eyes acknowledged his pain as her expression softened, then grew worried once more.
“There is a threat to Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms that is greater than Jared,” the ghost-figure of his grandmother said, with the perfect assurance her tone always carried when she advised kings. “An old evil has arisen. The Obsidian King is stirring once more. Arontala seeks to free him from where we imprisoned him, long before you were born. You must stop him,” she said with a gaze that seemed to stare through him and into his soul. “Seek your teachers well.”
“Why didn’t the power come before… before they died?” Tris demanded. “I could have stopped Arontala—”
“You were not yet ready,” the ghost replied. “Power knows when the vessel is ready. I knew from your birth that you were my mage‐heir, Tris,” his grandmother said. “To protect you from…
others… it was not safe to tell you, until the power came upon you.” Her gaze was uncompromising. “I have taught you many things, and taught you to forget them, until the time was ready,” she said, with a faint smile. “Now, you must remember.”
“Grandmother!” Tris called. “What is the Soulcatcher?”
The spirit stopped as if stung, and great concern filled her eyes. “What do you know of the Soulcatcher?”
Tris told her about the ghost’s warning. Bava K’aa listened gravely, then nodded. “I should have 84
seen this,” she said with a sigh. “When the Obsidian King was vanquished, we were too few and too worn to destroy him completely. So we bound his soul in an ancient orb, a portal to the abyss. An orb called ‘Soulcatcher.’ We believed it safe, but perhaps we were too confident, too anxious to be done,” she mused. “If Arontala can release the Obsidian King’s soul, all we labored for is lost. The Obsidian King will combine his power with Arontala’s, take Arontala’s body for his own, and return to rule the world.” The image wavered, and Tris feared it would disappear altogether. “There are no longer enough powerful mages to defeat him, as we did, should he rise again. It would take another generation, and he would ensure that all who could threaten him would be destroyed.”
Her gaze turned once more on Tris. “You must defeat Arontala. You must find a way to destroy completely the soul of the Obsidian King. All hope rests with you, my child.” And before he could ask her any of the questions that echoed in his mind, the apparition vanished, and with it, the dream, leaving him startled and awake, chilled with sweat.
The fire was out, and a light frost clung to the ground. But the morning cold was not the only reason for the chill Tris felt. Never in his life had a dream felt so real. Tris realized he was shaking, and let out a breath that misted in the morning air.
While Carroway rounded out the last watch, Tris gathered wood and rebuilt the fire. The chill of the dream had still not left him, and he could hear Bava K’aa’s voice ringing in his ears.
Gratefully, he accepted a cup of the strong hot drink Harrtuck brewed over the fire.
“We’re not too far from the last place I’d heard Vahanian was doing business,” Harrtuck said, leaning against a tree, his face wreathed with the steam that rose from his mug. What the ghosts at the inn had not left for them, Harrtuck had obtained at the last village. The goods were minimal, but more than sufficient to keep body and soul together until better could be earned.
Tris stretched, more saddle‐sore than he had been in his life, ruefully becoming aware that a prince’s life during peacetime made one painfully out of training.
Harrtuck noticed his discomfort and flashed him a wicked grin. “Give it a week, Tris,” he chuckled. “You’ll harden up.” Tris took cold comfort that even Soterius looked stiff and sore.
85
Harrtuck, however, seemed none the worse for the past.few days’ adventures though he was a dozen years older than Tris and his
“There is a threat to Margolan and the Winter Kingdoms that is greater than Jared,” the ghost-figure of his grandmother said, with the perfect assurance her tone always carried when she advised kings. “An old evil has arisen. The Obsidian King is stirring once more. Arontala seeks to free him from where we imprisoned him, long before you were born. You must stop him,” she said with a gaze that seemed to stare through him and into his soul. “Seek your teachers well.”
“Why didn’t the power come before… before they died?” Tris demanded. “I could have stopped Arontala—”
“You were not yet ready,” the ghost replied. “Power knows when the vessel is ready. I knew from your birth that you were my mage‐heir, Tris,” his grandmother said. “To protect you from…
others… it was not safe to tell you, until the power came upon you.” Her gaze was uncompromising. “I have taught you many things, and taught you to forget them, until the time was ready,” she said, with a faint smile. “Now, you must remember.”
“Grandmother!” Tris called. “What is the Soulcatcher?”
The spirit stopped as if stung, and great concern filled her eyes. “What do you know of the Soulcatcher?”
Tris told her about the ghost’s warning. Bava K’aa listened gravely, then nodded. “I should have 84
seen this,” she said with a sigh. “When the Obsidian King was vanquished, we were too few and too worn to destroy him completely. So we bound his soul in an ancient orb, a portal to the abyss. An orb called ‘Soulcatcher.’ We believed it safe, but perhaps we were too confident, too anxious to be done,” she mused. “If Arontala can release the Obsidian King’s soul, all we labored for is lost. The Obsidian King will combine his power with Arontala’s, take Arontala’s body for his own, and return to rule the world.” The image wavered, and Tris feared it would disappear altogether. “There are no longer enough powerful mages to defeat him, as we did, should he rise again. It would take another generation, and he would ensure that all who could threaten him would be destroyed.”
Her gaze turned once more on Tris. “You must defeat Arontala. You must find a way to destroy completely the soul of the Obsidian King. All hope rests with you, my child.” And before he could ask her any of the questions that echoed in his mind, the apparition vanished, and with it, the dream, leaving him startled and awake, chilled with sweat.
The fire was out, and a light frost clung to the ground. But the morning cold was not the only reason for the chill Tris felt. Never in his life had a dream felt so real. Tris realized he was shaking, and let out a breath that misted in the morning air.
While Carroway rounded out the last watch, Tris gathered wood and rebuilt the fire. The chill of the dream had still not left him, and he could hear Bava K’aa’s voice ringing in his ears.
Gratefully, he accepted a cup of the strong hot drink Harrtuck brewed over the fire.
“We’re not too far from the last place I’d heard Vahanian was doing business,” Harrtuck said, leaning against a tree, his face wreathed with the steam that rose from his mug. What the ghosts at the inn had not left for them, Harrtuck had obtained at the last village. The goods were minimal, but more than sufficient to keep body and soul together until better could be earned.
Tris stretched, more saddle‐sore than he had been in his life, ruefully becoming aware that a prince’s life during peacetime made one painfully out of training.
Harrtuck noticed his discomfort and flashed him a wicked grin. “Give it a week, Tris,” he chuckled. “You’ll harden up.” Tris took cold comfort that even Soterius looked stiff and sore.
85
Harrtuck, however, seemed none the worse for the past.few days’ adventures though he was a dozen years older than Tris and his
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