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was Foor Arontala.”
    “And the other?”
    Fallon inclined her head toward Tris. “Martris Drayke.”
    “What do your Sentries tell you now?” Tris asked, leaning forward.
    “Two currents in the Flow run beneath Margolan. The Eastern current was healed from the damage that made it unstable. The Western current is troubled.”
    “Is it damaged?” Tris asked. Rivers of magical energy crisscrossed the Winter Kingdoms. Known as the Flow, the rivers enhanced magic.
    Fallon shook her head. “The Sentries believe that someone is working strong blood magic beyond the Northern Sea.” She met Tris’s eyes. “They’re certain it’s a spirit mage. A very strong summoner, and a dark one.”
    “What happens beyond the Northern Sea is none of our concern,” Soterius muttered. “We have our hands full with our own problems.”
    “Things like a dark summoner have a way of becoming everyone’s problem.”

Chapter Three
     
    G o!”
    Lord Jonmarc Vahanian gave the signal and a dozen black-clad fighters made their way from the cover of the forest toward the shadow of a massive barrow. An unnatural fog clung to the grassland, giving them cover. The brown-robed mage responsible for the fog was right behind the fighters, and Jonmarc could hear the land mage Sakwi chanting under his breath.
    He felt a shiver run down his back. For a few steps, the air around him grew as cold as winter, and he knew it was the invisible warding Sakwi had warned them about, a warding set for
vyrkin
shapeshifters or the undead
vayash moru
. Behind Jonmarc, a dozen
vyrkin
and
vayash moru
fighters awaited a signal that it was clear to advance.
    Jonmarc rose from the cover of the waist-deep fog behind one of the guards who watched the doorway cut into the barrow’s side. Rounding into a perfect Eastmark kick, Jonmarc’s boot caught the guard in the chest and slammed him to the ground. Before the man had a chance to cry out, Jonmarc drew a blade across the man’s throat.Three guards fell with muffled groans as the other fighters found their marks. Jonmarc gave a curt nod to Sakwi, and the land mage raised his hands and closed his eyes, reaching for the magic that spelled the barrow’s entrance. A sudden gust of wind swept across the long summer grass. Sakwi opened his eyes and nodded, then gestured with his hands toward the forest. An owl hooted in response, taking flight, followed by the swift advance of the
vayash moru
fighters.
    “We’re already dead and the
vyrkin
heal faster than mortals,” Laisren, the lead
vayash moru
fighter, said tersely. “I don’t like you going in first.”
    Jonmarc glared at him. “You wouldn’t have made it through the warding. Otherwise, I’d be happy to let you go first.”
    Sakwi walked toward the torch-lit entrance to the barrow. Runes were carved into the wooden doorposts and the lintel. The land mage’s hands moved slowly across the runes, which glowed in response, shifting from fiery red to cool silver. Sakwi nodded and gestured for the others to move forward. They slipped silently down the stone stairs that descended into the depths of the barrow.
    The
vyrkin
shimmered and their forms blurred, changing them from men into large gray wolves. As they’d agreed beforehand, the group swiftly sorted themselves: mortal,
vayash moru
, and
vyrkin
. Jonmarc and the other mortals wielded close-range weapons in the tight space, and the torchlight glinted on their daggers and short swords. At the front, Jonmarc held his crossbow at the ready. Behind him padded one of the
vyrkin
, and Laisren, who would need no weapon beyond his strength, speed, and fangs. The others followed them, with Sakwi close behind.
    The passageway opened to a large room. Three black-robed men startled as the fighters burst into the chamber.
    “You have no right to desecrate—” The man’s protest died in a bloody gurgle as Jonmarc’s quarrel tore through his throat. The
vyrkin
launched himself at the second robed man, taking him to the