Kurtz finished Sir Nongo with a quick stab, then turned to offer Achan a hand up. Before Achan could reach out, Kurtz turned to deflect a blow from the rock-wielding mage who had let down his magic and raised a sword.
Achan pushed to his feet and scanned the ground for Ôwr.
“Looking for this?” a lofty voice said from behind Achan.
He turned to see Silvo Hamartano holding Ôwr in one hand and his own blade in the other. The man was no older than Achan, thin with oily black hair.
Oh, horror.
Achan gripped his shield in both hands and held it in front of him. Silvo wasted no time in his attack. He swung both swords at Achan as if they were hammers.
It crossed Achan’s mind to simply turn and run, but just as he contemplated it, he tripped over Shung’s body. His elbows hit the ground first. The force stunned him long enough for Silvo to kick his shield aside and pounce on Achan’s chest.
Silvo’s weight stole Achan’s breath. He put a hand on the ground to push himself into a roll, but the edge of Silvo’s sword pressed against his throat like a taut, cold thread.
Silvo’s thin lips parted in a smile. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
“Your Highness!” Sir Caleb ran toward them, sword in hand, Toros at his side.
“Stay back!” Silvo said, throwing Ôwr down and gripping his hilt with two hands. “I’ll kill him!”
Sir Caleb stopped beside the wagon driver’s body. “If you do, you’ll die.”
Achan reached out for Duchess Amal. My lady, where are you?
He is keeping me from you, Your Highness. Is it over?
Achan glanced into Silvo’s dark eyes. Not quite.
“My master will resurrect me,” Silvo said with as much confidence as Sir Gavin had shown when he’d spoken before the Council of Seven months ago. But the blade quivered against Achan’s neck. Silvo was scared.
“Are you certain?” Sir Caleb asked.
“Even if he doesn’t, I will die a hero.”
Arman? Achan called. You want to come and help me out of—
“Hear me!” Silvo yelled. “You are all traitors to this land. The Council voted that Esek Nathak rule Er’Rets. The Hadar line ends here.” Silvo’s oration seemed to bolster his courage. He pressed the blade firmly against Achan’s throat.
The sword’s edge was so thin and sharp, Achan could almost convince himself that something so fine could do no real damage. He searched the ground for a rock, a branch, anything he might use to strike Silvo.
Your Highness, don’t do anything rash, Sir Caleb said.
Do you have a better plan?
Arman wouldn’t have brought you this far only to let you be killed by Silvo Hamartano.
A nice thought, Sir Caleb, but Arman is not the one with the sword against His throat.
“Goodbye, stray.”
Achan held his breath and swung his elbow around the blade to push it off. Better to lose an arm than his head.
22
Averella dropped her sword. Noam’s and Gren’s blades clanged against the stone steps as well.
Gren began to cry. “Don’t hurt her, please.”
The hooded man gestured to Gren with his head. “You in the black armor, take off your helm.”
Gren wrenched off the helmet. Her hair frizzed out. Her eyes were red and puffy.
The man released Averella and pulled off her helm. He lowered his knife. “My stars! I could have killed you! Why are you here, Averella? Explain.”
Averella trembled in the realization that she had not been killed. She snapped her eyes to the man’s face. “Who are you?”
“Your father.” He shrugged off his hood revealing thin black hair and blue eyes, but it was his round cheeks that made Averella pause.
“You are Sir Eagan Elk?”
The man picked up her smoldering torch and circled to the top of the stairs. Averella followed. On the landing before the tower door, two guards lay dead. Sir Eagan tucked the torch in with the one burning beside the door. “Still have not regained your memory?”
“Only a few flashes,” Averella said. “Why did you attack us?”
“I sensed you coming, but did not know you were you. Why are you here, my lady?”
“We must destroy the man in this watchtower. His name is Macoun Hadar, and he is responsible for great evil.”
Sir Eagan’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead.
Averella frowned. “You already know that?”
“I do and have come to do the job.”
Praise Arman! She would not have to kill again.
“You need not look so relieved, my dear. The door is locked, and I have no way inside.”
Noam made his way up the stairs. “Can we remove the door, my lord?”
“I am afraid not. The door opens inward, so the hinges are on the inside. Perhaps you could help me break it down? I have tried already, but with two of us, we might prevail.”
Averella recalled the way the tower looked the day the gowzal had carried her here. A stone ledge circled the outside, just under the window.
BANG!
Averella slapped her hand to her breastplate and looked up to the locked door. Sir Rigil and Noam reared back and bashed their shoulders against the door again.
BANG!
Averella leaned out the window. She could not see the roof, ten levels below, or any signs of the battle, only blackness. The torchlight on the sentry walk and several distant house fires were all that lit Mahanaim.
The stone ledge that circled the tower was almost as wide as her foot. She twisted her body to look up and could barely see the shadow of the crenellations from the torchlight at the top of the stairs. She set her helm on the floor and hoisted herself onto the windowsill. She pulled up until her feet were on the ledge and her body was outside. A fleeting breeze swept her skirt out, tugging her waist back. Her stomach clenched, and her fingers gripped the window ledge so tightly it hurt. What had she been think—
BANG!
She clutched the side of the window, trembling. Once she calmed down, she gathered the back of her dress over her shoulder. Then, reaching up to grab the side of a stone merlon on the battlement, she shifted her feet. Once she had a firm grip with her other hand, she moved her feet again.
Gren screamed. “My lady! What are you doing?”
Averella squeezed the merlon tightly, heart pounding.
“Noam! Help me pull her in before she falls!” Gren said.
“Do not touch her.” Sir Eagan’s smooth voice soothed Averella’s pounding heart. “Averella? What is your plan?”
Averella turned her head so she could see Sir Eagan’s head looking out. “There is a window in the chamber. I am going to open the door from inside.”
“I wish you would have let me do this,” Sir Eagan said.
That would have been nice. “I did not think it through. I have always liked climbing trees, but this is different.”
“You do not remember how brave you have become over this last year,” Sir Eagan said. “There is much you would do now that you never would have before.”
“Going without a corset?” Averella’s face flushed. Mercy.She could not believe she had said such a thing aloud.
Sir Eagan laughed. “Perhaps.”
“Pray I do not fall.” With that, Averella inched her toes around the ledge and moved her hands to the next merlon. The torchlight from the window reached its limit and she could no longer see the battlement. “Could you hold a torch out the window?”
Moments later golden light shone on the crenellation. “Thank you!” A gowzal landed in the crenel above and hissed. “Shoo!” She waved her hand. The bird simply watched her with its onyx eyes.
“Are you well, my dear?” Sir Eagan asked.
“A gowzal.” She glanced the other way and saw three more birds on the crenellation. “I dislike them.”
“Move quickly.” Her father’s voice was confident.
She took a deep breath and shi
fted her feet. She brought her right hand to where her left held on, then lunged with a step and reached out with her left hand. The gowzal hopped back a step, and she grabbed on.
Tiptoeing left again, she repeated the process. The gowzal’s eyes followed her as she passed by. She moved quickly. The creature hopped after her. A gust of wind pushed her sideways. She clung to the battlement, waiting for it to cease. Once the air had calmed, she kept moving.
The torchlight faded, but she could see a pale glow from the tower room window now. Three more merlons and she would be there. As she slid her left foot out, a sharp pain stabbed her right hand. She turned back to see the gowzal’s teeth barred.
She swatted at it and shuffled her feet until she was able to shift her hands again. A gowzal flapped in the air behind her, blowing puffs of stale wind over her face. She waved a hand at the creature. Her foot slipped and she fell.
Heat flashed over her body. She screamed, clutching the merlon with both hands. Pain spiked in her left hand. She knew a gowzal had bitten her again, but she held tight and pulled herself up until both feet were firmly planted.
Gritting her teeth, she inched around the tower, sliding her hands one at a time, establishing a firm grip with one before letting go with the other. She finally reached the window, grabbed on to the sides, and dove inside.
She landed on her side. A bird squawked. The one in the cage on the pillar. Across the room, Macoun Hadar lay motionless on the cot. Apparently, his mind was out of his body at the moment.
She should kill him now. But she had left her sword out in the stairwell. She glanced around the tiny room but did not see anything she could use as a weapon. Could she strangle him?
Averella pushed up and ran to the door. She lifted the lowest bar first. It was heavy and the left end was wedged tightly into the slot. She banged up on the bar with her fist to loosen it. It rose enough that she was able to lift it free.
Something pinched her ankle. A gowzal on the floor hissed. She kicked it. “Go away!”
It fluttered back a step and watched her.
Averella set the bar against the wall. The second bar, level with her waist, came out easily. She set it with the first. She felt another pinch on her leg. There were three birds at her feet now. She shook her skirt. “Leave me be!”
“Averella?” Sir Eagan’s voice was muffled by the thick door. “What is happening?”
“Gowzals,” she cried.
She could not reach the third bar. She raised onto her tiptoes and pushed up with her fingertips. The right side shifted a bit. She bounced on her toes again and shoved. This time, the left side lifted.
A gowzal nipped her shoulder. Another her leg. Her hand. They were everywhere now. Where had they all come from? She screamed and grabbed one of the bars she had removed. She swung it at the birds.
“Yârad!” a man said.
The birds scattered to perch around the room. Averella spun around to see Macoun Hadar sitting up on his cot.
“What brings you back to my tower, my lady?”
“I… How did you know I was here?”
He nodded to the gowzal in the cage. “My eyes called me back. Besides, you weren’t exactly quiet.”
Averella stared at the caged gowzal. “You found someone to enter the bird after all.”
“I would rather have had you.”
Averella spun back and pounded the board in her hands up against the bottom of the last bar. The bar jumped out of its slots and fell onto her arms. The door pushed in and struck her foot.
Sir Eagan stuck his nose inside. “Step back, my lady.”
Averella obeyed, and the door swung in. “He’s awake.”
Sir Eagan entered the tower room, sword in hand. “Wait in the stairwell, Averella.”
But the door slammed shut. “My eyes tell me you worked hard to get into this room, my lady,” Macoun Hadar said. “You must not leave in such a hurry.”
Sir Eagan twirled his sword and stepped between Averella and Macoun. “Her efforts were to let me inside. Neither of us have come for a pleasure visit.”
“If you have come to kill me, you must know that you will fail.” Macoun lifted his palm to Sir Eagan. A tendril of light flew from his hand and coiled around her father, binding his arms against his sides. His sword clattered to the floor.
Macoun held up his other hand to Averella. “And now, my lady, you will experience one of those things I spoke of during your training. Things that some consider immoral.”
The gowzals began to squawk. Green fog billowed from Macoun’s palm, drifting toward Averella.
Averella, get out of here! Sir Eagan said to her mind.
She ran to the door and pulled at the handle. It did not open. She banged on it with her fists. “Noam! Open the door!”
The door rattled. “I can’t, my lady! Is it locked?”
A chill crept up Averella’s legs. She whirled around to see the green fog clouding her feet. The blood in her toes turned to ice, and the feeling crept up her legs and torso. She gasped at the cold, wondering why she had stopped trying to run.
“Pick up your father’s sword, my lady.”
Averella’s body moved, though she had not wanted it to. What madness was this? Her lips would not part to utter the question aloud.
Averella! Sir Eagan said. You must refuse his tricks. Call on Arman!
Yes, she must. But instead, she crouched at her father’s feet and took hold of Eagan’s Elk, the blade Achan had wielded when she had first seen him. The blade her father called Rhomphaia. The leather-wrapped grip felt odd, worn down by hands larger than hers.
“Averella, please!” Sir Eagan yelled over the screeching birds.
“Now, kill your father.”
No, she wanted to say. She stared at Eagan’s Elk’s copper and ivory crossguard, the carved ivory dagfish, the symbol of Tsaftown. Years ago, Sir Eagan had won this sword from her cousin Sir Eric. Now it would take his life.
What defeatist thoughts were these? She could not allow this evil man to manipulate her. She glanced at her father’s eyes, so blue and bright. Arman, help me!
Heat melted over the top of her head, dripped down her spine and legs until she burned. Not at all painful. And yet the overwhelming, fiery euphoria stole her breath.
THE ONE WHO WAS BORN OF GOD KEEPS HIS BELIEVERS SAFE, AND THE EVIL ONE CANNOT HARM THEM. GREATER IS HE THAT IS IN YOU THAN HE THAT IS IN THE LAND.
Averella trembled. Tears wended their way down her cheeks. Thank You, Arman. I love You!
AND I YOU, CHILD.
Vrell gripped the sword’s hilt in two hands. Macoun was still holding out his hands, expelling his misty magic, but it had no effect on her.
I am free, Sir Eagan, she said. Arman freed me.
Wonderful! He has not released my bonds, though. You must be the one to stop Macoun. Can you do it?
She stared into her father’s eyes. I can.
She stepped back, crouching into position and holding Eagan’s Elk at middle guard. Macoun’s laughter and the gowzals’ cries fueled her resolve. She recalled Achan’s lesson that this was a cutting blade. No use trying to stab Macoun, which would be harder, anyway. She raised Eagan’s Elk to side guard, stepped back a bit farther, and swung at Macoun’s head with all her strength and—by the fire still flowing in her veins—Arman’s strength, as well.
She barely heard a sound. She completed her swing and stared at him, ready to take another slice. Had she missed him?
She’d thought her aim was—
Like a toy toppling off a shelf, Macoun’s head tipped off his neck and fell to the floor. His body collapsed as well, leaving black ash drifting on the air where he had stood.
The gowzals shrieked all at once. Several flew out the window, raising a dust of feathers and ash. Two flew to Macoun’s body and began pecking.
Averella intended to look away, but movement caught her gaze. A near-naked man stood in Macoun’s place, though she could barely see him. His milky white skin was a coa
ting of gossamer over hard muscles. He had black horns on his head and a mouth full of jagged teeth. The creature hissed at Averella like an angry cat, and leapt through the wall.
Averella turned to her father. “Did you see—?”
“I did.” His wide-eyed stare refocused on her face. He smiled and swept her up in a tight embrace.
She wilted there, never having felt so safe and secure in her life.
“Well done, Averella,” her father said. “Well done, indeed.” Achan’s elbow struck the side of Silvo’s blade.
23
Achan’s elbow struck the side of Silvo’s blade.
A gust of heat sizzled over Achan’s head, and Silvo vanished with a squeak. The sword fell. The flat slid over Achan’s chest and off his side. Sand rained down. He held his arm over his eyes and pushed himself to sitting with his other hand.
“I come in peace!” a familiar voice said.
Achan lowered his arm to see Lord Nathak dismount a horse that was slick with sweat and breathing hard. Toros and another soldier trained their blades on Lord Nathak.
As always, Nathak wore a molded brown leather mask over half his face to hide his ruined skin. His hair was white on the right side and black on the left, as if a young man and an old one had been sliced down the middle and stuck together. It reminded him of the tree in Allowntown that had been both dead and alive. It reminded him of all of Er’Rets. Lord Nathak’s short, pointed beard was split and had been twisted so the black and white spiraled together like the snail shells that washed up on the beach east of Sitna Manor.
Shung and Sir Caleb crouched to help Achan stand. His legs were shaking so hard he kept hold of the men for fear he would fall over. “You are well, Shung?”
“Cheating black knights and their rocks.” Shung spat on the road. “I am well.”
Achan grinned and patted Shung’s shoulder. “I am glad to hear it.” He turned to look on Silvo but saw nothing but charcoal smoke pouring off the remains of the wagon like water in a rocky stream. “Silvo?”
Sir Caleb motioned to a drift of black ash on the dirt road. “Gone.”
From Darkness Won Page 32