Kiara turned next to the spirit of the burly, bearded king. While the other three ghosts looked forbidding, this wraith had a hint of mirth to him that set her somewhat at ease. “Honored father, I fear for the lives of both my sons, and for my husband. My oldest child, Cwynn, may not be suited to rule, due to a difficult birth. The child I carry would claim both thrones, since it isn’t advisable for me to have a third. Yet the prospect of a joint throne has brought Isencroft to civil war. What wisdom do you have for me?”
Although the bearded king’s expression was thoughtful, his eyes were kind. “Well-fed subjects rarely revolt. Find relief for their hunger, and you will undermine the traitors’ greatest advantage, because they claim to offer what the king could not provide. This war will force your enemies to reveal themselves, as it will show the true colors of the monarchy. Let your people see the real horror
against which the army stands to protect them, and they will rally to your cause.”
“Thank you, honored father,” Kiara said quietly as the ghost retreated to the shadows.
Hesitantly, she turned to the last of the ghostly counselors. The thin woman wore an ornate dress with intricate beading that was a work of art even though its style had long passed from fashion. Kiara could see sorrow in the ghost’s pale features.
“Speak, honored mother. You were drawn to the rune of fate. I fear to ask, and yet I must. If your gift is not to speak of the future, then what can you tell me of my fate, and that of my kingdom and kin?”
“I came to the throne quite young, without the benefit of advisers among the nobles or the castle staff whom I could trust,” the ghost replied. “Doubting myself, I put my faith in seers and rune scryers, and in the words of the Oracle. I took their prophecies and omens at face value, without testing them for deeper meanings. Without intending to do so, I abdicated the throne by ceding my decisions and choices to what I believed was fated for me.
“By acting on what
might
be as if it were what
would
be, I narrowed the options open to me and brought about the future I most feared. Omens and prophecies are meant to alert you to what is possible, but do not believe that what is foretold is certain. The victory comes most often to those who deny their fate and forge their own paths. Do not make my mistake.”
“Thank you, honored mother,” Kiara murmured.
“You have chosen your questions well.” It was the first ghost, the gaunt old king, who spoke. “We leave four gifts for you. Use them wisely. Remember that the blood that
flows through your veins gives you not only the magic but the wisdom of all those who came before you, if you will but open yourself to the power.”
The gaunt king raised his hand in blessing, and the other ghosts did likewise, making the sign of the Lady. One by one, their shadowed forms blurred and then disappeared, leaving Kiara alone with the circle of candles. Where each ghost had stood, an item lay on the floor next to the runes and candle. Kiara saw that the path out of the labyrinth would bring her close enough to each of the candles to retrieve the gifts. She made her way carefully through the labyrinth, stopping at each of the colored candles to whisper thanks to the spirit who had appeared before gathering the gift. At each candle she smudged the rune before extinguishing the flame.
In the place where the gaunt king had stood lay an intricate necklace made from silver and glass beads in a fashion Kiara did not recognize. It looked very old and was of fine enough craftsmanship to be worthy of royalty. Near where the portly king’s spirit had been lay a weighty piece of glass. At first, Kiara thought it to be a scrying ball until she lifted it in her hands and found it to be flatter than a sphere, yet convex on either side.
By the spot where the young, thin queen had been lay a handful of rune dice, rectangular polished pieces of bone inscribed with runic symbols. The calligraphy on the rune dice was magnificent, and in the dim light of the crypt, Kiara thought she saw the intricate symbols glow with an inner fire.
The final gift was from the warrior queen’s ghost. It was a finely forged sword, and as Kiara hesitantly lifted the weapon, she realized that it was very old. The crest of
the crown of Isencroft was worked into the guard and four gems were set into the end of the pommel in the shape of a cloverleaf: sapphire, onyx, emerald, and ruby. Kiara frowned, trying to match the gems to the faces of the lady, and then she noticed writing etched into the blade. She moved closer to the torch to see better.
Inscribed along the blade were the eight names of the ancient clans of Isencroft. Once the followers and families of long-ago warlords, the clans still retained a powerful hold on the imagination of Crofters, and even those who had lived for generations mingled in Isencroft’s cities could proudly trace lineage back to one of the eight old clans.
Eight for the clans that became a kingdom, the first lords of Isencroft, who chose among themselves for its king. Raise this sword, Goddess Blessed, and remind your people who they are
. It was the voice of the warrior queen that sounded softly in Kiara’s ear, close enough to be whispering over Kiara’s shoulder. When she stepped across the opening to the labyrinth, air and magic stirred through the room, extinguishing the ring of candles around the labyrinth’s edge.
She placed the gifts in her basket, then turned and made a deep bow.
“I am grateful, honored spirits. Thank you for your wisdom.”
To Kiara’s surprise, the heavy door unlocked of its own accord. Kiara pushed the door open, feeling the magic of the threshold tingle as she stepped back into the corridor. Jorven and Balaren were waiting for her. Relief and exhaustion flooded over Kiara as Jorven and Balaren walked her back to the vigil room. Kiara’s companions
crowded around her, and Cerise helped her sit next to the low wooden table. Kiara realized that she had no idea how much time had passed. Cerise shooed the others away until she could verify to her satisfaction that Kiara was well. Only then did the healer permit the rest of the group to ply Kiara with their questions.
“Can you tell us what you saw?”
“Did the kings appear to you?”
“What did they tell you?”
“Did they leave anything for you?”
Cerise brought Kiara a chalice of watered wine and a hunk of bread with honey, nudging her to eat before launching into long explanations. Gratefully, Kiara finished the food. The others waited, trying to mask their impatience to hear her story.
When Kiara finished recounting the counsel of the spirits, Allestyr looked thoughtful. “The advice appears sound to me. A bit vague, but that’s to be expected.” He managed a tired smile. “You weren’t really expecting an otherworldly checklist, were you?”
Tice chuckled. “I’m intrigued by the first ghost’s comments. Which of the gifts did you think might have been his?”
Kiara laid out the ghosts’ gifts on table, placing the sword next to the smaller items. Tice hunkered down next to the items and raised an eyebrow. “Now, that’s interesting.”
“What is?”
Tice gestured toward the beaded necklace, although he was careful not to touch it. “It’s been my privilege to be the archivist to the crown for some time now. I catalog the gifts and important purchases. This necklace is similar to another in the ‘crown jewels’ collection. Or perhaps it’s
the same piece, ‘spirited’ from there to here by our friendly king.” He looked up at Kiara.
“It’s every bit as old as the first king’s spirit claimed to be, and I’m betting it was King Vestven who was among your advisers. He was the monarch who created the longest-standing truce with the Western Raiders, and his reign enjoyed great prosperity. Vestven did indeed marry a chieftain’s daughter, which raised a fuss here in Isencroft but brought him high esteem among the Raiders.”
Tice smiled. “A bit of trivia. Did you know what the Western Raiders call themselves?” When Kiara shook her head no, Tice grinned. “The Adares of the West. ‘Raider’ is a mispronunciation of their language into Croft. They’re actually a very sophisticated society with thriving commerce. We forget that their scholars, seers, and mathematicians have contributed a great deal over the centuries to knowledge in the Winter Kingdoms.”
“Then why did they make war on Isencroft?” Kiara asked, sitting back and sipping at the watered wine. “Father had to fight them several times. Once, I went with him.”
Tice nodded. “Every kingdom or people have the misfortune to have a bad leader once in a while. The Adares had father and son rulers who fancied themselves the eighth kingdom in the Winter Kingdoms and wanted to do their share of pushing and shoving to get respect.” He shrugged. “That was nearly a decade ago, and I understand from our spies that when the son’s rule was cut short by an untimely and mysterious death, the new ruler led the Adares back to a more traditional outlook.”
He drew a deep breath, thinking. “About eight years ago, an envoy came to the palace from the Adares with a peace offering. Donelan was skeptical, but in the time
since then, while the border lords are constantly whipping the villagers up in fear of the Raiders, there’s been no organized action beyond some minor bandits. I believe the Adares were sincere.”
Kiara frowned. “What does it mean for us now? Why would the ghost bring that up? There has to be a connection.”
Tice and Allestyr exchanged glances. “The most obvious connection would be grain,” Allestyr said. “The ghost mentioned that ‘well-fed subjects rarely revolt.’ While the Winter Kingdoms, and especially Isencroft, haven’t had good harvests recently, the western plains have. Your father was too proud to approach the Adares to see about purchasing wheat and barley. But if I’m correct, Vestven is advising you to use this necklace and remind the Adares that you share a royal bloodline with them. They’re a culture that takes blood ties very seriously. For example, it’s considered a fault of the highest order not to share your food with blood kin who are hungry.”
Kiara smiled slowly. “What are we waiting for? How quickly can we send an envoy to the Adares?” She chuckled. “Let’s keep it quiet though. The Divisionists are angry enough about my ties to Margolan. They’ll be livid if they hear that we’re trading with the Western Raiders!”
Allestyr gave a slight bow. “A wise decision. I’ll see to it tomorrow, or rather, later today,” he said, stifling a yawn.
Kiara turned to Brother Felix. “What do you make of the glass and the runes? At first, I thought it was a scrying ball,” she said, indicating the oddly shaped glass, “but it’s the wrong shape.”
Felix picked up the weighty glass and turned it in his
hands. “I haven’t seen many of these,” he said with a touch of awe in his voice. “There aren’t many mages who can use one.” He looked up at Kiara. “It’s a mage lens, a mage’s burning glass.”
“Burning glass?”
Felix nodded. “Anyone without a hint of magic can take a piece of glass shaped like this and hold it in the sun to start a fire. But a
mage’s
burning glass is different. There’s a very secret, ancient process to make the glass. Something about the glass in a
mage’s
burning glass focuses magic, not light. It’s a tricky thing to do, and it’s easy to singe your hair if you get it wrong.”
“Kiara’s had some experience with exploding scrying balls,” Cerise noted dryly.
Felix raised an eyebrow, and Kiara felt compelled to explain. “On the journey to help Tris take back his crown, we had a couple of bad experiences with scrying balls when too much power was concentrated through them. We were all picking glass shards out of sensitive places for a long time,” she added ruefully.
“Well, then,” Felix said with a chuckle, “you’ll appreciate the genius of the burning glass. It’s designed to contain and amplify that power, rather than let the power blow it apart. Most mages don’t have the gift for it. They can barely harness their own power, let alone focus the power of several mages—”
“Wait. This glass lets a mage focus more than his own power?” Kiara asked with sudden interest.
Felix nodded again. “Not just mages’ power, but the power of magical objects as well.”
Kiara frowned thoughtfully. “Magical objects… what about magical places?”
Felix shrugged. “I’m not sure. Not much has been written about the burning glasses because they’re too rare. Perhaps the Oracle, or the Sisterhood, would know.”
“I’m glad Royster is here,” Kiara said with a sigh. She glanced at Tice. “I want you to give him access to all of the palace archives. He’s spent a lifetime studying magical lore. Let’s see what he can find out for us about all of the gifts.”
Kiara was thoughtful for a moment. “And in the meantime, can you please start thinking of the magical items it might be handy to focus with the glass? It might also not hurt to start thinking about the local places of power: temples, shrines, sacred mounds, haunted caves, that sort of thing. Plot them on a map. Maybe we’ll come up with something. There has to be a reason the ghost thought it was important for me to have this.”
“As you wish,” Felix said. A glint in his eyes told Kiara that the quest intrigued him, and that his mind was already churning with possibilities.
Kiara picked up the polished bone runes and was about to let them spill through her fingers when Brother Felix caught her hand before the first rune could fall. “Please don’t do that, Your Majesty,” he said breathlessly.
“Why not?”
Felix helped Kiara return the runes to the velvet cloth. “Rune magic is a delicate thing,” he said. “Many seers believe that to spill the runes is to invite fate. One does not do so lightly.”