A Whisper of Darkness

by Troy A Hill

  “His warrior senses are well tuned,” Gwen sent. “I was about to alert him that something wasn’t right when he lunged.”

  The cloud didn’t like The Lady’s light. It seemed to shy away from the glowing orb that followed Afon. His silver sword flashed golden in its light. Where it touched, the cloud recoiled.

  A black tendril snaked out towards him. Afon blocked with the cold iron dagger. Again, a recoil.

  “Good,” Gwen’s thoughts flashed in my mind. “Both metals seem to have an effect. Let us see if Afon can find a weakness in it.”

  Another black tendril of dark fog drifted out. Afon blocked with his dagger once more. This tendril grew another finger and reached towards his dagger hand. Afon jerked back as though he had touched a hot kettle. Another tendril darted out, faster than I had seen before. This one struck at his sword arm. Afon parried and stayed cautious. He shuffled half a step back. Three black arms shot out at him.

  He parried and dodged, using both silver sword and dagger. His sword slashed in and sliced the middle appendage. That sliver of cloud drifted away from the main darkness. It dissipated into the deepening evening.

  Afon took the initiative as the cloud recoiled from his riposte. He sliced in again, attempting to carve away pieces of the cloud.

  Another appendage poked at him. It was a feint. Two others darted in, low and angled up. Trying to get his hands.

  “He says the cloud is cold. He can feel the chill,” Gwen sent.

  “Did it touch him?” I asked.

  “He says no. However, I will check him after we dispatch the cloud,” Gwen added. “This has gone on long enough.”

  “Be careful with that spell,” I sent. “You know how it affects your head. With no trees near you, Seren can’t tree-walk to help you get over the pain.”

  “I will use a lesser version of it first,” Gwen sent.

  By now the creature had pushed Afon dangerously close to the edge of the path. Another step and he’d be sliding down the slope.

  “Now!” Gwen’s shout leaked through our connection.

  Afon dropped his chin as he slashed both weapons across the cloud. He squeezed his eyes shut right before a brilliant red flash lit up the night, or so I thought, until Gwen opened her eyes. I had seen the flash through her closed eyelids, which gave it a red tinge.

  The cloud was still there, but at least half as small as before.

  “Deodamnatus!” Gwen used my favourite swear word. Seren gasped at the notion that serene Gwen, first disciple of The Lady, could curse.

  Afon shook his head as though to clear the spots from his vision. His sword and dagger slashed again. I could tell his vision was still clouded. Only his sword connected with the creature, and it was more because of the length of the blade than from Afon’s aim.

  The cloud darted away. First up, then out above the slope.

  “Deodamnatus!” Gwen swore again. She surpassed a whimper of pain. One hand massaged her temple. The other summoned another ball of light. She threw it. Her ball darted out at speed and connected with the cloud. Inside the mass of wispy darkness, an almost human face, blacker than darkness, screamed as The Lady’s light infused with it and crackled though the mist.

  The cloud raced off into the night, faster than a hawk diving on prey. Even I, pulling speed from my blood demon, would have been hard pressed to match its speed.

  “Damn that creature,” Gwen sent. “My head aches, and it’s not dead yet.”

  32

  Weapons

  After seeing Afon battle the cloud, after experiencing the speed of both the shifter and Undead Baldwin, after seeing the blacker-than-night sheen on the blades in Baldwin’s hands, I wanted to practise with my weapons. I needed to be at the top of my skills in whatever was to come. I pretended to sleep. Pretend, so the spymaster and his network of eyes and ears would believe me to be human. Thea came in and slid into bed next to me. I continued to feign sleep.

  Instead of getting up to practise, I continued my charade of being mortal. I lay in bed until I heard Bleddyn return to his room. He wasn’t alone. A faint hint of Lady Rothaid’s rose soap drifted through the cracks around the door. I was happy for him. Although I knew his heart belonged to Penllyn, neither he nor Rhian showed any sign of an intimate desire for the other. They worked the land and people they loved. And each had that special person outside of Penllyn for their own intimate times.

  I suspected that Enid’s mother Nesta, Lady Meirionnydd, would arrive soon in Penllyn to meet her grandchildren.

  Like Rhian and Bleddyn, Nesta and Caerwyn were in a political marriage. I remembered my first meeting with them, the day before their children wed. Even as Gwen and I resisted the temptation to touch each other and hid our desire for a simple caress, Rhian and Nesta had hidden their same urges. Careful, studious eyes might have noticed their casual touches were more numerous than usual. Or a chance contact that lasted a second or two longer than normal.

  Whenever Nesta arrived at Caer Penllyn, the two noble ladies would spend as much time together as possible. They would share their intimate times. Until this trip, I hadn’t even considered Bleddyn’s potential for a relationship.

  Just like Rhian ignored Bleddyn’s activities here, he would pay no heed to her time with Nesta, nor any of the other women Rhian discretely shared her bed with. This way of secret liaisons and turning blind eyes had worked in so many other politically arranged marriages for many centuries.

  My own relationships were just as complicated for other reasons. It was the same reason that made me the best person to be the champion of the goddess. I am undead and need more blood than a single person can give me. True, Gwen could provide blood for me almost daily if needed. Drinking from only her would drain her to where she would need to recover her strength through the healing magic of the goddess. She’d always risk being weakened when she needed her physical stamina.

  It was the same with Emlyn. He was the only human who could match me with blades. He claimed the ghost of Arthur told him that our skills with the blades were the key to winning the goddess’s physical battles. If we were going to keep Emlyn in fighting shape, I couldn’t drink from him often. I needed to have other donors.

  That included Rhian, and now Thea. Rhian, though, knew of my nature. With Thea, however, I had to be discreet.

  My friends and I protected each other’s secrets and aided each other as we could. Those of us dedicated to Penllyn did so not just for our friendships, but for Penllyn itself. Rhian and Bleddyn were dedicated leaders for their people. I rarely found two people who worked together so well as Lord and Lady Penllyn. The goddess had chosen wisely when she selected Penllyn as her central land for those of us in her service to gather in.

  I sighed and rolled over in bed. Thea stirred next to me, her own body warm against mine while I pretended to doze. Now that she knew I was awake, she snuggled in and let her hands explore my body. Even with no blood, I needed to maintain the appearance of interest. I reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. Once I could see her eyes, I could link our minds, cloud her memory, and let her only remember the highs of our passions…

  The first time I ran the mediation sequence with the swords that night, I went slow. This set was advanced, the most intricate set Aemi devised. The routine challenged even him, and he’d been practicing it for several centuries. There were many kicks, sweeps, pommel punches and other dodges combined with elaborate strikes and feints. I moved both weapons, often to opposite sides, and struck out with a leg, a foot or an elbow in rapid succession.

  The blades I used were the blunt steel practice blades. I was careful, however. I ran them again. And again. By the end of the second hour of running that sequence and mixing in the mediation before it, I moved at my top speed in the human range. My blades sang in the crisp night air as I danced the dance of steel.

  “I could enjoy this performance all night,” Penda said from the dark recesses of the practice hall. “Don’t you ever tire?”

&
nbsp; I raised my blades in salute to where he sat along the wall, just outside the pool of yellow light from the single lamp. His footfalls were quiet, but I’d heard him enter. He stood and held out a cup. “I fetched water for you. After that dance, you’ll need it.”

  “I seldom tire when I have steel in my hands,” I said, taking the mug from. Where our hands met, his touch sent a small tingle through me. To cover my surprise at the sensation, I put the cup to my lips. He raised his cup in salute.

  “You and Emlyn are too alike,” he said. “Still, I have not seen him dance the dance you did. It looked dangerous. Have you ever left a hand or leg of your own behind as you learned that?” He smiled at his jest.

  “It is the most complicated meditation our teacher trained us with,” I said. “I’m not sure he ever created a more advanced one.”

  “By Thunor’s hammer, I would have loved to see you two spar, even with practice weapons,” he said and stepped close.

  “Were you here to practise with steel, Your Grace?” I asked. “Or was there something else on your mind?”

  Penda reeked of power and tension. Not smell, but energy. For me to get that sensation from him when I wasn’t feeling my thirst, I knew that he must be interested in me. There was a lustful attraction enough that my blood demon sang a quiet song of recognition in my mind.

  Penda raised his own cup and drained it. “You’re probably like him and only need gloves. I prefer a shield, at least. Ludló requires that I wear a helm whenever I’m on the floor. Claims he doesn’t want to train my son to replace me any sooner than need be.”

  With that, he turned and went towards the weapons and equipment along the wall. I walked the mugs back to the water bucket.

  Back on the practice floor, Penda raised his sword in salute. Emlyn had gotten etiquette into him, despite the more casual style of Ludló and his men. I returned the salute, and we dropped into our ready stances. He held one blade to my two, a round shield in his other hand. Penda’s first blow was a side strike feint to get his shield lined up for a sideways jab at me. I let him lock our blades but read the feint and pivoted out of line. That put me on his right. I stepped back out of measure and made him close in again.

  Aggressive. And he had size on me. He wasn’t as bulky as Lazlow or Ludló. Rather, he was somewhere in the normal Saxon range. Thicker and taller than Emlyn. Not as tall as Bleddyn.

  Penda was fast and skilled enough to challenge me, though. His ability to read body language was excellent. He always seemed to anticipate my main strikes. This was a casual thought, and I had to keep in mind I was sparring with one of the most powerful kings in Britannia. No need to damage his ego by disarming and defeating him early on. After a few moments, I realised Penda was at least as good as the witcher’s former sword captain, Osbert.

  Just as in my fight with Osbert, I let Penda set the pace. He stepped into measure and struck a series of blows. I parried, stepped out of line, mindful of shield blows, and darted in with quick strikes that forced him to use both sword and shield for defence.

  He began to tire. He let his shield drift out of line a touch too far. At first I suspected a feint, that he was trying to get me to commit a strike into that gap. I launched a different set of counterattacks. His shield drifted a finger’s width out of line again.

  Penda pushed in again with attacks. I parried, slid out of line, and countered to get his shield to drift. I plunged Soul into that gap. He darted his shield back in line a beat too late.

  He stepped back and raised his blade in salute.

  “First blow to you, milady,” he said. “I let you dance long in the hopes you’d tire. I see I misjudged your stamina.”

  I dropped into my ready stance again.

  “Do you have the stamina to go another round?” I asked.

  Penda grinned and banged his pommel against his shield before he closed into measure and lead with an overhead blow.

  Half an hour later, I snuck in the third blow to win the bout. Penda stepped back and saluted me, his breath heavy and sweat beading his brow.

  “You don’t even sweat,” he said.

  I was careful to take long, deep breaths. Habits returned from years of attempting to appear mortal as I led classes or sparred with some of Aemi’s advanced students.

  Penda tucked his practice blade into his shield hand and held his right arm out. Warrior to warrior. I took it. He didn’t lean in for the customary slaps on the back. Instead he grasped my forearm and held his eyes on my face.

  “You… are an interesting woman, milady.”

  I smiled and continued breathing hard. Penda’s guard approached with two mugs of water. I took one, Penda the other. The guard took Penda’s sword and shield from him and returned them to the racks.

  The Mercian took a long drink of water. I mimicked him and only let the water wet my lips.

  “With the new swords your brother provided, I’m of a mind to lay my errant man to rest. Baldwin deserves his place at Woden’s table. We will ride out in the morning,” Penda said. He stepped in close. I tilted my face to see his eyes. “I would appreciate it if you rode with us. We’ll attempt to track either Baldwin’s corpse or the shifter if the dogs can get a trail.”

  “I would be honoured to assist,” I said.

  Gwen and Seren had helped me reach that decision earlier. We all agreed that I needed to stay on the trail of whatever possessed Baldwin’s body.

  Penda smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. His hand lingered there. His touch sent a charge through me again. He was a man with power. Both political and that of a warrior. There was something more in his presence. An aura of sorts. I sensed a strong urge to stay with him. Not just on the hunt for Baldwin. I wanted to press in against his warm flesh.

  Instead I blinked. He smiled.

  “We gather at sunrise,” Penda breathed. He held my gaze for a few seconds, then spun on his heel and headed towards the door. I took a deep breath and pulled in his scent. The musk of a warrior after a bout. And the power of an extraordinary man.

  “A man of destiny,” Gwen’s thoughts came into my mind. “I suspect he’d be the champion of The Lady, just as Arthur was, if times were normal.”

  “Why am I here, then?”

  “Because.” Gwen paused a moment. “You are not mortal, and these times are not normal, dearest. That is why you are drawn to him. He is what would have been. You are what is. Two people destined for the same role.”

  “Oh, gods! Just what I need,” I sent, as I watched the door close behind the Mercian king. “Another person I’m attracted to. Two of you are enough.”

  33

  On the Scent

  The baying of the hounds broke the morning quiet as we rode around the outskirts of Tamworth.

  “You can stay and hunt with us, my friend,” Penda said.

  Bleddyn rubbed his side, where Lecerf’s pet werebear had gouged him the summer before. “Perhaps another time. I’ve had one run-in with a shifter. I do not need another.”

  “Yet you send your sister?” Penda joked and cuffed him on the arm. “Trust me, I’d rather have her along than half of my Fyrd. Besides her battle skills, she eats less than they do.”

  We parted ways after that. Bleddyn led Siors and his men back to Penllyn. Talian and I stayed with Penda and his hunting party. We waited on word from the hunt master about either trail the dogs had found. The hunt master had given the hounds a tunic of Baldwin’s to get the scent.

  “This is the best direction Lord Chamberlain could infer,” Ludló said. “You’d think whatever evil inhabits Baldwin’s body would smell rotten enough for the dogs to track.”

  Ahead and around us, men sat in saddle and waited. Penda had half a dozen guards with him, plus Ludló and myself. Most of the men had a silver seax strapped to their belts, next to their swords. I hoped they’d remember which to draw if we found Baldwin or the shifter.

  If we tracked down the lycanthrope, I wanted a chance to engage it in conversation. See who or what was
behind it. Was the shifter working for someone the way Björulf worked for Lecerf? If so, who?

  Better yet, why did we get both a shifter and a reanimated corpse with black eyes and swords that became blacker than night?

  “It may channel power,” Seren sent.

  I must have let my thoughts leak through as conversation.

  “Sorry about that,” I sent. “Thinking out loud again.”

  “I suspect that your corpse foe is getting its energy from somewhere,” Seren added. “Just like you use energy from the goddess to make your swords glow. I suggest that you avoid getting cut by those blades.”

  “Sound idea,” I sent back. “Why didn’t I think of that?” I was tired of watching the dogs track everything except that corpse. “Sorry. It’s too early, and I’m prickly today.”

  “When Gwen wakes, I’ll see if she has a better understanding,” Seren added. “You’ve had two monsters in two days. That would put anyone in a foul mood. Did you say they believe the undead guard ran farther into Mercia? Not towards Penllyn?”

  “We think so,” I sent.

  She was worried because her father and the Penllyn men had gone westward to return to the cantref today. I had stayed with Penda, and we were searching the east side of Tamworth.

  “The creature took to roofs and leapt far. I’m wondering if it flew,” I sent.

  The hounds’ baying shifted to one of alarm, so I jerked my gaze in that direction. The hunt master had several dogs on long leads. Two other handlers had come along to help with the dogs. The hounds pulled against the leashes, trying to back out of their collars. Penda kicked his horse to head in that direction. Ludló and I followed.

  “They are spooked, Your Grace,” the hunt master said. “Just like when they first got the scent of Baldwin.”

  “Have they ever tracked a walking corpse before?” Penda asked. “That is enough to spook all of us. Go fifty paces that way with them, but take a curved route. See if they get spooked again.”