"No Light Mage will harm a spirit, although perhaps your master's mage won't be so forgiving. But no, I don't need your statement. A Summoner of power can read the last thoughts of a fresh corpse. From that, we'll know who sent you."

The spirit looked surprised, and his bluster tempered. "Then why call me here?"

"I can offer you something Jared can't. I can pass you over to the Lady." Tris gestured to the amulet around the corpse's neck. "When Jared gave that to you, did he tell you what it does?"

"He said it would protect me. Obviously, he lied."

A slight, bitter smile reached the corners of Tris's lips. "Of course he lied. His blood mage made that amulet. In the palace, Shekerishet, there's an orb that is the portal to the abyss itself. In that orb, the spirit of the Obsidian King waits to be reborn. Before he can be reborn, he must feed. On souls," Tris added, watching the treachery of Jared's gift dawn on the spirit.

"You mean he plans to pull me into his bloody orb?" the spirit shouted. "Feed me to his monster?"

Tris nodded, feeling the amulet gather power as they spoke. Any moment now it could trigger, and if it sensed Tris's magic close at hand, Tris was not sure his wardings would hold. "Do you know which Aspect of the Lady comes for murderers?" Just beyond his mage sight, he could feel the approach of the Crone, her dark, cold, death embrace awaiting the guilty one. Nervously, the spirit glanced around him, as if he, too, felt the Crone's approach.

"Not the Crone!" he cried out. "By the Dark Lady, I don't want to be eaten, and I don't want to go to the Crone!"

The Crone's imminent approach and the gathering power of the amulet made the hairs on the back of Tris's neck prickle with primal dread. "You don't have much time," Tris said, hoping his voice was steady. "I can save you from the amulet and I can plead your case with the Lady, but I'd need a reason to care."

The ghost's blustering was gone. He threw himself to the floor, just beyond Tris's warding. "I'll tell you everything!" the assassin sputtered. "I got into some trouble in Margolan, and the guards were going to hang me. I've lived a bad life—no one's going to tell you otherwise. Been a thief and a cutthroat and a snitch. No one deserved a noose more'n me, to tell the honest truth." The spirit looked back into the shadows again, and spoke even more rapidly, fearing the Crone's approach.

"I was in the dangler's cell in the jail, where they hold the next men to be hanged. A strange man in a red robe came. The guards were right afeared of him, and they did whatever he said. He called for me, said he had a job, and that if I did it, he would make sure I didn't hang." The ghost's words poured out, his accent blurring them together.

"Well, of course I took the job. And when he said it was a bit of blade work, I wasn't squeamish— done that kind of thing before. He gave me the gold and a horse to get to Principality, told me who it was I should look for." He dared a glance in Tris's direction. "Said I'd have the best chance in the feast crowd at Winterstide. I saw you straight away, with that white hair of yours. Waited for the biter to move away," he said with a disdainful look at Gabriel, "and then I took my chance. Didn't think your friend would be so keen to take the blade for you."

Tris's anger flared, and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Did he say anything else, the man who hired you?" Tris pressed. They had very little time. The amulet was gaining power rapidly, and the Crone hovered just beyond sight, as if she, too, listened to the ghost's tale.

Panic was rising in the ghost's voice. "He said that if I couldn't get to you, that I should kill the king, that he deserved to die for taking you in, that anyone who opposed King Jared deserved to die." He glanced around himself in fear as the amulet on the corpse began to glow. "Please, m'lord wizard, don't let them take me!"

"There's something else you haven't told me," Tris said, acting more on hunch than certainty. "You're running out of time."

The ghost shrieked, terrified of the glowing amulet and the nearness of the Crone. "If I could strike and escape, I was to meet a groomsman in the stable, a man named Turas. We were to watch for a time when Princess Kiara went riding, and use a dart to drug her. If I brought the princess to King Jared, the man promised that not only would the king keep me from hanging, but he would make sure I had honor beyond measure." The assassin nearly wept in fear.

Tris wrestled with his feelings at the ghost's casual malice. "He promised you wouldn't hang because he was fairly sure you'd be killed in the attempt. If he promised you honor beyond measure, it's as a sacrifice to the Obsidian King."

Tris could feel the power radiating from the amulet as it searched for the assassin's ghost, and began to draw the spirit into its red glow.

"Please, m'lord! You promised!"

"So I did." Tris was sorely tempted to leave the unrepentant assassin to his fate. Tris stretched out his hand, focusing his power, and sent a blast of energy toward the amulet. A red flare rose in answer. The onlookers gasped and stepped back again, against the outer edges of the wardings.

Tris knew the imprint of Arontala's power. Even at this distance, behind his wardings, he could feel the pull of the Soulcatcher. Tris was braced for the red fire that erupted from the amulet, as it had from the scrying orb at Westmarch and from Alaine's amulet. Only this time, his shields held and the blue fire he sent in answer slowly forced the red fire backward, until the flames consumed the corpse and filled the greatroom with the stench of burning flesh.

"You burned my body!" the ghost cried out. The red flames flared and faded, leaving only a charred corpse.

"You won't be needing it," Tris said, his thoughts elsewhere. That the brigand told the truth about his past and about his mission Tris had no doubt, sensing the spirit's complete lack of remorse. He deserves everything he was going to get, and more, Tris thought bitterly, struggling and failing to find neutrality. I could let him go to the Crone. It would be so easy to just step aside...

In his mind, he could hear Sister Taru's voice. Such power is reserved for the Lady alone, Taru had warned. The Obsidian King became the judger of souls, and would have made himself a god.

Swallowing hard, Tris turned his attention to the presence he felt in the shadows, the Aspect of the Crone, come to take Her prize. "Lady most powerful, giver of souls and taker of breath, hear me." It was half prayer, half supplication, and he knew he was on dangerous ground. There was no response, but Tris sensed that the Crone was listening.

"This soul fears his due," Tris said honestly. "And I'm a poor advocate, since he has harmed my friend and would have killed my betrothed. But I gave him my word that I'd ask for mercy if he told his story. And so I keep that word, and know that it is given to the Lady alone to be the judge of souls. If there is a way for him to go to an Aspect other than yourself, m'Lady, hear my prayer."

Tris could feel the presence of the Aspect, though his mortal eyes could not see it. Behind him, he heard Gabriel whisper a blessing, and to the side he saw both Staden and Hant make the sign of the Lady. The guards dropped to their knees.

I hear your plea, Summoner, as I have heard his story. The rasping voice of the Crone sounded in his mind, and his soul shrank within himself. I'll give him to the Aspect he deserves the most.

The guards cried out in panic, and Staden cursed in fear. A yawning darkness opened up, like a potent stew of nightmares, revealing visions too terrifying to comprehend. Tris knew, without doubt, that it was the Formless One who came for the cringing assassin. The most terrible of the Aspects, this Face of the Lady was known to the old religion, but disavowed now in the Winter Kingdoms. The Formless One reached out a shadowy tendril toward the shrieking spirit, and drew him into its maw.