The Conquering Dark: Crown

by Clay Griffith Susan Griffith

  “How dare you!” Ash hissed. “You worthless scribe. You miserable little piece of filth! Who are you to do this to me?”

  “I’m Simon Archer. Son of Catherine Archer, whom I believe you know.” He stopped talking, not trusting his voice to stay firm. He felt Kate press closer to him. His fists clenched, straightening from the cane and taking several deep breaths. “And I am the heir to Pendragon because I am the son of Edward Cavendish.”

  Ash froze with her mouth open. She regarded Simon closely as if looking for physical signs of his father in him. Then she smiled with cold understanding.

  Simon struggled to keep his emotions under the cover of his stern features. He feared he would crush Kate’s hand in his fingers. She didn’t react to the pressure.

  “I underestimated you, Archer. Damn me but I did.” Ash slid her fingers gently up and down the bars in the small window. She grinned with a manic fervor that seemed out of place on Grace North’s face. “I never thought you to be this sort of man. I thought you truly were a dilettante at heart. A gadfly who only cared for what magic could do for you. I never believed you had the ambition and the steel to become the eminence grise behind the throne. I’m impressed. However did you enchant the king to play the betrayer?”

  Simon hesitated for a second and Ash narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “That wasn’t the king who came with me, was it? Of course it wasn’t. It was someone under an illusion. The true king doesn’t know what you’re doing here, does he? How long do you think you can keep this from him?”

  Kate’s eyes flicked with concern toward Simon. He gave her a calm smile, as if no secrets mattered now that Ash was contained. By locking the necromancer away, all could be free. Secrets he had been carrying for years now seemed to hold no danger for him. Even here in this dank prison cellar, there was a cleanliness to the air that was invigorating to him.

  “I’ll tell His Majesty once I’ve prepared him,” Simon said. “Eventually, he’ll be ready to believe that the lovely Grace North was indeed the vile Ash. And His Majesty will be grateful that I already have you under lock and key. You’re done, Ash. We’ve won.”

  “I see.” Ash chuckled politely as if she were stuck in a brief conversation at a dinner party she’d rather not be attending but knew would end soon enough. All the panic, all the dismay, was gone from her assured gaze. Her voice was quiet and simple. “You have no chance against me, Archer. I’ve bested centuries of challengers. I finished off Pendragon when he rejected me. And now I’ve rid myself of Gaios when he dared come against me. Do you truly believe you stand a chance? I’ll get out of this place eventually; and then I will visit such horrors on you and your companions that you will wish to God I did not exist.”

  Simon’s ferocity over Ash was spent. Despite what Ash had done to his mother with necromancy, the fact that his mother had been stronger and was now at peace thanks to Nick put that atrocity into the distant past. Simon felt that the terrible chaos created by the murder of Pendragon and the collapse of the Order of the Oak was soothed now. Of the three great demigods who founded that venerable old magic guild, two were dead and the last was here under Simon’s control. The torch had passed. He faced a future of immense toil to rebuild the useful aspects of the old Order. For now, Simon just felt tired. He turned away with Kate and Charlotte. “Your threats are meaningless, Ash. You have nothing left.”

  “I have the man who killed your father.”

  Simon froze in his steps but didn’t look back. Kate’s hand tightened around his and he could sense her gaze boring into him, waiting for him to react. He exchanged a wondering glance with Malcolm. The Scotsman was tense, also eager for Simon’s response.

  “No.” The pain of Simon’s wounds flared again. He started to limp toward the door.

  “Would you like me to tell you?” Ash asked with a pleasant lilt. “You can have your revenge. That will make everything right, won’t it?”

  Kate whispered into Simon’s ear, “Don’t listen to her. Walk away now.”

  Simon ushered everyone out into the corridor and started to push the heavy door closed. “You’ll never get out, Ash. You’ll grow old and eventually you will die. As you should.”

  “Nick Barker,” came the voice of the necromancer.

  A jolt surged through Simon and he felt dizzy for a second. He peered through the narrow space and met Ash’s eyes to find she was staring intently at him. He took a breath and went to shove the door shut.

  “Nick Barker murdered your father.”

  Simon stopped, leaving a few inches of open space into the cells.

  Ash called out, “I know Barker is with your little group. I know you saved him that night at St. Giles. He was King William today, wasn’t he? He used that damned glamour spell of his.”

  That was true. Nick had pretended to be the king to lure Ash to the prison, and he had slipped out, they hoped, before she could see through the disguise.

  “I don’t believe you,” Simon said, but the claim wasn’t convincing.

  “Ask him.” Ash stared into the narrow gap between the door and the jamb. “I ordered another man to do the job, but he failed. A miserable drunk.”

  Malcolm turned away. He leaned on the wall with his head bowed.

  “When I told Barker to kill Cavendish, he didn’t ask why. He didn’t care. He just did it. Barker smiled in his face and murdered your father.”

  Kate tried to pull Simon away from the door and shut it, but he kept it open against her.

  “It’s true,” Ash said. “Ask Barker. If you can find him. He knows now that you have me, that I might find out who your father is, and that I might tell you the name of the killer to bargain my way out of prison. Or just because I know.”

  Simon stood silently, shaking his head.

  Ash attempted to catch Simon’s gaze again. “Archer? Where’s that miraculous key you carry?”

  Simon’s hand went to his waistcoat pocket in reflex. He felt the gold chain and ran his fingers down to the end to find it empty. He pulled the chain out and the fob hung alone. Simon knew he’d had it earlier. He knew it. He spun to Kate on the desperate chance that she had the key, as it sometimes changed hands. She shook her head.

  Ash’s laughter was melodious. “I don’t know how your key works exactly, but if Barker does, you’ll never see him again.”

  Simon closed the door. He felt numb. “I have to go to Gaunt Lane, Kate. That’s the closest portal.”

  Kate touched his arm. “Nick is your friend. If he … why would he come back? Why would he stay with you all these years?”

  Simon turned to find Malcolm standing in front of him. “You can’t believe Ash, Simon. She’s trying to have her revenge. Don’t go down a path from which you can never return.”

  “I must go to Gaunt Lane.” He stepped past them, increasing his stride down the corridor, whispering a rune to life. He vaulted up the steps, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, and sprinted across the crowded courtyard toward their waiting carriage. He didn’t see the bloodstain that was spreading across his white shirt. His pounding steps couldn’t outpace the beating of his heart or drown the sounds of Ash’s laughter.

  The house at Gaunt Lane was silent. Simon quietly closed the front door behind him. Nick had never been an unobtrusive man, and in their years together, he could always be heard bustling about. There was nothing.

  He stepped past the sitting room on the right and something caught his attention. In the center of the room was a swirling portal. Simon had established a new link here a week ago and now it had been activated. In the quivering oval, he saw the shuttered window in the room in the Palais-Royal.

  Simon walked into the sitting room, looking into the rippling view of distant Paris. If Nick had stolen the key, as Ash said, and used it to open the portal, he was gone now. Simon could follow, but the odds of finding one man in that teeming city were very thin. And, if Nick was trying to lose himself, he would likely open a second portal from Paris and vanish into that.
/>   Perhaps there was another reason that Simon wasn’t seeing. Just because Nick had worked for Ash, just because he had secretly watched Simon for her, just because Nick lied about it all, didn’t mean Ash was telling the truth now. Malcolm warned him, wisely, not to trust her. Ash lied out of habit and with a long-game agenda that few could penetrate. Perhaps Simon just couldn’t fathom the perverse leverage Ash was trying to exert on him and his team.

  Simon lifted a hand to the portal and brushed the softness of the otherworldly surface. The evidence that shimmered in front of him was inconclusive. He muttered, “Nick. Did you want me to follow? Why didn’t you close the portal behind you?”

  “Because,” came a voice from the corner, “I didn’t leave.”

  Simon spun to see Nick lounging in his usual spot on the tattered sofa. The older magician looked exhausted. His eyes were ringed with dark circles. There was a whiskey bottle and empty glass on the table next to him. Nick lifted one hand off his chest and tossed an object across the room.

  Simon caught the gold key out of the air. He slowly looked up from the glittering device in the palm of his hand to his friend. Nick couldn’t meet his gaze and threw his forearm over his eyes. Simon waited for the explanation, however twisted, however disappointing, that would strike Ash’s lie into the dust.

  “Why did you take it?” Simon asked.

  Nick glanced from under his arm with a look of curious annoyance. His confusion dissipated when he realized Simon was still searching for excuses. He took a deep breath. “Ash told you, didn’t she? You wouldn’t be here looking like that, asking me stupid questions otherwise.”

  A coldness slipped through Simon’s body. What little vigor his spell had given faded. He was losing touch with the room, with his thoughts. He was staring at Nick but seeing someone different. Not the man who helped him, who advised him, who toasted innumerable drinks with him and carried him home after nights that went on a bit too long.

  “Tell me, Nick.” Simon could barely make himself heard.

  Nick sat up. He let his hand rest on the neck of the bottle but then released it. “You already know. Why drag it out?”

  Simon took a step toward him. He couldn’t feel the floor under his feet. He seemed to be floating in another world. “You tell me.”

  “Simon, I’m not going to fight you. I’m tired. Do what you want to me. I don’t care.”

  “Tell me, Nick.” Simon lost all sense of place in a haze of confused rage. “You tell me!”

  Nick looked up. “I did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “For God’s sake, Simon.” He glanced away. “I killed your father.”

  “Why?”

  Nick laughed and shook his head. “Ash told me to do it.”

  “That’s all? You didn’t hate him? Some past wrong he did you? Some old grudge to settle?”

  “I’d never seen him until that night.” Nick started to shift, but Simon leaned forward slightly as a warning so he settled back. “There was a war in the Order of the Oak. I was on Ash’s side then.”

  “Why did you come to me when you knew I was his son?”

  “I had no idea at first,” Nick retorted angrily. “I didn’t know you were Edward Cavendish’s son until last year. You told me when you were drunk.”

  “And you didn’t tell Ash?”

  “No, of course not. By then, I knew I wasn’t going to let her have you.”

  “Even though she would kill you for failing?”

  “I didn’t want you to be like me.” Nick rolled his eyes as if he was going to cry from the memory. “Just kill me and be done with it.”

  Simon stared at his old friend for a long time in motionless silence.

  Finally, Nick rubbed a hand over his face and looked up, almost in anger. “Don’t play your games with me. Either kill me, or stand there while I walk through that portal.” He struggled to his feet and faced Simon.

  “No, you’re not running away this time.”

  “I’m not going to rot in that new Bastille of yours.” Nick jabbed a finger at him. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

  “Don’t you dare fight me.”

  Nick sneered and started toward the portal when an arm rose in front of his chest like an iron bar. The two men stood nearly nose to nose. Simon stared, dark emotions locked under the surface. Nick sighed and quickly raised his hand, trailing flame. Simon ducked as the fire surged past him.

  A powerful fist drove into Nick’s jaw and sent the man sailing across the room. He crashed into a desk, overturning it in a noisy pile. Nick was quickly back to his feet with fire flying from his waving hands.

  Simon was struck by a bolt of flame. He didn’t cry out and spun around, his coat afire. Ignoring it, he clapped his hands together in front of him and sent out a powerful concussion. The force blasted Nick off his feet. The room shook and books flew from the shelves.

  Simon didn’t move closer. He stood in the middle of the room and slammed his hands together again. The windows blew out. The flames were snuffed. The floor started to buckle. The walls cracked. Another wave rolled out and shoved Nick back as if an elephant had kicked him.

  Simon slammed his hands once more. Nick was crushed into a large mahogany bookcase, cracking the sturdy shelves. Another blast buried Nick into the plaster.

  And again Simon struck. The ceiling showered down across the smashed floor. Nick was crushed deep through the wall like an insect pressed under a pane of glass.

  Then again.

  And again.

  In the swirling clouds of dust, the sitting room was gone. The wooden framing was visible under the shattered walls, much of it cracked and splintered, along with the bricks of the outer wall. Simon shoved a heavy beam aside and pushed through the jagged hole in the wall into the disheveled pantry. With both hands, he tossed wreckage until he found what he sought.

  Nick was limp. His face was bloody. His clothes were torn and the flesh underneath was blue and swollen as if he had been crushed for hours in the unforgiving gears of a heavy machine. Red liquid bubbled from his lips.

  “Is this what you wanted, old man?” Simon pulled him up. Nick’s limbs dangled like deadweight. Simon turned and dragged his friend over the wreckage back into the ruins of the sitting room. The portal stood shimmering in the dust. He shook his old friend. Nick’s bruised eyelids slowly slit open. His mouth gaped, confused and disoriented.

  Simon felt blood dripping warm across his belly. “My father helped make this key. He was a man who could have done things no one could’ve imagined. But he’s not here.”

  Nick was speaking, or trying to. He struggled to keep his head up. With a hard shove, Simon propelled Nick into the portal. The surface puckered and drew him in, then Nick appeared sprawling in the Parisian chamber. He blinked in shock and stared back at Simon. He shook his head as if wishing, even begging, that this would go a different way.

  Simon heard a sound, and turned away to see Kate and Malcolm in the tumbled doorway of the sitting room. Charlotte and Penny stood behind them. They all had faces as if they had been watching a dangerous acrobatic act, and only now realized someone wasn’t going to step off the high wire and plunge to his death in front of their eyes.

  Simon knelt because of a stab in his chest. He met Kate’s gaze, trying not to show pain. He couldn’t think of anything proper to say. She dropped in front of him, checking him, then glancing over at the portal and Nick.

  “The bastard really did kill your father?” Malcolm reached for his pistol. “I can take him if you wish.”

  “No. Leave him.” Simon shook his head. The Scotsman withdrew his hand from his holster with a confused look. Simon held up the key without turning back to the portal. “Marthsyl.”

  Nick Barker vanished.

  Simon dropped the key to the floor. He leaned the top of his head against Kate’s forehead.

  Kate took his drained face in one of her hands; the other tentatively touched the bloodstain on his chest.

  Simon sho
ok his head. “I couldn’t kill him.”

  Kate’s cool fingers slipped over the back of his neck. “Of course not.”

  “Was it wise to let him go?” Malcolm asked, hovering over the pair. “One day you’ll want to go after him.”

  “Nick once told me to stay on the path I’m on. If I wander off, I’ll never find my way back.” That memory hurt, and he wondered if those words of guidance had been nothing more than a cruel diversion to hide a monstrous act. Still, Simon had to cling to them as if they were truth.

  Epilogue

  Autumn sunlight streamed into every corner of Hartley Hall. There was little to block the rays with the gaps in the walls and roof. Repairs were under way most everywhere in the house. But the Blue Parlor was left alone for now to provide a refuge. Kate looked out over the open terrace that had been repaired. It now stretched fifty yards from the house to a wide timber bridge built to span the canyon surrounding the house.

  Kate turned from the altered southern grounds. Everyone stood somber and alone, hardly speaking. The house had become much quieter over the last few weeks. Charlotte lay on the floor with Aethelred, her arm draped over his form, his large head pressed against her cheek, his thick fur soaking up the remainder of her tears. Simon sat on the sofa, staring into a past that threatened to consume him. Malcolm stood like a dark wraith with Penny silently nearby.

  The room felt cold and empty. Kate couldn’t control the terrifying premonition that everyone was drifting away. The moorings to each other were fraying. Lives had been irrevocably changed. Everything felt different.

  The dreadful sense was much stronger now. They had all just returned from the cemetery where Imogen was buried in a family plot alongside their mother and the servants who had given their lives in defense of the estate. This had been the first visit to the grave since the burial service, and it was so much worse for everyone. The reality that poor Imogen was gone and lying under the earth was undeniable now, and no longer obscured by the hectic events of a funeral. They knew now there was no magic that would bring her back to them. There were no miracles to be had. Kate’s heart felt like it had stopped beating even though it rhythmically thudded beneath her breast. She was numb and disconnected. She hadn’t been able to conjure any interest in working in her laboratory, which always brought her peace during troubled times. The reminders of her failure were thick there.