Even without consciously stretching out his senses, Tris could feel the restless dead. Their anger washed over him like a cold wave, and he struggled for control against the unseen presences that buffeted him. Without warning an image of the slaughter came to him, then another and another, the testament of eyewitnesses sent with a fury that battered his control.

Soldiers, in the livery of the King of Margolan, wielded swords and battle axes against villagers armed with hoes and sickles. No quarter given, even as women and children begged for their lives. Terror, as the soldiers took their pleasure of the village's young girls before casually slaughtering them. On the Plains of Spirit, the ghosts' emotions washed over him, as hungry for vengeance as the spirits in the Ruune Videya. Tris staggered and clutched his head, closing his eyes. He dropped to his knees, overcome, reinforcing his war dings. The brutal images continued, and the ghosts cried out for justice.

"Tris!" Kiara cried. Tris opened his eyes to see Kiara and Vahanian with swords drawn, ready for a cautious advance.

"I can feel what happened here," he said, struggling for composure.

"Look there." Carroway pointed. In the twilight, a man's ghost stood ahead of them.

Tris, Kiara, and Vahanian stepped forward to follow the beckoning ghost, swords unsheathed and ready. Tris saw the glint of a dagger in Carroway's hand, and noted that Carina gripped her walking staff a bit more tightly. Jae flew on ahead, his leathery wings making the only sound as the ghost led them toward the large common barn. Gabriel took the rear.

"Wait for us!" Kiara hissed at Jae as the ghost vanished. With the others just a pace behind, Tris swung open the barn door and recoiled. The smell was overpowering. Inside, barely visible in the dim light, hung what remained of dozens of villagers, their corpses suspended by nooses from the barn rafters.

Tris called hand fire to his palm and used it to light their way as he and Vahanian pushed forward, swallowing hard against the stench. A sword thrust up from the barn floor and from it hung a bit of cloth: the royal standard of House Margolan.

"Nice touch," Vahanian said acidly. "Just in case someone didn't get the message."

"Such messages have become common in recent days," Gabriel said from behind Carina. The vayash moru seemed unaffected by the carnage, though he had unsheathed his sword. "Arontala has grown bolder, and the list of crimes that prompts such vengeance grows by the candlemark. Come. We must find sanctuary."

"Not yet," Tris said. "Not until I've given them their peace."

"Do it fast," Vahanian muttered. "I don't want to meet up with those guards on their return trip, if it's all the same to you."

It took two candlemarks to cut down the corpses and carry them to a nearby cave. When the bodies were laid out and covered with makeshift shrouds, Tris lifted his hands in farewell as the ghosts once more made themselves visible.

"I can't give you your lives," Tris said, "but I bid you rest. I am oath-bound to the Lady to destroy the one who caused your deaths."

A bearded man who bore himself with the dignity of a village elder stepped forward from the silent line of specters. "We don't want to rest yet," the elder said. "We want to fight. Give us the power, Lord Summoner, and let us hold this ground and this river crossing so that none of the usurper's soldiers can pass."

Tris nodded, and stretched out his hands in blessing. "By the crown of my father, King Bricen, I honor your service. Take your vengeance on Jared's troops, but let no harm come to innocent travelers who pass this way."

The elder bowed in acceptance. "Your word is a bond upon us, m'lord. We'll do as you command."

Gabriel and Vahanian moved a large boulder into place to block the entrance, burying the unfortunate villagers in a rough cairn.

"Can we go now?" Vahanian asked. Carina opened her mouth as if to chastise Vahanian, but at the look on his face, she said nothing. Tris guessed that it was the memory of Vahanian's own village, destroyed by the magicked beasts, which loomed in the fighter's mind.

No one spoke as they retraced their steps to where the horses were tethered. Tris looked over to Vahanian, trying to appraise his companion's condition. While Vahanian had made a valiant effort aboard the raft to keep up, it was apparent that he had not yet fully recovered from his injuries.

"Ready to ride?" Tris asked.

"Never felt better," Vahanian lied blatantly. To prove his point, he swung up into his saddle. Tris saw him wince as pain flickered across his face. So did Carina, who made sure that she rode where she could keep an eye on him.

"Welcome back to Margolan," Carroway said as they rode. They kept a brisk pace, alert for any signs of patrols.

"This way," Gabriel directed. "We must hurry."

Tris rode in silence in the darkness. The story they heard from the old man in Sakwi's village, the murdered villagers in the fishing town, and the desolation they saw along the road wore heavy on him. Margolan, so prosperous and peaceful under Bricen, had been reduced to starvation in less than a year. Tris's anger against Jared warred with Alyzza's warning about power used in hatred, and as they rode, Tris bowed his head, letting his cow; hide the tears that streaked down his face for his homeland and his people.

Kiara rode up beside him, and he was grateful that she did not try to talk. She seemed resolved to comfort him just by her silent presence. He doubted she could guess just how much that gesture meant. His heart was long past breaking for his land, his people, his lost family. He knew that he must quiet his anger, master his hatred, or risk being turned by the Obsidian King. Tris focused on the pathworkings that Alyzza had taught him, the small magicks for bringing calm and clearing the mind. Gradually, he felt some of the tension ease, although the fresh grief he felt still ached.

They finally slowed to a stop; silhouetted in the moonlight were the ruins of a temple. Tris felt a tingle of old sorcery as they approached. One look at Kiara confirmed that she, too, sensed that ancient and powerful magic had been worked here long ago, the traces of it dimmed by years.

•"Want to put in a few prayers for luck?" Vahanian jibed, and Carina gave him a withering glare.

Gabriel secured their horses in the shelter of a ruined stable, out of sight of casual passers-by. "This way," the vayash moru beckoned, leading them amid the ruins. In the gray just before the dawn, it was almost possible to imagine those broken arches soaring toward the sun, buttressing high stone walls, awash in the brilliance of stained and beveled glass. Nothing remained of that former splendor, save some of the marble flooring and broken walls.

At the very front of the ruins, Gabriel pushed aside a heavy stone altar. Underneath, steps descended into darkness. "Here," fee indicated, standing aside.

Kiara gave him a skeptical look and Jae squawked in agreement. "You want us to just... go down there?"

"You'll be safe. Hurry. The sun is about to rise."

Vahanian moved to lead the way, drawing his sword.

"That won't do you any good," Gabriel said.

Vahanian glanced over his shoulder. "For luck," he said, stepping carefully into the darkness.

Tris, Carina, and Carroway followed, then Kiara, with Gabriel behind them to pull the heavy stone back into place. Tris conjured hand fire, which lit the tight corridor with a blue glow. The darkness smelled of mold and rotting cloth, and the metallic-sweet tang of fresh blood. Even without a conscious effort, Tris could sense other beings near them, not living but not dead, restless spirits neither mortal nor at peace. He raised wardings around the group, unsure what he would do should Gabriel's estimation of their hosts prove incorrect.