"Aneh, the third rune, speaks for the Formless One. Chaos will govern. Zyhm is the fourth rune—intertwined destiny. It speaks for the Crone. It lies facing Aneh. The two powers war with each other. Zyhm weaves together; Aneb tears apart. Destinies are joined—and sundered. But whose, it doesn't say."

Beyral looked up. "I'm sorry. The omens are dark and the reading is unclear. I don't have any more to offer." "Thank you." Tris said. "I'll place sigils around the camp," Beyral said. "They'll warn me if the boundary is breeched, although they won't stop an attack." "I've placed wardings over our food stores," Latt said. "I can't hold a large warding for long, but I can hold smaller ones for quite some time."

"And I've changed the winds above our camp," Ana added. "The vayasb moru may find it more challenging to fly, but Curane's mages will also have difficulty magicking their arrows to carry further. Above our heads, where we can't feel it, the winds shift south. Anything sent on the air—arrows or pestilence—will blow over us and slip downstream."

"Can you tell how Lochlanimar is defended?" Soterius asked.

Fallon nodded. "Curane's mages have strong spells defending the main gates to the holding. Powerful, dark magic. Don't expect Curane to play fair." "We weren't."

"There's one more thing," Eallon said. "What Beyral read in the runes about succession—that can mean your heir, but it can also be read more broadly. There are moments in time from which all other moments turn.

Powerful forces are in motion. It may be that more than the fate of Margolan's throne depends on what happens here. We believe we're at a threshold. Once crossed, the Winter Kingdoms will not be as they were."

"Thank you." Tris managed a wry smile. "Knowing doesn't always make you feel better, does it?"

Fallon and the other mages bowed deeply and left. But before Soterius could comment on their information, the temperature within the tent plummeted, even colder than the winter air outside. Tris could feel the stir of spirits. He closed his eyes, opening himself to the Plains of Spirit. He felt no threat from these ghosts, and had a clear sense that they were responding to his summons. Warily, he beckoned them to come closer and lent them power to make themselves visible. When Tris opened his eyes, the ghosts of four men stood before him. One of the ghosts was a man who looked to be late in his fifth decade, with thin, graying hair and a short-cropped, gray beard. He was broad shouldered with the hands of a workman, and his eyes were troubled. "M'lord Summoner. We heard your call, and we obey."

Tris could not feel any falseness, but, mindful of the rune's warning, he remained guarded. "Thank you. I called you because my quarrel is with Curane and his mages, not with the people of Lochlanimar."

The bearded ghost looked to his comrades; it was clear he was their spokesman. "Lord Curane is a hard master, m'lord. He started rationing food and water a month ago, when he knew the army would camp against him. The people are hungry. Strange sicknesses have taken parts of the city—no one dares say it, but many think the mages are behind the ill humours. In some quarters, so many people have died that the houses stand empty. When someone takes sick, the Black Robes come. They take the person away. None have returned."

The bearded ghost shook his head. "I'm Tabok. I served Lord Curane's father, and his father's father. They were men who made mistakes, but they had honor. For two generations I've watched over my family. I fear for them, m'lord."

"What of Curane's granddaughter—and her baby?" Soterius asked.

Tabok frowned. "No one's seen them. They're prisoners in the keep. Sometimes, I can hear the babe crying. They're guarded heavily—by men and magic. Even spirits can't cross some of the wardings."

Tris and Soterius exchanged glances. "Well, that confirms the rumors."

"We came to offer our services," Tabok said. "We're men of honor. When Lord Curane imprisoned his own people, we believe our vows to be broken. We want to free our families, m'lord. We are willing to be your eyes and ears within Lochlanimar where the magic doesn't keep us from going."

"I'm grateful," Tris replied. "I have no desire to wage war on my own people. Give us Curane and his mages and we'll end the siege."

"What of the girl and her child?" Tabok asked.

"From what we know, the girl was given to Jared when she was still too young to wed. I've laid to rest enough ghosts of his 'partners' to know her fate with him. The baby will be a rallying point to threaten my own sons. I don't have many options."

The ghost's question tugged at him. It was a decision that had never completely left his mind. What of the girl and the child? He thought. She was sold like a whore for jared's pleasure. Beaten and raped and cast aside. Curane's used her like a brood mare to sire a child to claim his fortune. They're victims in this. Let them live, even in exile, and the child becomes a rival. Law and tradition ivould hold me blameless to have them killed. Is there another way? Some way to keep from finishing Jared's murders for him without endangering my own sons?

Tabok's ghost nodded. "A hard decision. We'll watch for you, and report. Mohr can't make himself seen, but he has the power to move things—and he enjoys playing tricks." At his words, a thin man in the rear of the group grinned. "The last few days, Curane's soldiers have been busy. They've got something planned. Curane's mad enough to make a first strike. You may not have much time to get your camp ready.

"M'lord, something else you should know," Tabok added. "The castle's set with many spells. There are some areas—like the keep where his granddaughter is held—spelled so that we can't enter. I've seen Curane's blood mages create asbtenerath from our own dead, and charms to ward away the vayash moru. He knows you're a Summoner—that's why he wears a null magic charm. He's afraid the spirits will rise up to follow you. Over the past months, his blood mages have desecrated our cemeteries, dug up bodies, and mutilated fresh corpses to sever their spirits from this place. There should be hundreds of newly dead spirits who have no love for Curane. Instead, only the old ghosts remain."

"No wonder the Flow is so unsteady," Tris said, imagining the damage so much blood magic would cause.

"Lochlanimar's an old city. Very old. Built before Margolan had a king, they say. There are other cities beneath it, or what's left of them. There are hallways full of bones under the city. There may be ghosts in those forgotten places untouched by Curane's blood magic. And something else. Long ago, there was a passage dug from Lochlanimar into the caves in the mountains," he said with a nod toward the foothills. "I haven't known them to be used in over a hundred years. If the passages haven't been closed up, your men might get in there. But beware. They've been spelled against us, and against vayash moru."

"Can you draw us a map?" Tris asked.

Tabok nodded. Tris beckoned to Coalan, who brought parchment and paper and did as the ghost bid. When the map was finished, the ghost looked up at Tris. "M'lord. I must ask one thing. If there be any survivors when the siege is over, what are your intentions?"

"Curane, his soldiers and his mages will have to stand trial for treason. Those guilty will hang. I'll do everything in my power to give safe passage to your families. My quarrel is with Curane. If Curane won't surrender, we'll have no choice but to destroy the entire walled town."

"We understand. Thank you." The ghosts bowed in fealty. And then, as quickly as they came, the spirits faded from view.

"Now what?"

Soterius shrugged. "We wait, just the way we planned. I've got the army split into two groups. Half of the soldiers—plus the vayash moru, the mages and whatever ghosts you can rouse—will be in fighting position come sundown. We'll make a first strike, try to take him by surprise. If he's planning the same, this could get interesting, but we wTon't be caught unprepared.