"You won't leave at all!"
Then, so clear that Tris could not believe he had not seen it before, the solution came to him and with a certainty driven of desperation, he closed his eyes and leaped along the inner path-workings, into the twilight of the spirit world. Down, down he dove as he had at the well, when Carina's soul was in peril, and before that, when Vahanian lay dying amid the slavers. This time, the pathway was familiar, and Tris hurtled along it before Argus could adjust his grip, speeding like a falcon on attack, toward the blue life thread that was Argus. Heedless of consequence, Tris envisioned his own glimmering soul strand and began to weave it around Argus's in a complex, shining knot.
"Aye there, what are you doing?" Argus roared.
"If I cannot leave without Mageslayer, then I will not stay as your servant," Tris shouted. "We will spend eternity together, bound at the soul, closer than brothers. You will not think a thought without me, and I will not dream without you." He continued his weaving as the life threads glimmered and shone.
"Stop!"
"Yes?"
Argus loosened his hold. "I've no need for another infernal voice inside my head."
"But we have a stalemate," Tris replied. "I will not yield, although in time, you must win because my mortal body will tire. And if I must remain with you, it will be on terms of my choosing."
Argus released his grip on Tris with a curse. "Take the bloody sword," he swore. "No one in fifty years has fought me like that," he said, the gleam in his eyes making it clear that he relished the conflict. "'Tis a rigged game, that's sure, as you say. But I lose when I yield, and I can no more stand the thought of having someone in my thoughts than I can walk back among the living."
At that, the heavy stone lid of the catafalque ground open on its own accord, and the crypt door swung open. "Take the sword," Argus said, standing beside his tomb, "and with it, the blessing of Argus the king."
As carefully as he had woven the knots, Tris unraveled the glittering life threads, until the two strands glowed separately. And then, stretching out his spirit, he returned along the twilight pathway to sit up with a start. Doing his best to ignore the hammering in his head and his aching body, Tris struggled to his feet, feeling the long fight in every muscle. He staggered to the tomb and, with a nod of permission from Argus, thrust his hand inside. Cold steel greeted his touch, and he withdrew a sword of incomparable craftsmanship, its intricately wrought grip inlaid with gems in the crest of the House of Principality.
"The Lady's blessing upon you," Argus said, raising a hand in farewell as his image began to blur and fade.
"I can send you to your rest," Tris said, though his swollen lips slurred the words.
Argus shook his head. "Not yet. I made a vow, when I was mortal, that I would give my life to defeat the Obsidian King. He is not yet destroyed. Until then, I may not rest." He lifted a hand in salute. "You have earned my sword, and my blessing. My body and my army lie buried near the river. We are at your service, though we are bound to remain in these lonely lands."
The ghost shimmered and disappeared. The unlucky soldiers, one by one, winked out as a chill gust swept through the tomb, sending wild shadows across the walls. Mageslayer glistened in Tris's hands, unsullied by its years in the crypt, and from its rune-worked blade, he could feel the thrum of power deep within the ensorcelled steel.
"The Lady rest your souls," Tris murmured. With a thought, he snuffed out the torches, inched back the catafalque lid and staggered from the room. He felt a touch of pride that he did not fall to his knees before he reached the bottom of the stairs. The last thing he remembered was tugging on the rope and the distant sound of a bell.
When he opened his eyes, he lay on a couch in the Library parlor. Mageslayer lay beside him, and next to it, King Harrol's pouch. Royster dozed in a chair, but woke with a start, then grinned broadly at Tris. "I knew you could do it!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"Easy, easy," Tris murmured, his head throbbing. He wanted nothing so much as a hot bath and a soft bed. "I can't believe you couldn't stay awake."
Royster hummed an irreverent tune. "Oh I stayed awake for a long time, a very long time," he replied, fairly dancing in his excitement at Tris's triumph. "But after the first night, these old bones of mine needed some rest."
Tris found the energy to gape in amazement. "The first night?" he repeated.
Royster chuckled. "Aye. You were down there a night and a day, don't you know? Had to threaten the wrath of the Lady herself to keep that damn fool Jonmarc from charging in after you," he went on. "You've been out cold for a full day since we carried you up. But I knew you could do it, lad. I knew it!"
Tris looked around the room. Sprawled across chairs and library benches, Tris's companions slept in the parlor. Jae's startled shriek awakened the others, who crowded around Tris.
"Hold on!" Royster shouted. "Give him some room. There'll be plenty of time to tell his story," he said. "You there," he hailed Carina. "I suspect he's got a walloping headache that could use your touch. The rest of you, back to your rooms." Like a schoolmaster, Royster ran off the others until only Carina remained.
Tris could see a thousand unasked questions in Carina's eyes as she bent to her healing, letting her cool palms smoothe over his forehead and easing the pounding within.
When she was finished, Royster helped Tris to his feet. He leaned heavily on the librarian, and Carina slid under his other arm. Together they made their way to Tris's room, where Royster turned down the bed as if for a sick child while Carina heated a cup of tea by the fire. Against his weak protests, they pulled off his boots and trundled him into bed fully clothed, pressing a steaming mug of tea into his hands.
"Sleep," Carina instructed archly, supervising as Tris drank the tea. It smelled of herbs and honey and its steam soothed his pounding head. Tris handed her the empty cup and eased himself down. Sleep overtook him, and he remembered nothing else until morning.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Three nights later, Tris and his companions readied for a hasty departure. Steam rose from the horses in the cold air, as they cinched their saddle straps and tied down their few belongings. Vahanian added a bucket of pitch to each rider's provisions, taking the torch-lance for himself and passing arrows and bows to the other riders. When they were in the saddle, Mikhail and Gabriel stepped from the shadows.
"Remind me again why we're safer riding past magick beasts and assassins at night?" Vahanian snapped.
A hint of amusement curled Gabriel's mouth. "Because by night, we ride with you," the vayash moru replied. In the shadows beyond, Tris could see more figures stirring.
"Forgive me for noticing—but there aren't that many of you," Vahanian replied testily.
Gabriel shrugged. "These are of my family. Their loyalty is absolute. And they see that, in this, we have common cause with you."
"And they're real clear who's with us, and who isn't, right?"
Gabriel's disquieting smile revealed his incisors. "Quite."
"How does the road look between here and the bridge?" Tris asked, hoping his nervousness did not show in his voice. His mount nickered and pawed at the ground, as if it sensed both the undead and the looming danger.
"Clear when we passed," said Mikhail. "But we've seen scouts within a candlemark."
"If you saw them, why didn't you just eat them?" Vahanian growled.
"That would rather reveal our hand, wouldn't it?" Mikhail replied evenly.
"What of the beasts?" Kiara asked, and behind her, Berry edged her horse closer to Carina. Royster's eyes widened, and he clung more tightly to his reins.