some brandy, and I think I'll have a bite of that cheese I saw on the bar."
Reluctantly, Tris let his companions lead him back to the welcome lights of the inn. The innkeeper and his family were waiting for them, greeting him with the honor due to a king, so that Tris flushed with embarrassment.
"Anything you want is on the house," the relieved innkeeper gushed. "Your food, your drink, your beds, and food for your horses." He beamed, and seemed to stand a bit straighter. "Now perhaps we can make a decent living from this pile of boards!" he cried, and did a little jig with the plump cook that left the dough-faced woman flushed and out of breath.
With a sigh, Tris accepted their gifts of food and beverage, though all he yearned for was a stiff drink of brandy and a bed for the night. He entreated the innkeeper to tell no one, and he and his wife swore silence. Tris realized that his unthinking reaction to the troubled spirit put them in even greater danger should Arontala hear the tale. Harrtuck sat beside him by the fire, saying nothing, yet by his presence, reassuring him that the events of the night had not in any way compromised his loyalties. Sweet Lady, it can't help but change the way they see me, Tris thought as the brandy burned its way down his throat. I don't know what it means myself.
The brandy did its work, and Tris found that he could barely keep his eyes open. He fended off more offers of bread and dried fruits, protesting that the grateful family had already done quite enough as he stumbled up the stairs to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
A day later, when they left the innkeeper and his unhaunted tavern behind them, Tris sat with the others around a small fire at a makeshift campsite, surrounded by the noises of wild things and the darkness of the forest. He was still sweating from a thorough bout of sword practice with Soterius and Harrtuck, and he smiled to himself, recalling their praise at his growing skill. Tonight, the travelers roasted what game they had snared and sat in silence, watching the flames. They were still a day's ride from Ghorbal, a bustling trade city on a tributary of the Nu River, upstream from where that swift current grew to its mighty rush toward the sea.
Finally, Tris looked up at Harrtuck. "Tell me again what happened, out in the barracks," he said, and although effort made his voice flat, he guessed that Harrtuck could easily read the emotion in his eyes. Tris clasped his hands, staring at the flames, hoping he could maintain his composure.
"Everyone knew that there was bad blood between Jared and your father," Harrtuck began quietly, looking into the fire. "Your brother made no secret of it in the barracks, and those of us loyal to your father tried to warn Bricen. But many of the soldiers liked Jared," Harrtuck continued, "because he had simple ideas they could follow.
"After a while, some of the soldiers started to like the idea of having a young fighting man to lead the kingdom, as I'm sure Jared always intended." He paused. "Although I'm not sure the idea was completely theirs," he added, with a watchful look at Tris.
"Arontala," Tris muttered the name of the mage like a curse. "I should have guessed."
"One of Jared's men burst into the barracks and announced that the king was dead," Harrtuck went on. "A dozen of us who were loyal to the king headed for the palace, hoping that we could save you and the Queen and Kait, but we failed—except for you, my liege."
"And the others you came with?" Tris asked softly.
"All dead," Harrtuck reported. "As I would have been. You know the rest."
"Thank you," Tris said in a voice just above a whisper. He stared into the flames, trying to push away the memories. It was no use. They haunted his dreams and lingered behind every conscious thought. If only I had found a way to get father to listen, he thought miserably, clenching his fists. I should have done more, tried harder to get him to see how dangerous Arontala was, to see what Jared was really like. His nails dug into his palms until he drew blood. But then, father wouldn't listen to Kait and me when we tried to tell him how Jared beat the servants... or us. Mother tried. He wouldn't hear her either. Maybe I didn't try hard enough, often enough. I could have done more. And now, because I didn't, Kait and mother are dead.
"Tris," Carroway said softly, and Tris realized that the other had been addressing him without response for several minutes. "Don't blame yourself. You did all anyone could do."
Tris started to his feet like a snapped spring. "If I had done everything I could, we wouldn't be here," he said thickly. "Mother and Kait wouldn't be dead. I should have made father see. I should have challenged Jared. By the Whore, if I'm a mage, I should have tried to stop Arontala when he first came. He was weaker then."
"And you were just a boy," Carroway said quietly. "Your father never got around to finding a new court mage when your grandmother died. Maybe he didn't know how. Maybe he didn't want to share the power. When Jared took the initiative, I think your father was relieved. I always thought he hoped it was a sign Jared was growing out of his brawls and wenching."
"What if grandmother trained me just for that reason?" Tris cried, the words tearing hoarsely from his throat. "What if she foresaw something like this, and trained me in order to stop it? If I had studied more, practiced more, maybe the power would have come on me before this, maybe I was supposed to stop Arontala, and I failed."
"Men go mad on maybes," Harrtuck observed, watching compassionately as Tris dragged a sleeve across his eyes. "What's done is done. And it seems to me, we need to put as much distance between you and Margolan as we can. Once we're in Dhasson, we can figure out the best way to take the bastard down. But there's naught to be done tonight, except live to see morning."
Tris nodded, although sleep seemed far from likely. "I know," he said, his voice raw. "But running away doesn't seem like the most noble thing."
Harrtuck regarded him cynically. "Dead is better?" When Tris turned away, back toward the fire, Harrtuck shrugged and began helping Soterius drag some pine boughs closer to the fire for them to bed down. Carroway watched Tris in silence for a few minutes as the latter paced at the edge of the forest, deep in silent argument with himself.
When Soterius and Harrtuck went to see to the horses, Carroway ventured closer. "There really hasn't been a chance to tell you how sorry I am, about Kait and everything," he said.
"Thanks," Tris murmured in a strangled voice. "It seems like a nightmare that I'm going to wake up from any minute now, and I'll find Kait, and tell her how much I love her." He squeezed his eyes closed against the tears that came anyway, making further words impossible.
"The worst thing is, I know she's out there," Tris rasped when he could find his voice again. "I can feel it, but I can't bring her to me. There's something holding her back." His eyes met Carroway's, and Tris knew that his friend could clearly read his pain. "She's trapped, she's terrified, and I can't help her," he admitted, his voice raw. "What good is being able to talk to spirits if you can't help the ones you love the most? I can't fail her again, but I don't know how to help her."