The Summoner by Sevastian Page B

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.
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    “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.
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    “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