Someone needed to stop Khai. She had done it once. She could do it again.
She threaded her shield over her head and arm so that it hung off her back. She stepped carefully, arms outstretched to help her balance. She had walked the pine log fence at the Rennan home many times. This was no different. Except that she could not see her feet through the tiny slot in her helm. She took it off and left it on the sentry walk. She would have to survive without it.
Her first few steps were scoots, keeping her feet on the stone. Once her courage was bolstered, she moved her right foot in front of her left. Her top-heavy armor and shield pulled her forward faster than she wanted to move. Control slipped away. She ran the last steps before diving onto the sentry walk.
Her armor scraped over the stone. She lay prostrate, panting. Once her lungs strengthened, she pushed to her feet and jogged down the sentry walk toward the watchtower.
She rounded two scallops and had started out on the long section of wall that circled the watchtower when she spotted Khai sitting against the battlement on the narrow curve. He faced the tower, eyes closed. Gowzals fluttered over his head, squawking. Had someone killed him?
She slowed her steps and drew her sword, hoping to sneak up on him, if possible.
A great cry brought Averella to the crenellation. She looked over the side just as a tanniyn rose from the lake, its neck curled like a ringlet. Averella crouched as it sailed over her and rammed its skull halfway up the tower.
The sentry wall under Averella’s knees shook. Water rained off the creature onto her head. She pressed against the battlement and watched the tanniyn pull back and ram the tower again. This time its head broke through. Bricks of whitestone and dust fell to the bailey below. A man inside screamed. The creature’s long neck writhed.
A haunting thought gripped Averella: Achan’s squad was assigned to the watchtower.
She stood, legs trembling, and inched toward the place where the beast’s neck rested between two merlons. She didn’t have the strength to sever its head, so she drew back her sword and stabbed.
The creature’s screech chilled her arms. She tried to wrench her blade free, but it was stuck. She braced her feet against the battlement and pulled with all her weight. The beast shifted. The sword’s grip ripped from her hand, snagged on a merlon, then snapped the merlon off, as the tanniyn slithered backwards.
Averella dropped to her stomach and peeked at the tower. The beast drew back from the hole, writhing, a man in its mouth.
Merciful heart! Arman, help him!
The serpent’s neck retracted over the crenellation, knocking the man free before it sank out of sight.
The man dropped onto Averella’s legs and rolled off. She twisted to see him draw onto his hands and knees then collapse, gasping in deep breaths of air. Averella crawled to his side and pulled off his helm. A thatch of frizzy blond hair puffed out.
“Sir Caleb!”
He groaned, and his eyes fluttered until his gaze settled onto hers. “My lady?”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” Yet his body slumped unconscious.
Averella! Her mother’s voice made her jump. What are you doing here? You were to stay with Sir Eagan.
I have to stop Khai. He is just ahead of me on the sentry walk. Can you see into his mind?
I am uncertain who Khai is—wait. The man sitting near you? He is the tanniyn’s wielder. I just stormed him. Kill his body before he gets back to it.
Kill him?
Try your best. Your father needs me. I shall return.
Averella ran to Khai’s body. The tanniyn had taken her sword, and Khai sat on his in such a way that she could not free it from its scabbard. She drew her boot knife and held it to his throat. Her hand shook so badly that the blade blurred, so she sheathed it and grabbed Khai’s boot.
She dragged him, one tug at a time, past Sir Caleb’s body, to the place where the tanniyn had broken the crenellation. She pushed until his leather armor scraped over the broken stone. His body slid away, but just before his head went over he caught himself on the sides of the wall.
Averella gasped. She peered over the edge and stomped on Khai’s gauntlets, but fiery green wind from his lips blew her back to the other side of the wall.
The green wind swirled around her like a cage, keeping her pinned, whistling, screaming. Averella watched, mortified, as Khai climbed back onto the sentry wall.
“I don’t care who wants you.” Khai stepped toward her and pulled off his gauntlet. “You’re far too daft to stay where you should. This is a war. Death happens. My prince will have to find another way to take Carm.”
He reached through the funnel of wind, grabbed her throat, and squeezed. His touch sent a fire down her throat that seemed to coat her insides in ash.
Arman, help me! Lungs void of air, she choked. A plume of black smoke puffed from her lips. How? Drops of water fell on her head. Was it raining? She glanced up to see what seemed like a tree trunk of scales curling overhead.
The tanniyn had returned. It plucked up Khai in its maw and rose, taking him into the air like a morsel and pulling Khai’s grip from Averella’s neck. She fell to the sentry walk. The wind ceased. Averella panted in long breaths of moist air. Should she hide? Run? Would the tanniyn eat her next? If Khai was not controlling it, who was?
Khai’s scream drew her gaze skyward in time to see his feet vanish into the creature’s mouth. The beast lowered its head, and in an instant its long neck coiled around Averella, encircling her like yet another cage. The beast’s golden eyes stared into hers as if asking permission to eat her next.
“How do you fare, Vrell? Did he hurt you?”
The familiar voice came from just above the tanniyn’s head. Averella blinked. The darkness obscured her friend’s face but not his large body sitting atop the tanniyn’s neck as if riding a horse.
“Jax!”
He slid off the side of the tanniyn and jerked his head to the side, and the tanniyn slithered back over the crenellation.
Averella embraced him. “I thought you were dead. I thought—”
“Aw, it takes more than a fall to best Jax mi Katt.”
“But you said animals were not your strength.”
“Not your father’s strength. I can’t storm, but I have a way with water beasts.” He frowned over her shoulder. “Is that Sir Caleb?”
Averella turned and crouched at Sir Caleb’s side. “He is breathing, and I see no flesh wound, but he is obviously injured. Perhaps he hit his head or passed out from fright? He was fighting the tanniyn.”
“I hope his sleep is peaceful, then,” Jax said.
Averella glanced up to the watchtower. Achan had asked her to stay away. She must grant him that request, but what if he were hurt? Your Highness? How do you fare?
She winced and waited for his reply.
The tanniyn had taken Sir Caleb. And Cortland had fallen. Achan turned from the hole in the tower wall and glanced down the stairs. At least six steps had been knocked away. Toros and the men stood at the lower part of the gap. Only he, Shung, and Bran were above the break.
Achan peeked through the gap. No sign of Cortland. His shield lay on the steps below. Pig snout. Achan picked up Ôwr. Well, he preferred a longsword, anyway. Hopefully he might find his own shield later. Behind him, Bran groaned. Shung crouched and helped him stand.
“Can you go on, Bran?” Achan asked.
“Of course,” Bran said. “Head stings a bit. I’ll be fine.”
“What is your order, Highness?” Toros asked.
“Take out as many of the enemy as you can.”
Toros grinned. “Arman be with you.”
“And you as well.” Achan started up the stairs, but Shung cut him off.
“Shung will lead. Boar will follow Cham.”
Bran’s eyebrows almost leaped off his face. “I’m a boar?”
Achan laughed and it lightened his mood. “Very well, Sir Shung. You may lead the way, but t
he entire source of this war awaits us on the tower roof. The task is left to us. Are we ready?”
“Shung is ready.”
“As am I, Your Highness,” Bran said.
Achan nodded to Shung. “Lead on, Sir Shung.”
They had barely climbed one rotation of the tower stairs when Sparrow spoke to him.
Your Highness? How do you fare?
Achan smiled. She seemed incapable of knowing what to call him since the problem with her memory. He wasn’t sure which he liked better, the exasperating, argumentative Sparrow or the respectful, polite Lady Averella.
I am well, though we have lost many. And you?
Alive. I wondered if I may be of service.
Achan stopped and held up a hand to Bran. Shung turned back and paused. Aren’t you with Sir Eagan?
No. Khai took control of a tanniyn, but mother and Jax fixed them both. Is your squadron missing Sir Caleb?
Yes! Did he survive? Achan rushed to the nearest arrow loop.
He is breathing but unconscious. There is nothing I can do but let him rest.
Achan looked down on the northeastern gate and sighed. I cannot see you. This arrow loop points the wrong direction.
I do not mean to stall your mission. I only wanted to check—To see whether you need anything.
I need you.
You do? There was a smile in her voice.
He needed her to live. He hated to ask anything of her, but she was too valuable an asset to ignore. If you can get down, and if it’s safe, go to the base of the watchtower. See if you can help the injured. And look for Cortland. He fell.
Yes, Your Highness. I will go right away.
Achan winced. Sparrow?
Yes, Your Highness?
From now on, call me “Achan,” please.
A long moment of silence stretched on. We shall see.
He rolled his eyes and grinned at Shung and Bran. “Both Sparrow and Sir Caleb live. Let us finish this.”
36
Averella backtracked along the sentry walk with Jax until they found an abandoned ladder. They climbed to the back of the watchtower and ran around the side. Sounds of battle slowed their steps, and they found themselves behind a wall of shields where Achan’s bowmen were shooting through arrow loops in the wood. Between two shields she could see a ground battle raging in the distance. The archers were keeping the enemy back from the tower.
Behind the shields, a standard-bearer, who seemed quite young, waved the Armonguard flag back and forth. She spotted Sir Rigil beside the young man, pacing in front of the tower entrance.
She approached him. “Sir Rigil, I have come to aid the wounded. Do you have any?”
“My lady Averella! Jax! All my joy to see you well. Was Sir Eagan successful at taking the eastern gate?”
“He has taken the gate and holds it still,” Jax said.
“The prince asked me to check on his men. A man named Cortland, specifically,” Averella said.
Sir Rigil winced. “Last I saw, Cortland had passed out from the pain. I am no healer, but I fear his legs are broken.”
“Show me.”
Sir Rigil led her just past the doorway. A young man lay on his back, his right leg twisted at an odd angle. His left knee looked to be bent naturally, but the blood coating his trousers led her to believe there was a protruding bone. This would be tricky to set.
She took a deep breath and took in his appearance. Wild blond hair and a familiar chin. “My, he resembles a young Sir Caleb.”
“Cortland is Sir Caleb’s nephew,” Sir Rigil said.
She looked to the young man’s face again. “Oh dear. Jax, will you help me?”
“I’ll do all I can, Vrell.”
Shung slowed his steps on the tower stairs. Doorway is around bend.
Duchess Amal? Achan called. Can you tell us who is atop the watchtower and where?
Certainly. Lord Nathak and Esek are looking over the edge of the tower. Sir Kenton is in the center on the roof, pacing about. And two guards stand by the doorway.
“Five against three,” Achan whispered to Shung and Bran. “Not my favorite odds.”
Five against five, Duchess Amal said. For you have me and Arman to help you.
Thank you, my lady. “Duchess Amal says we are even when we count her and Arman.”
“She is a wise woman,” Bran said.
I sense a great and dark power in Lord Nathak, the duchess said. I confess, I do not know how to fight the keliy. I am at a loss, Your Highness.
Can you storm the guards?
I can do that easily.
Start there. Then go after Sir Kenton. I wager he is the best swordsman of the three. Let us know when you succeed.
Achan relayed the plan to Shung and Bran. He kept his gaze fixed on Shung’s face, which was focused up the stairwell. Arman, help me know what to do.
A hot flash gripped Achan’s body. Arman did not speak, but his warmth instilled a confidence Achan had been lacking. Thank You, Arman.
A sword clattered down the curved whitestone steps. I have stormed the guards, Your Highness, Duchess Amal said, but Sir Kenton is protected by Lord Nathak’s dark magic. I know not how to help there. Arman be with you.
Then we will have to defeat him with steel. Thank you for trying, my lady. Achan pushed against Shung’s shoulder. “Now.”
Shung ran up the final steps. Achan darted through the doorway behind Shung and out onto the circular whitestone roof. His legs quavered as the tower vibrated under his steps and he sensed how high up they were. A waist-high whitestone parapet circled the edge. Icy wind whirled around him and seemed to slow all movement. It chilled the surface of his skin but did not penetrate, for Arman’s heat inside him acted as a shield. A tangle of gowzals swarmed overhead, squawking and flapping in the wind.
Just as the duchess had said, Sir Kenton stood in the middle of the roof. Lord Nathak and Esek were at the battlement’s edge. Bran ran toward Sir Kenton, and they clashed swords. Achan and Shung circled the duel, headed toward Esek and Lord Nathak, who no longer wore a leather mask over half his face. Who no longer had half white hair and beard. Who now had two working eyes.
“I should have known.” Esek flashed a cocksure smile Achan’s way. “Your brother is looking well, don’t you think? Uncle? At least now I understand why he kept you alive.”
Achan held up Ôwr and looked from Esek to Lord Nathak. “The keliy healed you both. But why did it wait so long to heal you, Lord Nathak?”
“Jibhal and Macoun’s method of keeping me in my place all these years. They are dead now, and I am the Hadad.” Lord Nathak lifted his hands to the sides. “Machmâd pârar.”
Six green streams of light shot out from his palms, igniting bonfires evenly spaced around the roof’s perimeter. The fires died down, leaving a Lord Nathak in each place.
Six Lord Nathaks in addition to the real one still standing beside Esek.
Achan and Shung turned their backs to each other, swords outstretched to the multiple Lord Nathaks. In the roof’s center, Bran and Sir Kenton continued their duel, their blades clashing in an erratic rhythm.
My lady, can you help us? Achan asked.
They are but apparitions, Your Highness. I can only pray Arman’s protection on you.
Achan blew out a long breath. They were on their own. We eagerly request your prayers then, my lady.
You shall have them, Your Highness.
“My coming to your procession was a mistake,” the original Lord Nathak said. “If only I’d known that hours later my master would die and his master would come to me. And my new master assures me that killing you now will make me even stronger. You no longer have any power over me, boy. Lawcham!”
The six apparitions of Lord Nathak drew their swords. Ghosts or not, the sound of steel against wood stabbed shards of ice through Achan’s warmth. He rocked from one foot to the other and squeezed Ôwr’s grip in two hands. He turned his back to Shung. Just like the practice melee in Carm.
&nbs
p; Aye, we will triumph.
Achan wished he had Shung’s confidence. He reached for Lord Nathak’s mind, hoping to glean something useful, but pain stabbed his skull. He drew up his shields, wary of the dark magic Duchess Amal had sensed. A gowzal squawked overhead. Arman, give me strength to fight this enemy. Help me to do Your will.
The apparitions attacked. One thrust a blade at Achan’s chest, which he blocked with Ôwr. It certainly felt like real steel against his blade, with real mind and muscle behind it. Before he could regroup from the first attack, a sword glanced off his leather rerebrace, another cleaved into his left greave. Frustrated, he lashed Ôwr out in an wide arc, shocked to see the silvery blade pass through all three apparitions. Where was that steel and muscle now?
It was nothing he shouldn’t have expected. How did one kill an illusion? Last time Duchess Amal had stormed the wielder, but this wielder was too strong.
Achan could only defend himself. Before long the apparitions separated him from Shung, circled around, stabbing and hacking their misty blades. They didn’t seem stronger than regular men. Just invincible. Achan swung Ôwr wide again, failing to take any ground. He adjusted his footing, concentrated, and cut for the nearest apparition’s leg. Like nicking a tree branch, his sword made contact with something.
The apparition transformed into a gowzal. The bird squawked and flapped over Achan’s head, then began to rematerialize as Lord Nathak to his left. Achan struck the creature before it could fully form.
A short screech and the gowzal fell to the roof, flapped a few paces, and stopped to screech one last time. Achan had cut off its wing. He lunged toward the creature and kicked it down the stairwell.
Shung! He spun around in time to block a strike from another of Lord Nathak’s apparitions. Concentrate on the mind within. There is a gowzal in each. You can kill them. The birds, I mean. Strike at the mind, and then when the bird appears, kill it. You must kill the bird. A rebuke helps you see it.
From Darkness Won Page 46