Carroway lifted his head, listening. "Do I hear a bard in the common room?"

Lars nodded. "Had more than a few musicians traveling through with the festival. You're welcome to go join them—don't think we've ever had the like of you since you left."

Carroway grinned at the compliment. "My fingers are too frozen to play, at least right now," he said, flexing his hands. "But there's something familiar in that voice. I'd like to see who's out there."

"Keep your head down," Vahanian cautioned.

"You know me," Carroway tossed back with a grin. "I blend into the crowd."

Carina and Kiara chuckled. Even in drab riding clothes, with his long black hair pulled back and soaked, Carroway cut a handsome figure. The bard disappeared through the kitchen doors and the innkeeper's daughter motioned the group to a work table in the back of the kitchen. She and Toby began to bring out the first hot food the group had enjoyed in several days.

"Perhaps I risk my neck by saying this," Lars began with a nervous glance at the doors, "but since you've got no love of the king's troops, I'll wager I'm safe. Since King Bricen died—the Lady rest his soul—this year has been the demon's own. Got plenty of guests tonight, but people aren't traveling the way they used to—scared of the highwaymen, and the guards, too. And what's to travel for anymore, I ask you? Half the farmers ran away—can't blame them, being burned out by the guardsmen. The others can't eke out enough to feed their own families, what with the looters and all, let alone take more to trade in the city. Don't see so many merchants either. And there hasn't been a caravan through here since slavers got one group up near the pass last Fall.

"We've fixed the inn up since you took care of the ghost, and it's been good for business. But many's the night there's no one at all on the road to stay anywhere. And it wouldn't do to look like we turn much of a profit—would just invite the guardsmen to double what they charge me to keep them from busting up the place."

Lars shook his head. "Never was like this under King Bricen. How he had such a rotter for a son, I don't know, but King Jared"—he paused to spit on the floor at the name—"belongs to the Crone herself. Guess those are hanging words, and I ought to be more careful. But it's gotten bad, m'lord mage. I don't go nowhere, but I hear everyone who does." He leaned forward. "It's worse in the city. King's got his guardsmen, and they make anyone who dares speak against the king disappear. Leave the bodies in the street the next day, as a warning. I imagine they'll be watching the festival this year, to keep things from getting out of hand. Now that's the demon's own, ain't it?"

Vahanian cursed, and Kiara laid a hand on Tris's arm. Tris had gone pale at the innkeeper's story, and it was only with great effort that he held back his anger and sorrow. "Perhaps the Lady will show pity," Lris said. "Maybe She will give favor to a champion."

Lars glanced nervously over his shoulder. "She didn't favor that general who tried to poison King Jared, that's for sure. Drawn and quartered he was."

Lars leaned closer. "But I've heard that to the north, the spirits are restless. I've heard that some of the king's troops were set on by the ghosts of the poor bastards they've killed, and that none but the horses survived. They say that there's bands of deserters stalking the king's troops on the main roads. Got so the army won't even go to the highlands no more, because they don't come back. Just last week, heard tell that on the plank road, the one that leads north of Ghorbal, a whole unit of guardsmen just disappeared." Lars snapped his fingers with a malicious smile.

"Maybe your spirits can tell you true," Lars added with a glance at Tris. "But that's what I hear, anyhow."

Carroway returned to eat with them, and then went back to the greatroom with a promise to be their eyes and ears. Carina noticed a burn on Lars' daughter Lara's arm. She smiled gratefully as Carina healed it to a faint, pink scar. Tabethe, the innkeeper's wife, prevailed on Carina for help with a bad back. In return, she brought the group food and ale until they could eat no more.

"Picked a good night to be inside—it's still raining out there," Vahanian observed from his post near the door. Tris sat toward the corner, out of the way of the busy kitchen staff. Jae lazed near the hearth, much to Lara's amusement, who dropped bits of venison near the little gyregon until it finally fell asleep, completely sated. "What's got you so deep in thought?"

Tris looked up from the diary of the Obsidian King. "Just looking for anything I can in the diary. I was hoping we could get an early start," he said with a glance toward Tabethe, who was bustling near the fire, "but our business has to start and end on the main night."

Beside him, Kiara dozed in a chair until it was her turn on watch. Carina slipped into the great-room with Carroway. Tris immersed himself in the small, tight handwriting that crowded the precious diary.

What he found troubled him. Tris hoped to find a way to approach Arontala before the Hawthorn Moon, destroying the orb and the dark mage before Arontala could even begin his working to free the Obsidian King's spirit. But as Tris studied the journal, it became clear that the only way magic worked on a witches' moon could be dispelled was on that same eve of power. An advance strike was doomed to fail. Only on the night of the working could he intervene and destroy both the orb and the one who sought to escape it. Their opportunity for victory was much smaller than he had hoped.

"Do you think Riqua was right about Lemuel?" Vahanian asked. He kept a wary eye on the rear window and leaned against the wall near the door, his hand close to his sword.

Tris put the book down and blinked to ease his tired eyes. "That he got trapped and taken along for the ride, so to speak?" he asked, being deliberately vague because of the innkeepers' family within earshot. "Yes. It makes sense with what I heard from... 'my sisters,'" he added, thinking it unwise to refer to the Sisterhood by name.

Vahanian caught the evasion and chuckled. "I like that. Your sisters." He sobered. "Poor guy, if that's what happened to him. So he's been a prisoner—all these years—in that big ball you talk about?"

Tris cast a glance toward Tabethe and Lara, but they seemed wholly unconcerned with the conversation, bustling about the front of the kitchen to serve their festival-bound guests. "Grandmother apparently thought so. Who knows if he even exists anymore? I know that's where Kait is—and possibly mother, too. When this is over, if their spirits survived, I hope I can send them to their rest."

Just then, there was a tap at the door. Kiara roused from her nap and straightened. Vahanian moved quickly, his hand on his sword as the door opened. Gabriel stepped in, shaking the rain from his cloak. "So this is where you are," the vayash moru said. "Tired of my accommodations?" Tris feared the innkeeper's wife might run screaming from the room, but Tabethe merely afforded Gabriel a nod.

"Good evenin', m'lord," she said, as Lara went for a mug. "Deer's fresh today, if you want a nip."

Gabriel smiled and gave a shallow bow in greeting. "I would be grateful, dear lady. Many thanks."

Tabethe refused Gabriel's gold when she realized he was with Tris and the others. With all that Jared had done to foster fear of the vayash moru among the people, Tris gave Tabethe credit for her matter-of-fact greeting; a sign, he thought, that at least some in Margolan saw through Jared's fear-mongering.

When the last of the greatroom patrons had departed, Carroway and Carina came through the door from the outer room, followed by three musicians whom Tris immediately recognized as Carroway's inner circle at court. First through the door was a man just a little older than Carroway, with touseled, short blond hair framing a youthful face with mischievous blue eyes. Next was a slip of a girl who looked barely more than sixteen summers old, carrying a flute. She had lank, dark hair, and cynical brown eyes. Beside Carroway was a tall young woman with short dark hair and violet eyes. She had a lyre over her shoulder.