"Are they crazy? It's broad daylight!" Kiara protested, hanging on as the carriage jostled and bumped.

"They know what they're doing," Tris replied, bracing himself as the carriage careened onto two wheels. "The vayash moru aren't out by day. We're less protected than we were on our way to the temple."

The driver veered, sending them reeling into the side of the carriage. Riders on horseback closed in around the carriage, and Tris saw the driver tumble from his seat. One of the riders leaped from his horse to take the reins, but the horses, trained to respond only to the driver's code words, kept up their frenzied pace.

A black-clad rider grabbed for the door handle of the carriage, and Tris's magic threw the attacker clear. Kiara grasped the handles of the metal warming box with her cloak and slid back the cover, throwing burning embers on the rider who tried to reach for her through her window.

"Shoot the horses!" A rider cried, and Tris heard the twang of bows. The carriage lurched and banged as the horse team staggered. Kiara cried out as arrows struck the side of the carriage, embedding in the wood deeply enough to show the point through the fabric that covered the interior. Outside of the carriage window, the scenery flew by; Tris wondered if the brigands hoped that a wreck would be fatal. The carriage careened forward, its horses panicked.

"If we don't get this thing stopped, we'll be dead with or. without the bandits," Kiara shouted over the din of the speeding carriage.

Tris pulled off his heavy cloak. He wore a mail vest beneath his doublet and shirt. It was better than bare skin, but hardly protection from a full onslaught and he had no desire to test it against a hail of arrows. Behind them, Tris heard the thunder of hoof beats and the shouts of soldiers, but decided against chancing a look out the carriage window as an arrow sailed through, sinking into the seat cushion where he had been a moment before.

"I'm going to slow the carriage enough to jump. Once I'm out, get on the floor. I'll send the horses back to Shekerishet."

"I'm staying with you."

"You don't have a sword and you're not dressed for battle. We don't even know who the brigands belong to. Besides, someone has to send out the guards."

He could tell by the look on her face that she hated the idea, but she nodded. Tris stretched out his magic toward the panicked horses, touching their minds. He was not as adept with animals as Carina, but he fixed an image of the carriage moving slowly enough for him to survive a jump and then heading at full speed for the castle. For a moment, nothing changed. Tris wondered if his message had been successful. Then he felt the carriage slow. He crouched, holding on to the door handle, waiting. When the carriage slowed enough for him to have a reasonable chance of surviving the fall, Tris kicked open the door and jumped into the snow, throwing his shields up to blunt the impact. Immediately the carriage sped away.

The shields took the worst of the fall, but the force still knocked the breath from him, and he wrenched his left ankle as he tumbled. He staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. Two riders charged. Behind them were three Margolan soldiers, riding hard. Two large vyrkin closed from the other side, nearly catching up with the attackers. Tris was at a distinct disadvantage on the ground against mounted attackers. He stepped backward and nearly fell as his ankle buckled under him. Tris sent a bolt of blue mage fire sizzling toward one rider, who fell gasping to the ground as his panicked horse reared and bucked. The other rider scythed his sword and Tris parried, driven back a step by the force of the mounted rider's strike.

Tris blocked the blows with his sword. His attacker reared his war steed, and its huge iron-shod hooves lifted into the air. They were in a clearing with no ready cover. Soterius and another guard were nearly within bow range, but Tris knew they couldn't shoot without endangering him. The brigand's horse reared again, and one massive hoof barely missed Tris's head. One of the vyrkin leaped for the horse and opened deep gashes on the horse's hind quarters.

Tris dived, rolling through the deep snow. Before the mounted brigand could find him, Tris called the winds together into a swirling storm that enveloped the attacker, a blinding snowstorm that forced him to ground his mount. Tris dispelled the winds as Soterius rode up behind the attacker and swung his sword, cleaving the man through the waist. The brigand fell lifeless from his mount. The two vrykin approached Tris and lowered their heads deferentially, making it clear they were present to protect. Out on the hillside, Tris spotted at least a half a dozen more of the huge wolves.

Soterius reached Tris as he climbed to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Tris nodded. "You?"

Soterius's cloak was torn and a cut through his tunic revealed his mail shirt beneath. He was breathing hard, but nodded. "We lost a couple of men. By the Whore! That was a full assault. We took all of them down." He looked down the road at the fresh marks of carriage wheels. "What about Kiara?"

Tris sheathed his sword. He wasn't sure whether he was shaking from the cold or from the fight. The soldier with Soterius offered Tris his own cloak and would not be refused. "I sent the horses back to Shekerishet," he said, gazing in the direction the carriage had disappeared. "They won't stop until they get there—and the geas I placed on them should hold for their spirits as well, if there was someone up ahead waiting to shoot them down. Kiara was chafing to join the fight."

Soterius chuckled. "That's Kiara." Another soldier walked toward them leading several horses. "I know you weren't planning on riding," he said. "But here's a horse for you if you'd like to arrive in time for your own wedding."

Tris grinned ruefully and looked down at his own ruined finery. "Showing up like this isn't likely to make the right impression on the guests." A soldier ran to retrieve Tris's circlet crown from where it had fallen. His doublet was torn and wet with snow, and his breeches were ruined.

Soterius grimaced. "Not much chance of hiding it, I imagine. Not after Kiara's shown up in a driverless carriage, and no chance at all if it's drawn by ghost steeds!"

"Let's hope it didn't get quite that far." Tris limped over toward where the last dead attacker lay in a heap of bloodied snow. "But first, I want to see if we can figure out who's behind this."

Soterius and the guards stepped back, giving him room to work. Tris closed his eyes and stretched out his power, calling for the dead man's ghost. The spirit of a blond, thick set man appeared and threw itself at Tris's feet.

"Your highness!" the ghost cried, crouching in fear. "Forgive me! I couldn't help what I was doing. I bear you no ill will."

Tris could sense the truthfulness of the spirit's words. He frowned, puzzled. "How can that be?"

The ghost remained prostrate. "We were bewitched. You're a Summoner. Read my thoughts—I'll keep nothing back."

"Tell me what happened. Sit up, so that I can see your face. Who bewitched you?"

The spirit of the terrified brigand rose to its knees. "My mates and I were hanging about a pub in a town not far from here. Tafton-on-Kalis—it's on the main road to Ghorbal. We were for hire—usually escorting a merchant to market or getting paid good skrivven to make sure some noble lady gets where she's going without a problem. We'd done our soldiering in the war and we fought with your rebels," the ghost said with a glance toward Soterius. "Other than a brawl or two in the bar when we'd had too much ale, we mostly stayed on the right side of the law."

"Say on."

"Last night, a strange gent came into the pub. Never saw the likes of him around. Kept his cloak on and his hood up."