Out of habit, he raised a circle around him for the working. When the wardings were complete, he settled down onto a rock and closed his eyes, stretching out along the spirit plane.

Kaity, are you there?

The image sprang to mind so quickly it jarred him. Kait's face, pressed against the barrier, her cries deadened by a thick pane, desperation clear in her eyes.

Tris, help me!

Before Tris could respond, darkness fell around him, blotting out Kait's face and silencing her cries. Though the darkness made no sound, Tris knew it immediately, recognized it as the silent evil that sought him at the scrying, and struggled to withdraw. Faster and faster the darkness swarmed after him, so that he could feel its chill and its malevolence. He was operating on sheer instinct, and he raced on, desperate to outpace the darkness on his heels, overwhelmed with a primitive terror that transcended words. His power felt wide open, his senses on high alert. Tris's concentration was interrupted as a wood mouse raced past, pursued by a shrieking hawk. With a lurch, Tris felt the mouse's spirit, its hurried pulse and the tiny spark of life that filled it.

With a shriek and the rustle of wings, the hawk dropped from the sky, targeting its kill. Tris felt the mouse's panic like a visceral shock, nearly falling backward with sympathetic impact as the hawk's talons struck. Tris's heart raced as he struggled to break the contact before the mouse's terror moved him beyond reason. He could feel the rodent's fear as the hawk winged higher, felt the awful grip and the sudden, sharp pain as talons dug into the mouse's flesh. Then, with the same wrenching sensation he had experienced on the battlefield, Tris felt the small creature's spirit shudder loose and flicker out.

"No!" The word tore from his throat, deep and guttural, a howl more than a reasoned cry. Startled, the hawk dropped the dead mouse, even as Tris felt his power lash out, unbidden. He saw the animal hit the ground and lie still, and then, to his amazement, saw its savaged body begin to twitch. He stretched out his hand just as a heavy boot came down on the reanimated mouse, snuffing out the glimmer before Tris could react and breaking his contact with the animal with a violent lurch that left him gasping for breath.

Alyzza stood before him, her face a mixture of sternness and fear.

"Why?" Tris croaked, torn between the intensity of the experience and his own wordless loss. "Don't you know what you have done?" the old crone rasped, and in the moonlight, Tris realized that she was trembling, whether with fear or cold or rage, he could not tell.

Mutely, he shook his head, staring at the spot where the mouse lay.

"I know little of Spirit magic, but this I do know," Alyzza hissed. "Never may you bind a spirit that truly desires to leave. Never may you reanimate the dead. And never may you call the dead against their will."

Tris swallowed hard, still groping for equilibrium after the sudden, violent dissolution of his trance. "But... I don't understand..." he managed. The words tumbled out as Alyzza listened silently, then nodded when he finished.

"A spirit that wishes to remain can be bound to this world without a penalty on your soul," the old witch said, fixing Tris with the intense glare of her mismatched eyes. "Just like a spirit that desires to live may be anchored to its body until the breach be healed, if you have the power," she said. "And the dead that are not free to leave this world may be summoned, so long as you do not seek to bind them to your will or encumber their souls. But," she hissed, leaning toward him for emphasis. "No mage of the Light may reanimate a corpse, nor impose a spirit which is not its own. It is forbidden."

"Why?" Tris asked as Alyzza moved her boot and he stared forlornly at the torn body of the mouse.

"Those mysteries are not mine to know," the crone replied. "But I do know that to defy the Lady is to risk your soul. The Obsidian King breathed another spirit into the dead and bound them as his slaves."

"You knew the Obsidian King?"

The hag cackled. "Those of us who waged war against him will never forget, even in our dreams," she said, a shadow of pain crossing her features. "Did you really think that something less would have driven me mad?"

"Are you mad?"

Alyzza laughed harshly. "Oh yes, quite."

Just then, not far from the forest's edge, they heard a cry and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Straining to see, unwilling to risk his magesight once more, Tris could barely make out the shadows of two men locked in combat, although he could hear their groans of effort and the dull thwack of fist meeting flesh. In a moment, one shadow was victorious, and knelt astride its victim's back, pinning the other to the ground.

"Since you're out there, Tris, could you lend a hand?" Vahanian's sardonic voice cut through the darkness.

Tris snatched up his sword and ran, grateful to leave Alyzza behind. He helped Vahanian keep his struggling prisoner pinned as they bound his wrists, then jerked the man to his feet.

"What happened?" Tris breathed as they began to wrestle their prisoner toward the camp.

"Caught a spy," the mercenary replied tersely. "Has no business sneaking around the camp at night, and I don't like the idea of who might be buying his information," Vahanian added, giving the man a shove toward Linton's tent. "Should I ask why you were out in the woods alone at night?" he asked, an edge in his voice.

Tris looked away. "I—"

"Oh, never mind," Vahanian cut him off. "I probably don't want to know. Here's Linton's tent," he said abruptly. "Let's see what our visitor has to say for himself."

The fat little caravan master groaned as Vahanian bellowed an urgent wakeup. Linton fumbled to light a candle. "Jonmarc, this had better be good," the merchant cursed as he stumbled to the tent flap, then fell silent as he took in their prisoner.

"I was out on guard duty and found this skulking around the edge of camp," Vahanian said, giving the man a push. Vahanian pulled a stool forward and pushed the prisoner to sit.

"Now," Vahanian said, drawing the dagger at his belt and letting it glimmer obviously in the candlelight as he turned it in his hands, "let's see what he has to say for himself."

Their prisoner looked from one to the other, then moved his mouth to speak, but the garbled words were unintelligible. With a curse, Linton turned on Vahanian.

"Wonderful work, Jonmarc. You've broken his jaw."

"Maybe we can heal him enough to get the story. What about Carina?"

"I can't think of many worse ways to get on her wrong side. You'd better let me fetch her," Linton said resignedly. "I imagine I won't be getting more sleep."

Tris and Vahanian waited as Linton left to get the healer. Their captive sat sullenly in his chair.

The signs of his struggle with Vahanian were beginning to show in his face, as one eye was rapidly swelling closed and his cheek purpled. After what seemed like forever, they could hear Linton and Carina arguing as they approached.

"Well, this should make the evening more fun," Vahanian muttered under his breath as Linton reached for the tent flap and held it open for Carina.

"I know that it's an unusual thing to ask of you, Carina, but I would appreciate it if—" Linton was saying. His voice faded as they reached the prisoner and Carina looked from the bound man to Vahanian and then reproachfully, to Tris.

"Let me get this straight," Carina said, lifting her head defiantly and stepping closer in challenge. "You see someone you don't know, beat him to a pulp," she said with a jerk of her head toward the prisoner, "and then you want me to help you interrogate him?"

Tris could see the anger flash in Vahanian's eyes. "I don't need your help to interrogate him. What I need," he said tersely, "is for you to fix his jaw so that he can tell us why he was scouting our camp."