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  Binhadi was silent as he moved past Cemal and went carefully down the slope to join Mahzan. After examining the body for a few minutes, he said, "I would say he died sometime last night."

  "When the king would have been passing through, though who else would the royal healer be traveling with?" Cemal said. "I do not understand. Who could kill so important a man while he was in the company of the most powerful person in the kingdom?"

  Sule loped down the slope, and Cemal followed, grimacing as he got closer—he did not miss the look and stench of a dead body. Memories churned his stomach, and he fought them off, trying to focus on the matter at hand. He watched as Sule knelt when Mahzan stood up. "Definitely killed by someone else."

  Mahzan gave him a look. "You say that like he could have done it to himself."

  "You would be surprised what people are capable of when it comes to suicide," Sule said grimly. "Especially under the weight of enormous grief. But Ardur was murdered, and the killer used a serrated blade, probably a dagger," Sule said. "He also did a poor job of it. This is the work of an amateur, but somebody cold enough to slit a throat. If it was done in panic or anger, he more likely would have been stabbed."

  "The killer was worried and angry," Mahzan said, and only then did Cemal notice how pale he looked. Mahzan looked up, eyes shimmery as he met Cemal's gaze. "Bodies always have traces. Never much, I was fortunate to get what I did. But I felt fear, from him, and foreign traces of worry and anger."

  Cemal shuddered. "You were correct before. I would never want your gift. I apologize for disbelieving you."

  Mahzan nodded. "What should we do?"

  "Burn him properly, take something to give to—well, anyone who might want it," Cemal said. "Would you burn him, Sule? I will do the rites." Sule nodded and stepped back, eyes glowing red-orange as he prepared to call up fire once the rites had been sung.

  Cemal drew out his prayer beads, lacking the usual items for proper burial, and began to sing the funeral hymns. He might not be worthy to sing them, but he would not leave the poor man to be buried without them sung.

  BROKEN MONASTERY

  Mist rolled lazily off the moss-strewn pond that formed a half-moon around the Broken Monastery. A single boat was tied to a half-hearted pier, though what they did with that sad boat, Mahzan could not fathom.

  The Monastery loomed high in the small valley, only the mountain itself rising higher. The dark stone of which it was made was dull and worn, and most of it was covered in dark green ivy, making it look black in the fading light of early evening. It looked old—ancient, but then, reliable historical texts dated the Broken Monastery as nearly one hundred years older than the Heart of the Dragon.

  He tried not to think about the fact that, as of nearly two full days ago, it had also outlasted the Heart. Despite its age and the ivy that had consumed its stones, the Broken Monastery stood strong. The more whimsical—nonsensical—volumes he had read said that the Broken Monastery would stand until the terrible tragedies which had taken place there were avenged and the spirits of the long-dead monks given true rest.

  Mahzan had always wanted to see the infamous Broken Monastery, even if that had meant leaving the Heart for a time. But having money, food, and a warm bed on a regular basis was far more important than silly—and stupidly dangerous—things like traveling. So he had confined himself to reading about the faraway places he would never see.

  Until Kuzey, anyway. He would have given up being the King's Jester to leave the Heart with Kuzey, no matter what his fears… But that heartache was a year in the past, and it would stay there. He was better off the King's Jester anyway. Hopefully, he would be that again soon and this nightmare would fade into the past as well.

  Shivering as they drew closer, skin prickling, Mahzan wondered what sort of ghosts he would pick up from the monastery. Though he was guilty of telling tales of ghosts as something with an actual form that went around frightening people and trying to tell of the burden that kept them from rest, real ghosts were just the residual thoughts and emotions that lingered in a place when someone died.

  They were a rare occurrence, as most people did not feel anything strongly enough to leave those feelings behind, but it did happen. Ghosts required very high, very strong emotion—anguish, terror, triumph, hate. He had once passed by a house, idly trailing his fingers along the wall, only to be struck by the overwhelming ghost of a young girl who had killed herself.

  He had started sobbing uncontrollably, unable at so young an age to push out the terrible grief. Someone had eventually called a healer, but he remembered very little of that day—only that from then on, he had worked harder to control his emotion reading.

  If the tales of the tragedy of the Broken Monastery were even remotely true, there would be ghosts.

  "What's got you looking so ill at ease?" Sule asked.

  Mahzan did not bother to look at him. "Nothing."

  Sule snorted, but fell silent as they continued down the steep steps that led to a wide stone path that crossed the long valley and led eventually to the monastery. They'd been forced to leave their horses at the top, but there'd been a stable for that precise purpose.

  A soldier in a royal purple uniform stood at the top of the Monastery steps, his sword drawn—but he relaxed his guard when his gaze landed on Binhadi. "Lord Morlock," he greeted. "His Majesty was hoping you had survived."

  "I survived," Binhadi said, with a coldness to his voice that made Mahzan stare—and wince at the flood of anger that struck him before it was blocked. Who had taught Binhadi such impressive mind control? Mahzan could count on one hand the number of people capable of blocking him so smoothly and neatly. "I do not suppose His Majesty cares at all that I have with me a Shield of the Holy Order, the North Captain, and of course, his hand-picked Jester? Or is he concerned only with my well-being?"

  The soldier blanched and hastily said, "Of course he cares! We all care. We thought nobody had survived. I only meant His Majesty has been especially worried and upset about you—especially after Master Ardur killed himself on our journey here."

  Mahzan frowned, but said nothing, his mind roiling with surprise and suspicion from the others.

  "Is that what happened? Why was the body just left in the woods? Master Ardur deserved better than that," Binhadi replied, climbing the steps and stopping just a couple of paces away from the soldier. "Do we know why he killed himself?"

  "His Majesty's personal attendant examined the body. His Majesty ordered it be left, as we could not risk lingering to attend it properly and did not have the resources to transport the body here. My understanding from speaking with other guards was that people were going to be sent back to fetch it."

  I see," Binhadi said, voice chillier than ever. "We attended the matter, so see that this team that has yet to fetch him is informed they may continue not bothering. You may also see to it that someone prepares rooms for us. We'd also like food, baths, and clean clothes." He did not wait for the soldier's reply, merely beckoned for them to follow and vanished into the depths of the Monastery.

  Mahzan nodded at the guard as he passed. "He's a bit much, isn't he?"

  The guard sighed. "That is putting it mildly. I am glad to see all of you. We really feared no one else had made it out. We saw ships, but the fearmonger destroyed them just because it could, I think." Mahzan hid a wince at the waves of emotion pouring off the man—guilt, grief, anger. He took some of it, turned it into calm and hope, and gently pushed it back, not entirely certain…

  But then the man seemed to ease slightly, some of his barely-hidden despair washing away, and Mahzan was relieved it had worked. He preferred not to manipulate people in so under-handed a way, but it seemed only fair when Binhadi had been so unreasonably cold.

  "Others will come," Cemal said, joining Mahzan, resting a hand lightly on the guard's shoulder. "The Great Dragon will find a way to set all to rights; she will not permit so foul a tragedy to go unanswered. Be strong, be at peace."

  The
guard nodded and smiled, tired but true. "Thank you, Father. His Majesty is inside, in the main hall."

  "Thank you," Mahzan said, then looked over his shoulder. "Coming, Sule?"

  "Bah," Sule said. "Only if I must."

  Cemal laughed. "You must; we are Oathbound. We should all be present when that is explained to His Majesty."

  Making a face, Sule climbed the stairs and together the three of them entered the Monastery.

  The ghosts fell over him slowly, like someone drawing a blanket up over him—a cold, wet blanket. He felt it as shivers first, then an awful cold and crawling along his skin. He pressed his hands to the side of his head as the physical sensations turned slowly into sound. Whispers at first, like hushed voices on the far side of a long room, or through a wall. Then they grew louder, like voices coming toward him down the hall.

  He fought to block them, repel them, turn them away—but they came anyway, too many, too much at once. Mahzan drew deep breaths and kept trying, but he could hear the sobbing, the shouting, feel the fear and anguish—

  Then something warm, inside and out, something that smelled faintly of lavender beneath sweat and dust and dirt. He reached out blindly, feeling soft, heavy fabric, gripped it tightly and just held on. More warmth brushed his mind, dulling the ghosts, pushing back their agony. Mahzan drew shuddery breaths as his own mind slowly came back to him and realized the warmth stemmed from three different sources.

  It came from the other three—and then he realized that Binhadi was holding him. Mahzan pushed away, glaring. "I am blaming you wholly for this mess. I never wanted more power than I already had!"

  Binhadi, to his astonishment, looked guilt-stricken. Not by much, but it was more than Mahzan had expected. But he promptly ruined it by saying, "I am not sorry in the slightest for waking your latent abilities, but I should have realized the ghosts here would be quite awful. I am sorry for not being more prepared for that. Are you all right?"

  Mahzan shrugged irritably because what was he supposed to say? Yes? No? That it bothered him how he had lapped up the warmth their presence had provided when helping him to buffer the voices? He was not so suddenly that weak. He had mastered his powers by himself before; he would do so again. "I'm fine," he finally said. "But I am not going to be able to stay here long, and I am probably going to be sleeping outside. If they can hit me this hard while I am awake…" He did not bother to finish the sentence because he did not need to. Mind mages nearly always died from their powers, and at least half of them in their sleep when something struck them unawares.

  He brushed past all of them and headed down the hall, then stopped on the threshold. "Are you coming or not?"

  Cemal lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "One moment you were sickly-looking and all but crying, and now you are right back to snapping. For a man who hates emotion, you certainly are in excess of them."

  "Of what use would an emotionless mind mage be?" Mahzan asked.

  "That implies you have some use," Sule interjected. "Children throw fewer tantrums than you."

  Mahzan smiled at him, sweet and full of hostility. "That is a bit like the fish deriding the snake for having scales."

  Binhadi heaved a long, loud sigh. "Children, that is enough. We are going to see the king—please act like it." He grasped Mahzan's arm, yanked him from the doorway, and strode through it.

  "I wonder when he will give up and simply take a switch to your hides," Cemal pondered, mouth quirking.

  "I wonder why the idea pleases you so much," Mahzan retorted, then followed after Binhadi.

  Sule made him stop short when he snapped, "You could at least say thank you! If this is you showing gratitude, next time I will leave you to suffer!"

  Mahzan turned around, and bowed his head and shoulders in apology because that was true. "You're right. You did not have to lend me your powers, and I do appreciate not being a stark raving lunatic."

  Sule hesitated, then nodded and looked away.

  Cemal smiled at him, and Mahzan was constantly surprised by how easily he seemed to do so, when he seemed to be constantly in a mist of sadness—and that was not counting the grief they were all carefully banking until they could properly face it. But priests were only another type of performer, and Mahzan could perform even when he felt like death. "You are welcome. It was not pleasant seeing you so—"

  "Come along at once!" Binhadi snapped at them, coming up behind Mahzan. "We do not keep His Majesty waiting!" His eyes flashed as he called up shadows, wrapping them around each of their wrists and pulling hard, sending them stumbling forward, forced to walk along as he stalked off again.

  Mahzan rolled his eyes and muttered, "Speaking of stark raving lunatics."

  To his surprise, Sule laughed and looked at him with something other than hostility. "I am certain you are not the only one who has to worry about going to sleep and not waking up, though the causes are probably slightly different."

  Mahzan laughed—and kept laughing when Binhadi shot them a look and abruptly dismissed his shadows. Mahzan started to speak, but then they were only a dozen or so paces from King Yavuz. Reaching him, they lined up in a row and dropped to one knee, bowing their heads.

  "Warlock Binhadi, this is a happy surprise," King Yavuz said after the silence had stretched on. "I am glad you are alive—and you, Mahzan, Shield Cemal, North Captain. What an odd mix. How come you to kneel before me? Did any others escape with you?"

  "No," Binhadi replied. "We drove off the fearmonger and fled. If others escaped, they headed in different directions. We encountered no one on our way here, and saw no others in Weeping Valley."

  "Rise," Yavuz said. Mahzan stood up alongside the others, stared at Yavuz, who did not look at all his normal self.

  His ornate clothes, the face paint he used to enhance his looks, were all absent. He was dressed in clothes that, while of good quality, had clearly been purchased secondhand in Weeping Valley. He looked far older than his thirty-odd years. His black hair was damp, hanging limply around his head, already threaded with gray. There was more gray in his beard, which was as unkempt as the rest of him. His eyes were gray as well, as dark as storm clouds, dulled with exhaustion and grief.

  Something nagged at Mahzan, seeing Yavuz in a way he never had before. But what? It must only have been that he did not look like a king. He dismissed his strange musings, and put all his effort into resisting the ghosts as the others spoke. At least he didn't have to worry about Yavuz adding to the mess; he'd always been exceptionally good at shielding his thoughts, which only made sense for a monarch.

  "We tended Master Ardur, when we came upon him," Binhadi said. "The soldier outside said he took his own life."

  "He did, and I wish I had known he was in such a precarious state," Yavuz said, looking grief-stricken. "He seemed fine when we spoke earlier in the day. Around dinner time he went missing, and I ordered the forests swept in case he'd gotten turned around and lost. One of the soldiers found his body, and I sent my attendant to examine it, since he's some training in such matters. He declared the death was suicide."

  Sule scowled. "There is no way Master Ardur could have done that to himself."

  Yavuz regarded him coldly. "Are you implying my attendant, the man who rarely leaves my side for more than minutes at a time, and who spent many years in the military as a healer, knows less than a guard about death and dead bodies?"

  Even distracted by ghosts, Mahzan didn't need mind magic to read Sule's thoughts. But instead of protesting further, Sule bowed his head and muttered apologies.

  "I appreciate your concern, North Captain, and as ever your dedication is admirable. But Master Ardur was shaken more than most of us, and simply could not bear the weight of his own grief. Thank you, all of you, for finding him and giving him the proper rites."

  "Majesty," Binhadi murmured, and moved to explaining all that had transpired with them since they had united their powers to drive back the fearmonger, and their theories regarding it.

  "So you must kill it
," Yavuz said when he'd finished. "Leave it to you, Binhadi, to add complications. We are sorely short every possible resource, and now I must send off four valuable resources to go slay a fearmonger that will, in all likelihood, slay you first or take you down with it."

  Binhadi shook his head. "We have no intention of going after the fearmonger directly. We would never find it in the Red Forest, and even if we did, we would, in the end, only be saving a sinking ship with a bucket. No, Your Majesty, we must find the leak and plug it. We are going to see Prince Seda. He is the only one with the power, skill, and motive to do this."

  Yavuz's eyes sharpened, narrowed. "I forbid it. He is locked away on that Dragon-forsaken rock for good reason. If he is behind this, he will be dealt with in due course—by me. If he has formed an Oath with those damned dukes, all the more reason to stay away." He held up a hand when Binhadi started to speak again. "The matter is closed. I have sore need of you here, Binhadi, and certainly there is plenty for the rest of you to do. I do not see why you cannot all stay here with me and help to rebuild all we've lost. Surely this Oath cannot be that crippling. Must you go and get yourselves killed in order to break it? Why must you break it? It seems to me you only benefit from it. Stay here and use the bond you've forged for the good of us all, and once I have regathered sufficient military, I will send them to deal with Seda, and that will end the matter for all of us."

  He reached out toward the small table beside his seat, where food and wine were arranged. He lifted a cup of pale blue glass, filled with wine so dark it looked black—and swore loudly when it shattered in his hand. Yavuz jerked from his seat, nearly falling on his ass in his haste. "What in the Dragon!" he snarled, staring at his hand, which was covered in blood and wine.

  A guard moved forward, but was waved off as Binhadi stepped close instead. "Fetch a healer," Binhadi ordered the guard. He held Yavuz's hand, picked out shards of glass, and threw them aside. Pulling a handkerchief from one of his pouches, Binhadi gently wrapped it around the Yavuz's hand. He spoke softly, something about his voice or tone sending a shiver down Mahzan's spine. "You should be more careful, Majesty. The ghosts here have been known to do violent things to those of the Blood."