"Where are we?"

"We've pitched camp for the night," Soterius answered.

"How did you kill it?" Esme leaned over Tris, putting a warm cloth on his head to dull the throbbing ache.

"I had to destroy it where it came from, on the Plains of Spirit. Magic didn't work against it here, but it was vulnerable there." Esme held him up so that he could sip water from a cup. "Most of the time, I can be in both realms at once. But not this time."

"The siege is pointless if you die. Try to keep that in mind next time." Soterius looked both angry and relieved.

"I promise." Tris could feel Esme's medicines begin to work, dulling the headache and drawing him toward sleep. "Where's Fallon?"

Esme felt for the pulse in his neck, counted silently, and seemed satisfied. "She's out with the mages, on watch in case something else comes out of the forest."

"Speaking of which, I'd better let the troops know you're all right before they panic," Soterius said. "You looked pretty bad when we carried you in here."

"Rest," Esme commanded as Soterius slipped out of the wagon. Tris heard cheering outside as Soterius shared the news of his recovery with the soldiers.

"When Fallon returns, send her to me," Tris murmured. "There's something wrong with the magic here... something that called the bogwaitbe. Those woods have never been haunted before."

"I'll tell her—after you get some sleep."

Tris meant to say something in return, but the potions did their work and sleep took him.

Tris's dreams were restless. Old dreams returned, of Kait trapped in the Soulcatcher orb. The battle with Arontala, the final confrontation with the Obsidian King, when Kiara lay dying in his arms and all seemed lost. Then, new images, just as terrifying. Tris sensed Kiara's presence on the Plains of Spirit and felt a terror intent on consuming both her life force and the spark that was the child she carried. As if he watched from behind a pane of glass, Tris could see everything but was powerless to help. In his dream, the darkness overtook Kiara, and he heard her cry out as it leeched away her soul and the soul of their child.

Tris awoke, shaking and sweating. Esme was next to him.

"Dreams again?"

"Old ones—and something new. Kiara was in danger. Something from the nether plain wanted her—and the baby. It overtook her—"

Esme laid a hand on his arm. "It's just a dream, Tris," she said. Her blue eyes were worried. "Most fathers-to-be get bad dreams. Even the ones who aren't Summoners."

Tris used the techniques Taru had taught him to distance himself from the dream, but it remained on the edge of his thoughts. "I'm afraid for her, Esme."

"Kiara's the most resourceful woman I've ever met. She has Mikhail and Harrtuck and all the others watching over her. You're going to have to trust them to take care of her."

Soterius poked his head into the wagon. "I don't know what you're doing in there, but you've called every ghost within a league. Half of them want to come with us to fight, and the other half are annoyed that you disturbed them."

Tris sighed. "We're going to need all the help we can get. Accept the ghosts who want to fight, and send the others back with my apologies."

Esme looked at him sternly. "It'll be daylight in just a few hours. You have to ride. And you're going to have to look ready to fight, even if you aren't. Enough talk. Back to sleep with you."

Tris had no desire to argue. He lay down on the cot and pulled his cloak around him, praying that this time, his sleep would be dreamless.

After six days' ride through snow and wind and sleet, the Margolan army reached the Southern Plains. Lochlanimar loomed against the foothills of the Tabinar Mountains, high on a hill. The oldest parts of the fortress were more than a thousand years old. Its foundation was even older, built atop ruins. A thick wall encircled the main house and dependencies, as well as the oldest part of the town. Made of the same gray stone as the exposed cliffside of the mountains, it had withstood raids from the wild fighters of the Southlands and the nomadic tribes from the West. Lochlanimar would not be easy to defeat. All their planning would be sorely tested.

Tris looked out over the encampment. Thousands of tents, lean-tos and campfires filled the flat plain. Come nightfall, the ghosts and vayash moru soldiers would also join them. He sat warily on horseback, in full armor beneath the flag of Margolan as Soterius and General Palinn rode out to make the first contact with Curane.

"Lord Curane!" Soterius shouted. Palinn rode beside, him, and behind them were several hundred men at arms, just a fraction of the full encamped force. "In the name of Martris Drayke, king of Margolan, open your gates. Surrender now, and you'll receive a fair trial."

For a few moments, there was silence. Then a hail of flaming arrows streamed from the crenelations. Rowdy cheers and cries rose from Curane's soldiers. Soterius, Palinn, and their escort fell back, unsurprised by the attack.

"Well, the die is cast," Palinn said.

"I don't think anyone is surprised. And now we wait. Are your men ready? Everything we know about Curane says he'll strike hard before we can get the siege engines in place. He's had time to prepare. He won't wait for us to make the first move," Tris said. Palinn nodded. "Senne agrees. As usual, Tarq and Rallan think otherwise. We three have overruled them—again."

Tris muttered a curse. "Neither of them were father's favorites, but we have so few professional military men, I don't have much of a choice. Tarq grew up near here. He knows the lay of the land. And Rallan—well, I'd rather have both of them here where I can keep an eye on them."

"Agreed."

Soterius spoke to two of the soldiers, and they ran off toward the encampment. "We should have the catapults, trebuchets and battering rams ready soon. We'll begin felling trees this afternoon to make more," Soterius said. He looked out over the plain. "We'll build them out there, where Curane's folks can watch and worry, but far enough back that there's nothing they can do about it."

An unpleasant smile crossed Palinn's features. "A siege is as much a mental war as a show of power. Building the machines will give our men something to take their minds off the boredom. We'll drill the soldiers every day, make a real show of it. We've positioned the encampment so that it will be difficult for Curane's men to get a good count of our number. And we've pitched double the number of tents—one man per tent instead of two—so that we look even more formidable." Palinn chuckled mirthlessly. "That's not counting the ghosts and the vayash moru. Curane may have the will for a long siege, but we'll see how quickly the will of his people breaks."

Tris looked sideways at Palinn. "I'm glad you're on our side."

At nightfall, Tris welcomed six mages led by Sister Fallon. Three mortal guards and three vayash moru stood sentry around the tent. Inside, Coalan had hot tea and sausages ready for them.

"Let me introduce my companions," Fallon said. "I'm a healer, hut I also have some skill with land magic. Latt," she said, indicating a thin woman in her middle years with sharp features and brown hair cut short and tucked beneath a knitted cap, "is a full land mage. You'll find her talents useful. Vira is a water mage." Vira was a plump woman with a broad, plain face. Graying hair made a curly fringe around her features. Sharp intelligence gleamed from Vira's wide-set, light blue eyes.

"Ana is an air mage. She can't speak with spirits like a Summoner, but the winds obey her—quite a weapon when the temperatures are like this." Ana was younger than Fallon, perhaps in her third decade. A long braid of yellow hair was tucked beneath the cowl of her heavy woolen robe. "And Beyral is a water mage, but her real power is in sigils and runes. She's a seer. And she's very skilled in casting spells to work at a distance." Beyral had the features of an Eastmark native, with dark skin and eyes that were almost black, flecked with gold. Raven hair in a complex braid wound around her head. Tris knew that the braiding was its own kind of magic, amplifying her power.