To Darkness Fled bok-2

by Jill Williamson

  "Could I learn, as well?" Sparrow asked.

  Sir Caleb nodded. "You can, boy. I must say, I thought you a coward until you turned veil warrior with Gavin and defeated the mage."

  Achan frowned. Sparrow did what? "What's that mean, veil warrior?"

  "It is meaning, Your Highness, that Vrell hasn't been being honest with us," Inko said. "He can do more with his mind than he has been letting on."

  "No, I–I do not understand how…" Sparrow let his words die out, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak.

  Sir Caleb gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Never mind your modesty, boy. Now, hand me your sword and we'll teach you to use it. Give those black knights something to fear on all accounts."

  Despite wanting to string Sparrow up a moment ago, Achan's mind knotted at this line of conversation. The Veil was the world between Er'Rets and eternity in Shamayim or the Lowerworld. Not to be confused with the Evenwall, which separated Light from Darkness. How did bloodvoices work with the Veil?

  Sparrow drew his sword from the ring on his belt and handed it, blade first, to Sir Caleb.

  Achan rolled his eyes.

  Sir Caleb frowned and twirled his finger. "Turn it around. Never hand over a weapon blade first."

  "Sorry." Sparrow turned the blade and poked himself in the nose with the tip. He jumped, eyes wide.

  Achan chuckled silently, fighting to keep his cheeks from curling, but the image of Sparrow's shocked face as he stuck himself with his own blade amused him to no end. Veil warrior or not, Sparrow was a bungler.

  Sir Caleb took the weapon and examined it, then passed it to Achan, hilt first, with a sideways glance at Sparrow. "What do you make of Vrell's purchase, Your Highness?"

  Achan gripped the thick, wooden handle, squeezing and releasing. He stood, backed away from the torchlight, and swung. The sword felt lighter than Eagan's Elk, which made sense for a short arming sword, but the handle weighed too much. It felt like he was wielding a pitchfork by the prongs.

  He knelt before the torch, batted a moth aside, and scrutinized the blade. The cutting edges were crude, dirty with tool marks, gouges, and nicks. He held the sword flat in front of him, horizontal to the ground, and bent the end like he'd seen knights do to check the temper of the blade. It barely flexed.

  He shot Sparrow a fleeting look. "How much did you pay for this?"

  "Twenty pieces of silver."

  Achan choked back a laugh. "Twenty!"

  "Where does a stray come by twenty pieces of silver?" Sir Caleb asked.

  Sparrow glanced from face to face. "My master in Walden's Watch gave it to me when I left."

  Achan snorted. "You must be the luckiest stray I've ever met to have such a master."

  "Lord Orthrop was more my warden than master. I apprenticed at the local apothecary."

  Sir Caleb frowned. "The lord of the manor housed you and allowed you to apprentice? A stray?"

  Sparrow's eyes cast down. "Lord Orthrop is a kind man."

  "I'll say." Achan held up the sword. "Well, it's not worth five in my opinion. They didn't even bother to sharpen or polish it. It's unfinished, Sparrow. But that's not the worst of it." He peeked at Sir Caleb, confidence waning.

  "Go on," the knight said.

  "Well…it's got no flexibility. It'll probably break under a real blow. Plus, the balance is off. The hilt is heavy. The blade should be longer for the weight of this hilt, I think."

  "But I'm short," Sparrow said.

  "That doesn't matter." Achan paused. The knights watched him. Heat smoldered in the pit of his stomach. What did he truly know about swords? "Well, maybe it does."

  "No. You're doing fine," Sir Caleb said. "Go on."

  "Well, you'll build arm muscle using any sword, so the size of it based on your height isn't the issue. It's the reach, I think. If you're fighting an opponent with a longer sword, they'll be able to strike you, but you won't be able to reach them. Plus if they have a shield, which most do…" He stood and pointed to Sir Caleb's shield propped against his pack. "Sir Caleb?"

  The knight handed Achan the shield. Achan tossed it to Sparrow who nearly fell over trying to catch it. The boy examined the shield and looped his arm through the straps.

  Achan drew Eagan's Elk and handed it to Sparrow grip first. "Take my sword."

  Sparrow accepted the weapon. "It is lighter than I expected."

  "Aye. And you're much smaller than me. Take a swing."

  "Easy." Sir Gavin's lecturing tone rang out.

  Like the boy could actually do any damage. "Don't try and kill me, just reach out."

  Sparrow did, slowly. Achan gripped the end of the blade between his thumb and fingers and jerked it toward his chest.

  "There. See? You can reach me with a decent blade, despite your size. Look here." Achan gripped Sparrow's sword in his right hand. He was naturally left-handed, but Sir Gavin had taught him to fight with both. He reached out with Sparrow's blade. Even with his long arms, the tip remained a hand's breadth from the lad's chest. Sparrow's eyes bulged.

  Achan dropped the cheap sword in the grass. "Switch with me."

  Sparrow passed over the sword and shield and retrieved his sword from the ground. Achan gripped the shield in front of him, slightly to his left, and held the flat of Eagan's Elk against the shield's edge.

  Sparrow gaped.

  "Well?" Achan asked.

  "I see my disadvantage immediately. Not only do you stand over a foot taller and much stronger, but the shield covers most your body. Where am I supposed to strike?"

  "My legs and head," Achan said.

  To Achan's surprise, Sparrow darted left and lunged for his foot, but his blade struck the dirt.

  Achan whacked Sparrow's head with the flat of his blade, the way Sir Gavin had done to him time and again.

  Sparrow yelped and stumbled, clutching his head.

  The knights laughed.

  Achan fought back a smile. "You just lost your head. Keep your chin up. Look with your eyes so you can see as much as possible at all times and not leave yourself wide open. Oh, and you aren't digging a pit. Yours is a cutting blade. A dull one. But your grip is all wrong, as is your swing. Don't swing like you're afraid you'll miss. Put your heart into it. Passion increases a man's strength."

  Achan shrugged his arm out of Sir Caleb's shield and let it fall on the ground. "But none of that matters if your blade can't even reach me. And if your opponent slips his grip to the pommel, he can get another four inches on you."

  Inko chuckled. "It seems our prince is to be knowing a mite more than you were to be thinking, Caleb."

  "Aye, he knows some, but there are strategies for fighting against a longsword with a shorter blade or dagger. You and I will work on that, Vrell, and see if we can outwit our prince." Sir Caleb raised a bushy blond eyebrow at Achan. "And I don't care how much you know, Your Highness. If you keep throwing swords and shields in the dirt, they won't be useful for long. Bring your blade here and I'll teach you to clean it. Vrell, you can learn too."

  Achan knelt beside Sparrow at Sir Caleb's bedroll. "Honestly, you wouldn't stand a chance with that sword, even if you knew what you were doing. If we meet further opposition, I suggest you find a tree to hide behind. You'd cause more trouble in battle with us trying to keep you alive."

  Sparrow's bottom lip trembled.

  Pig snout, the boy was going to cry.

  "There's no shame in it, Sparrow," Achan said quickly. "We need you as much as you need us. If not for you, who would patch us up when we're half dead?"

  Sparrow folded his arms, but his lips curved up a bit.

  "Now, Your Highness, that's not fair." Sir Caleb pulled his pack onto his lap. "If not for Vrell, we might not have survived those black knights, isn't that right, Gavin?"

  "Aye. What concerns me is how they're finding us."

  "Are you keeping your mind shielded, Your Majesty?" Sir Caleb asked.

  "That shouldn't matter, Caleb," Sir Gavin sai
d. "I sensed no ability to bloodvoice from the ebens or black knights. They found us by other means."

  "Both attacks came in the morning. Ebens are good trackers. And black knights may have used gowzals. They can speak to them, you know, use them as messengers."

  Achan recalled seeing through the bird's eyes. Guilt festered in his stomach. "I opened my mind after Sir Caleb's lesson that first night."

  Every set of eyes focused on him.

  "I know I shielded myself well. None of you sensed me. I…saw through a bird. It had information for its master. Made no sense to me at the time. Thought it might be Darkness messing with-"

  "A gowzal, then," Sir Caleb said. "We must keep watch for the beast birds. The black knights are using them to track us."

  *

  Vrell opened her eyes to a black void. A hand nudged her side and she bolted upright.

  "Vrell," Sir Gavin's whisper floated down from the darkness, "'tis our watch."

  Vrell blinked her stinging eyes. Her back ached from sleeping on the ground. Oh, how she longed for a steamy, rose-leaf bath and her feather bed. "I am awake."

  A blue torchlight whizzed to life, illuminating Sir Gavin's whiskered face. "Join me over here a moment, if you will." He walked away, his body blocking most of the blue light.

  Vrell heaved to her feet and trudged after the faint glow, each step waking her further and bringing more and more of her circumstances to mind.

  Sir Gavin stopped far enough away that she could no longer see the camp. Her heart thudded. She didn't like being so far from the others, but the light felt safer than the lack of it.

  The Great Whitewolf stared down, the torchlight sinking into the surface of his skin, sharpening every wrinkle into deep gouges of shadow. "Who are you really?"

  The question hung in the dark surrounding them. Arman, help her. Vrell pursed her lips and dropped her focus to her feet, though the torch did not cast enough light for her to see them. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back. She had to keep control.

  "I need the truth, lad." Sir Gavin softened his tone. "How is it you know such advanced bloodvoicing battle methods? I can't imagine Macoun taught it to you, fool though he is."

  Battle method? She'd been dreading Sir Gavin's promise of a confrontation. Sir Caleb's veil warrior praise had only added to her apprehension. What had Mother done?

  "You will answer me. I have no qualms about binding you and leaving you for dead. So tell me, do you mean us ill will?"

  Tears flooded Vrell's vision despite her efforts to hold them back. "I cannot…" She lifted her fingers to cover her trembling lower lip. "Please don't…" A sob burst past her defenses.

  "Aw, don't cry, now. I've no desire to see you hurt, but I've a responsibility to see Achan take the throne. I must know if anyone stands in my way. Are you Esek's spy? Macoun's?"

  Vrell jerked her chin up, eyes wide. "No. N-Nothing like that, sir, I promise you. I am on your side. I follow Arman too. And I–I want Achan to be king more than anything."

  "Then tell me what you hide."

  Vrell fought to stifle her tears. "I…do not think I can."

  "You will."

  Vrell glanced in the direction of the camp, her breathing ragged. "Will you tell…the others?"

  "Not unless I have reason."

  Vrell licked her cracked lips and met Sir Gavin's mismatched eyes. She wanted to contact Mother, ask what to do, but she couldn't very well go glassy-eyed in front of Sir Gavin. Her gaze darted from his blue eye to his brown one.

  Enough misery. Exposing the truth must be Arman's will.

  Vrell's voice came in a near whisper. "I am Lady Averella Amal of Carmine."

  Sir Gavin's bushy white eyebrows sank over his eyes.

  Before he could reply, she hurried on. "Prince Gidon-beg your pardon…" Vrell swallowed and took a deep breath. "Esek petitioned Mother for my hand last winter. She refused, but he would not accept her answer. His pressure grew so intense that Mother deemed it best I go into hiding. Only Lady Coraline Orthrop of Walden's Watch knew the truth of me. But while she was away, Jax and Khai arrived to escort me to Mahanaim. Macoun Hadar had sensed my bloodvoice ability and wanted me as his apprentice. I had no choice but to go.

  "Lord Orthrop and the knights believed I was a stray boy with no rights. If I had revealed myself…well, I feared they would force me to marry the prince-Esek, I mean. And I could not marry him. He did not care for me. He only wants control of Carm. He is a horrible person. I pity the girl who becomes his wife. And I will die before I meet such a fate."

  An ache seized Vrell's stomach. She gulped and wiped tears from her cheeks. How terrifying to admit the truth after so long, yet so freeing. She had only intended to pause, then explain how she had come into Macoun's service and eventually met up with Achan, but now that she had stopped, the tears would not. She hugged herself and let them come, gasping and sniffing to keep her nose from watering.

  "Eben's breath." Sir Gavin drew her into an awkward, stiff-armed embrace. Vrell cried harder, her body shaking with sobs. Sir Gavin slapped her back. "Poor child. Why didn't you confide in me? I could've left you in Prince Oren's care."

  Vrell clutched her sides and wailed. Staying with Prince Oren had been her greatest hope. She choked and coughed, trying to stop the tears long enough to answer. Her words came in slurred bursts. "I did not know…who to trust. I had planned to tell…Sir Rigil, but…when I found Achan and Sir Caleb…in the secret passage…Sir Rigil had gone." Vrell sucked in a breath. "Achan's cheeks were bleeding. He needed aid. I thought I could serve my king a bit longer."

  Sir Gavin nodded, as if putting the pieces together. "You were going to reveal yourself to the Council on your mother's behalf so Achan would have his votes. Did she ask you to?"

  "No, sir. She did not wish it. Not with Esek there."

  "She was wise not to risk you." Sir Gavin groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. "My dear lady, you're a brave soul. To think I let Achan strike you this night. I'm ashamed of myself."

  Vrell welcomed the excuse to smile. "Well, I must learn to fight, sir. It has been horrible all this time not being able to protect myself. I felt so weak and vulnerable. So useless."

  "Aye. And you've joined a perilous journey, my lady. Did your mother teach you to storm? What you did with the black knight?"

  "I know nothing of what my mother did. I blacked out. I called out to her for help and she jumped through me. Then…I saw nothing."

  Sir Gavin spoke to himself, "Aye. Nitsa helped him once. I had forgotten."

  Vrell straightened. "Helped who?"

  "Eag-forgive me. 'Tis not my tale to share but something to ask your mother." Sir Gavin sniffed and stroked his beard braid. "What is your wish, my lady? How can an Old Kingsguard knight be of service?"

  "My only wish is to go home. But Macoun Hadar and Khai Mageia know who I am. They told Esek. Now Esek has placed a bounty on both our heads. Mine and Achan's."

  Sir Gavin tipped back his head, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps that's why so many small parties hunt us. They're after the reward." He gripped Vrell's shoulder. "We'll get you home, brave lady. Unfortunately it will not be soon. You're certain you don't want the others to know? It'll be easier on you."

  Vrell drew her bottom lip between her teeth. "I never meant to deceive Achan. I had hoped to slip away without him finding out who I really am. Is that wrong of me?"

  Sir Gavin stroked his moustache over the curve of his top lip. "I cannot say. Either way, 'tis probably best you stay dressed as a boy. It isn't proper for Achan to travel with a woman, no more than for you to travel with four men." He sniffed in a long breath. "We'll keep your identity between us. It won't ease your burden, though I'll try to help where I can."

  Vrell shook her tears away and lifted her chin. "Please, do not interfere with my training. I never want to be unprepared in battle again. If I am going to survive, I must learn."

  "I've never met a braver lady." Sir Gavin's eyes widened. "Eben's breath! No wonder
you didn't want help with your leeches. Oh, my lady. I thank you, deeply, on behalf of our king for your service these past weeks. You saved his life after the Poroo battle, cared for him in the dungeons, called me to his aid, and sacrificed your own safety for his benefit. You should be commended." He shuffled his feet, threw up his hands, and sighed. "I'm sorry I cannot offer more than words."

  Vrell hugged Sir Gavin, his prickly beard tickling her face. "It is a great comfort to finally have a confidant. Your kindness means so much, Sir Gavin. I can never repay you for it."

  "I'd never accept it if you tried. 'Tis my duty as a knight to see you safely home, my lady. That I promise to do."

  "Sir Gavin, please. I do not understand what Mother did. And Sir Caleb is bragging me up as a veil warrior. All I remember was concentrating. I heard a song and all my pain vanished. I felt as if I had floated in the air. And then nothing."

  "When I found you, you were cold. I fear we almost lost your mind to the Veil. Though I appreciate your mother's assistance, you must not help her again 'til you learn properly. The Veil is a dangerous place for one untrained to navigate it. We'll tell the men you helped me by accident, that you didn't know what you were doing. 'Tis mostly true."

  "How can one enter the Veil whilst they are still living?" Vrell had always understood that a man who entered the Veil was on the brink of death.

  "It is done using bloodvoicing. A gifted man may leave his body and enter the Veil, or he may cast another man-gifted or not-into the Veil, which is the essence of storming. A man's soul was not created for Er'Rets, you see. It was created for Shamayim and longs for the peace and joy of that eternal home. Trust me, Vrell. You do not want to tempt your soul to the Veil before Arman pulls it there."

  Vrell shivered. Without realizing it, she had gone into the Veil before, when Macoun had asked her to seek out Esek and Achan drew her into his mind. "So my mother sent the mage to the Veil? Is he still there?"

  "I cannot say. People can be brought back, but only by those who know how."

  "And do you know how, Sir Gavin?"

  "I do, but I'm too old to risk it. 'Tis not a wise task for a man so close to Arman's final call."