"Now!" Soterius shouted, wheeling his horse from the procession and driving straight for the gates. The others did the same, as nearby revelers scrambled to get out of the way. The gates seemed a lifetime away as Tris leaned low over his mount and spurred the horse into an all-out gallop.

The move caught the guardsmen by surprise and the fugitives took the advantage, driving through their line. Soterius and Harrtuck charged first, freeing their swords and cutting past the guards who blocked the gates. Tris could almost feel the breath of Carroway's mount behind him as their horses plunged into the darkness just beyond the city gate. Behind them came the cries of the guardsmen giving chase.

"Almost there," Soterius shouted.

The horses pounded down the slope from the city to the road below. As he reached the thoroughfare, Tris felt a dizzying lurch, as if he had passed through an unseen boundary. He clung to his reins as a fog swelled around them, rising from the road as their pursuers closed the gap.

The fog thickened and swirled up to the horses' bridles. In the mist, something solid and cold brushed against Tris's leg. Their terrified horses screamed in fright, bucking and lurching. From the forest itself, a ghastly moan filled the darkness. Tris clutched his reins, his heart pounding, as all around them, the fog writhed and twisted. The mist became wraiths, gaping-mouthed and wailing, as more and more of the ghostly fog swept toward them from the dark forest. Whisps of mist became clutching tendrils and puffs of smoke stretched and spread into fearsome, hollow-eyed faces. A multitude of howling spirits swept past Tris and the others, clawed ethereal hands outstretched, moaning the cries of the damned. The air was clammy as they passed and Tris shivered. He clung to the reins, straining to control his panicked mount.

"Look!" Soterius shouted as they- continued their headlong run for safety. Tris stole a glance over his shoulder. The spirits massed around the guardsmen as the fog thickened and swirled. The revenants' wails caterwauled above the screams of the guardsmen.

"Let's get out of here!" Harrtuck yelled above the infernal din, setting his horse in a headlong gallop down the road. The others followed close behind, but it was at least a mile before they could no longer hear the screams of the guardsmen or the wails of the dead.

"What the hell was that?" Soterius demanded when they finally brought their panting mounts to a halt at the crossroads.

"We finally found the palace ghosts," Tris replied with an uncertain glance over his shoulder. The night around them was quiet and cold.

"What were the palace ghosts doing outside the city?" Carroway asked, his breath steaming in the chill.

"I don't know, but thank the Childe for them," Harrtuck rasped.

"We hadn't seen the spirits most of the night, remember?" Tris said, staring back into the darkness.

"Yeah, Tris is right," Soterius replied, watching the night around them carefully. "There wasn't a ghost to be seen after we saw the fortune-teller, and that's never the way it is around the palace— especially not on Feast night."

"What if Arontala banished them?" Tris theorized, unwilling to tell the group just yet about his encounter with his grandmother's ghost. "The ghosts are sworn to protect the king, right? Remember Carroway's story? If Arontala could banish the ghosts, Father had one less level of protection," he went on, his voice catching.

"You are correct, Prince Drayke," a deep voice said from the crossroads, startling the four men. Tris's horse shied, and he struggled for a moment to rein in the frightened animal. They wheeled round to see a man on a gray steed almost obscured by the darkness, a few paces away from them on the forest road. Although his face was partially hidden by shadows, Tris recognized Comar Hassad, one of his father's most trusted men-at-arms. Tris's senses prickled as they moved closer, and although his companions seemed to note nothing amiss, Tris realized that their new guide was a spirit.

"Comar, what's happened?" Tris asked, still trying to calm his panicked horse.

"Time is short, my prince. Follow me and I will lead you to safety," Hassad said, wheeling his mount soundlessly and heading off down the forest road at a gallop.

Tris had to spur his mount to catch sight of Hassad. They rode single file, with Hassad in the lead, then Tris, followed by Carroway. Harrtuck and Soterius brought up the rear. Tris had to strain his eyes to follow their guide in the nearly total darkness of the forest. Only hoof beats broke the stillness of the night. The moon above was hidden by the dense trees, and the horses picked their way with care. Hassad led the way, keeping a steady pace despite the darkness.

Moonlight streamed down through a rare break in the trees. Hassad was already on the other side of the clearing, waiting in the shadows. Tris felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. As they re-entered the shadows of the forest, he listened more closely to the hoof beats around him. The sound of four horses rose clearly above the silence of the night and as Tris stared at their guide, he realized that the soldier's mount gave off none of the sweaty mist of the other heaving horses.

The coldness of the air around them had nothing to do with the growing numbness he felt inside, as he wrestled with pain and fear and grief. The simple mechanics of urging his horse forward helped him stave off the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

They followed their guide for most of a candle-mark, until Shekerishet and the palace city were far behind them and they were nearly through the pitch-black forest. Finally, Hassad slowed and then stopped.

"I can go no further, my liege," the man said, almost hidden in the shadows. "But I have a gift for you. Take it," he said, withdrawing a long, slim package wrapped in cloth, and passing it reverently to Tris. "It is the sword of your father's father. May it guide you home to rule Margolan as a good and true king," he said solemnly as Tris received the package.

"You are nearly through the woods," Hassad continued, looking up to the others. "On the other side is a small village. There is a tavern called the Lamb's Eye. Stay there tonight. You will be safe. Those who keep the tavern will provision you for your journey."

"The Lamb's Eye?" Harrtuck repeated from behind Tris. "When did they rebuild that? It burned last year."

"Seek your shelter in the inn. There you will be safe," Hassad repeated.

The leaves rustled behind them as an animal scurried for cover. When Tris turned again to question their guide, the road ahead was empty. "He's gone," Carroway said quietly, looking around them.

"He didn't just vanish," Soterius protested, reining in his skittish mount. A dozen paces ahead, he stopped. "I think you need to see this," he said, gesturing for the others to follow.

Tris, Harrtuck and Carroway closed the distance, sidling up to where Soterius's horse stood restlessly. A dead horse with the livery of a Margolan man-at-arms lay in the roadway felled by a crossbow bolt. Its hapless rider, half pinned beneath the dead beast, lay still, his armor no protection against the crossbow bolt that pierced his chest.

"It's him, isn't it?" Garroway croaked. "And that didn't just happen a moment ago, did it?"

"Uh uh," Harrtuck said uneasily, taking in the scene with battle-practiced detachment. "Been dead several hours, I reckon."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Carroway whispered.

Soterius glanced sideways at the bard. "More grist for your stories, minstrel—if we live that long. You'll hold them in awe with this one."

"If we live that long," Tris repeated, looking out over the dark forest around them.

Carroway's expression clearly reflected his terror. "Those stories, about the spirits being able to be solid on Haunts, I never really thought—"