"I just never thought that it would be the people and experiences of the Journey that would matter more than what I found at the end," Kiara said.

"You are not at the end, although your time in the Library is drawing to a close," Taru replied. "The Sisterhood is agreed that there is some role the Lady would have you play in the defeat of Arontala. Signs suggest that the effort will be more difficult—or perhaps fail entirely—if your part goes unplayed."

"Sweet Chenne," Kiara whispered. "I thought about going on to Margolan with Tris and the others—Carina's resolved that she must. I wasn't sure whether I could leave Isencroft that long."

"Isencroft cannot afford to have you leave this thing undone," Taru replied.

"I heard Mikhail and Jonmarc talking with Tris," Carina told Kiara. "They want to get on the road before the snows fall. Mikhail says there are Margolan troops within a few candlemarks, in small groups. Assassins." Kiara shuddered. "We're getting boxed in. I'm surprised we haven't left before this."

"There is one more thing Tris must finish, before you can leave," said Taru. "He is ready to enter the crypt of King Argus. Argus's sword, Mageslayer, must be won in combat."

"Taru has asked me to be on hand, when he goes," added Carina.

"To put him back together again if he fails?" "If he fails, he won't come back, Kiara. That's the price," said Carina. "No one who has sought the sword has ever returned. Taru wants me there because we don't know what kind of shape he'll be in if he succeeds."

Kiara could think of no reply, and so she looked back out the window. Carina's words echoed in her mind, even after the healer and the sorceress had said goodnight and left her to her thoughts.

Although Tris said nothing to his companions about the quest for Mageslayer, he suspected that Carina had told the tale. On the day he was to go into the crypt, his friends lingered with him at lunch, as if unsure of what to say. Berry kissed him on the cheek for luck. Carroway looked sober, clapping Tris on the shoulder and wishing him the favor of the lady. Carina reassured him that she and Royster would be waiting, then took leave to gather up her medicines.

Kiara hung back, as did Vahanian. "Carina told us... about Mageslayer," Kiara confessed, avoiding his gaze. "Please be careful."

Tris dared to take her hand, and lightly kissed it. "I have a lot of reasons to come back," he said, meeting her eyes. She blushed and murmured a blessing before leaving.

There was silence for a moment between Tris and Vahanian. "Stupidest thing I've ever heard— a duel without taking a second with you," Vahanian said finally. "I can't be much of a bodyguard from up here."

Tris smiled wanly. "I have a favor to ask," he said, and dug into his pocket. He withdrew the pouch with King Harrol's seal, and to Vahanian's amazement, handed it to the mercenary.

"If I don't come back, I'm counting on you to get the others to safety," he said soberly. "I need your word that you will see them safe."

Vahanian turned the seal m his hand. "What makes you so sure I won't just take off and collect my pay?"

Tris met his eyes. "You won't."

Vahanian said nothing for a moment. "You have my word," he said finally. "But you'd better come back in one piece," he warned.

Tris chuckled. "Believe me, that's my plan." Then he offered Vahanian his hand, in the forearm clasp of brothers at arms. "Thank you," he said.

"We've got a long road ahead. Thank me when we're done."

From there, Tris made his way to the Library's small chapel, sacred to Principality's favored aspect of the One Goddess, in her guise as Lover, and her dark reflection, the Whore. As he had seen Soterius do on the eve of battle, he offered his sword for blessing before the flickering candles of the altar, and awkwardly made his peace. Although he hoped against hope that the Lady might favor him with some sign, as she had done in the crowd the night of the coup, no supernatural presence touched his magesense.

Sweet Lady, he prayed. Honor my quest and let me win the sword. But if you will not, then honor the cries of your lost children in Margolan, and bring some other justice.

He waited, but the chapel remained silent save for the sound of his own breathing. Finally, he sheathed his sword, and made the sign of the Lady as he rose, hoping for a few hours' sleep before it was time to go.

Tris, Taru and Royster made their way at the eleventh bell to one of the small parlors on the first level of the Library. Royster tied a rope to an iron ring set into the massive stone fireplace, then let the rope out as he moved to the right of the hearth. His hand slid along the wooden paneling until they heard a faint click. A panel in the wall slid back, revealing stairs descending into blackness.

By torchlight, they went down a steep and crooked set of stone steps. As they descended, Royster let out the rope. They made their way down to the bottom of the stairs, into a small antechamber, at the end of which was a massive, ironbound door. Royster stopped. The darkness smelled of moldering cloth and wet ground, and the remnants of old magic prickled at the back of Tris's neck.

"This is the entrance to the tomb of King Argus," Royster said. "We can go no further." He paused. "One of us will watch for you at all times. If you cannot make it back up the stairs, pull on the rope. We will come for you."

Taru raised her hand in blessing, and murmured a prayer to the Lady. "Now go," she said. "And if Argus finds you worthy, return with the sword."

Royster and Taru turned and headed back up the steps. Tris set his torch in an empty sconce. Putting both his back and his magic into the effort, he inched the heavy door aside and called handfire, leaving the torch to light his way back. Royster's rope lay slack at the bottom of the steps. The crypt smelled of decay. Tris could barely make out two torch sconces on the wall just inside the door, and ahead, something massive and dark.

"Fire," Tris murmured, willing the torches to light. He stood in the tomb of a warrior king. To the right, finely wrought armor awaited its owner for eternity. To the left, a beautifully worked saddle sat astride a life-sized wooden horse. In the center of the room lay a catafalque with the likeness of Argus in eternal repose. Tris's heart thudded as he took a step toward the resting-place of the king.

A noise from behind him and a stirring of his magesense was his only warning. Tris wheeled, sword raised, as a warrior of sinew and bone lurched toward him from the darkness, its sword menacing. The undead warrior swung so hard, its blow nearly tore Tris's sword from his grip. Fighting back his own horror, Tris parried, even as he saw a second skeletal warrior rise from a heap of moldering cloth near the wall.

What gray magic is this? Tris wondered, parrying the shattering blows. It was clear that Argus played by no rules but his own. One thing was painfully clear, he thought as the third warrior struggled toward them. His mortal strength would fail long before the implacable warriors gave up their fight. Tris cut down through the first of the bony soldiers, only to see the bones rattle toward each other on the stone floor and sinew magically pull them into place.

A fourth and a fifth skeleton were starting from against the far wall. At this rate, Tris thought, breathing hard, the fight would be over before it began. Sweat poured down his back in the freezing chamber. One of the warriors slipped inside his guard and scored a painful gash. Then, as Tris made another stroke connect, splitting the skeleton from collar to hip, Tarn's words sounded in his mind.

None has been a Summoner.