To Darkness Fled bok-2

by Jill Williamson

  Oh, no, no. Achan went limp, pulse throbbing. The black knights dragged him up, rung by rung, to the top. He struggled, tugged, and pushed, but Sir Nongo and Silvo were stronger. The crowd cheered their every ascending step.

  At the top, a wooden railing ran along both sides of the gangway, like a narrow bridge. Three gowzals perched on the rail. The knights pushed Achan along the trembling plank. The sharpened tips of the giant support beams glistened before him in the firelight. Would they impale him?

  He leaned back, trying to stay put, but the knights inched him along. When Achan reached the gowzals, he elbowed the rail and the beast-birds squawked and fluttered away. The gangplank swayed from the force of Achan's movement.

  The knights forced Achan to the end of the gangway until his toes stuck off the end. He peeked down. His breath hitched at the dizzying drop. It hadn't looked so high from below.

  Thousands of people filled the grandstands, focused on the man on the platform below, who was talking in the strange language. Achan recognized him now. It was Lord Falkson from the Council meeting in Mahanaim. He was tall and grey-skinned with a pudgy gut and short, grey hair like a shorn sheep. He wore a flowy black tunic and trousers. A huge gowzal perched on his shoulder.

  Could Lord Falkson be Hadad, the man who'd visited Achan in the pit? Had he transformed himself like a black knight? Was he their leader?

  In the air above Achan's head-a mere arm's-length away-the wooden spikes met, the tips not quite touching. Were they going to hang him? Push him off?

  Achan curled his toes over the edge and pressed back. Sir Nongo let him back up to the center of the gangway, then kicked in the back of his knees. They slammed against the wooden platform. Sir Nongo pushed Achan to his stomach and pressed a knee into his back.

  Silvo separated Achan's wrists from one another and stepped over his head to the end of the plank, chains clanking against the balusters and railing. Achan couldn't see what Silvo was doing. Overhead, metal scraped against wood. Achan's arms jerked away from his sides, up into the air.

  The pressure left Achan's back. Rough hands grabbed his waist and lifted him to his feet. Here it came. Would they toss him out onto the crowd? Would the spikes fling him forward somehow?

  "Not to be worrying too much about it, stray," Sir Nongo said. "All soon will be ending."

  Achan's arms were loose at his sides, but he soon saw the problem. The metal rings at the end of each of his arm-chains had been looped over the tips of the spikes. Those rings had already slid down past the level of the gangway. If he fell, his weight would force the rings farther down the spikes, pulling his arms away from his body. If his arms managed to stay attached, he'd be left dangling over the center of platform.

  What then? Would they stone him? The audience was too far below to do much damage. Shoot arrows? Maybe. But he could see no archers. Perhaps the sharpened beams would shift away from one another, tearing him in half.

  On the platform below, Esek strode to Lord Falkson's side, flanked by Sir Kenton and Chora. The crowd erupted into cheers. Esek raised his hands above his head in a familiar arrogance. "Tonight we honor Barthos, god of the soil."

  Lord Falkson translated to the audience, his voice deep and booming.

  Achan gripped the rail with both hands, desperate for a way out. If he could somehow keep from falling…

  "This man is a usurper." Esek pointed above his head. "He would have you turn your backs on Barthos. We must destroy him."

  Lord Falkson translated and the people cheered. The gowzal on his shoulder screeched.

  Sir Gavin! Where are you?

  We're coming. Remember, Arman is stronger than Gazar.

  Right. Achan gripped the rail tighter and hooked his left foot around the last baluster.

  Behind him, Silvo laughed. "It will do you no good, stray."

  Lord Falkson clunked to his knees on the front corner of the platform and lifted his hands to the pointed ceiling, as if worshipping an idol. "Ruwach aphar mayim esh, machmad parar. Gowzal, yarad. Parar no oyeb. Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."

  The garbled and phlegmy-sounding words hushed the crowd and weakened Achan's knees. He expected green orbs to shoot out from Lord Falkson's hands but none came.

  "Thanks for the ring," Silvo whispered in Achan's ear, stretching his hand in front of Achan's face. Prince Oren's ring gleamed on Silvo's olive-skinned hand.

  Achan loosened his grip on the railing and swung around to lunge for Silvo.

  "Time to die." Silvo pushed him, dark eyes glinting, olive lips twisting in a smile.

  Achan lost his balance. A flash of heat seized him as he fell sideways off the platform. A scream tore from his throat.

  The rings caught him-nearly jerking his shoulders and wrists from their sockets. Achan's weight pulled the rings farther down the wooden spikes, drawing Achan's arms down and out inch by inch.

  He writhed, kicking and gasping and shouting every curse in the king's language. The cuffs cut into the tops of his hands. His arms and wrists throbbed. He dangled above the platform like an animal in a snare.

  He had to ease the strain on his arms. He thrashed back and forth, trying to grab the chain with his fingers to spare his hands from the cuffs. He grabbed for the opposite chain, but his sweaty fingers slipped over the metal. With each twist of his body, the rings slid down more, pulling his arms further apart.

  Under his feet, Lord Falkson continued to chant his strange language, somehow raising a physical wind with his words. Several gowzals fluttered to perch closer to the man. "Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."

  Liquid tickled through Achan's beard and dripped from his chin. Sweat? Tears? Blood? He didn't know. He only knew he was going to die. Sir Gavin!

  He looked out at the field of faces, scanning for red Old Kingsguard cloaks. But of course they wouldn't wear them if trying to infiltrate this crowd.

  Achan's temple prickled. Vrell Sparrow.

  Achan opened to the boy, thankful his rescue had come.

  Achan. Are you well? Sparrow asked. What is happening?

  Achan swung and reached again to the left. How could Sparrow not see? Where are you?

  Sir Gavin made me wait with the horses.

  Achan's fingers slipped over the chain and the cuff wedged back into the top of his hand. He gritted his teeth. Blazes, Sparrow. Wait with the horses, then, and keep out of my head.

  You sound weak. Are you hurt?

  Achan grunted and swung right. You could say that.

  What can I do?

  Sit and wait like you were told! Achan closed his mind to the boy, enraged his rescue hadn't come after all. His lungs were on fire. He could barely breathe. Where was Sir Gavin?

  Achan's temple's pricked again.

  Vrell Sparrow.

  He managed to grip the chain above the cuff on his left hand, but his sweaty fingers slid down and he had to grip it again and again. He started to swing like a pendulum, side to side, until his left-hand grip was firm and secure. He ignored the searing pain from where the cuff cut into the skin on his right hand.

  Sir Gavin! Where are you?

  Straight out in front, lad. Do your best to hold tight.

  Achan almost laughed. Holding tight wasn't the problem. He was holding quite tightly at the moment.

  He squinted to locate Sir Gavin but failed. The wind picked up, tickling the hairs on Achan's legs and chilling his sweaty body. He swung toward the right spike. The chain drooped a bit. He jerked the chain, causing the large black ring to inch up the spike. In the same motion he crawled his fingers along the chain to keep it tight when he swung back. If he could climb off the top of this thing…

  When he swung right again, he slid that ring up higher. It caught on a knot in the wood. His arms were crooked now, the right higher than the left.

  He jerked the left chain up, twisting the excess around his hand to shorte
n it before he swung back. The higher he managed to raise the rings, the closer his arms were to the spikes-and the less he felt his arms would be ripped out.

  He stopped, tried to catch his breath, but could hardly pull air into his lungs. His biceps burned. He wasn't strong enough for this. The chains coiled around his hands, cutting of the blood flow. They looked purple.

  "Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen."

  Dirt joined the wind rising from the platform below. The blowing cloud twisted into a funnel. Gowzals flew into the gale and were swept away, darkening the cloudy haze to black.

  The whirlwind lengthened. Lord Falkson's phlegmy chanting droned louder. A gowzal squawked. The crowd grew silent, many of them dropping to their knees.

  A form coalesced in the swirling cone. The black wind funnel began to take the shape of a man, five times taller than normal-with a doglike head, long pointed ears, and a shaggy mane. His body consisted of black dirt particles spinning together under invisible skin.

  Barthos, god of soil.

  The people in the temple fell prostrate. On the platform below, Silvo, Nongo, the guards…even Esek fell to his face.

  "Arman, Arman, Arman," Achan whispered between short breaths, staring at the thing. His arms shook, ached, burned. Please. He gasped. "Please."

  Sir Gavin Lukos.

  Achan's head throbbed from Sparrow's persistent knocks so much he barely heard Sir Gavin's knock over the boy's. Achan opened immediately. Where are you? What do I do?

  Remember, lad, he's made of black spirits like the black knights use.

  Wonderful. But what do I do?

  Barthos is a creature of Gazar, not a god. He has no authority over Arman's children. We cannot kill him with steel, but we can rebuke him.

  Scold Barthos? That huge creature? How?

  Tell him to leave.

  Sir Gavin's voice yelled from the crowd on Achan's left. "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

  Achan scanned the crowd in that direction but couldn't see him.

  The creature too turned toward Sir Gavin's voice, revealing its lupine face. A kuon, the rabid black wolves that were said to be so prevalent in the Cela Mountains. That explained why Barth's crest displayed a kuon.

  Achan whimpered, doubting this beast would listen to him. He sucked a short breath between his teeth. "Go away!"

  Barthos's neck twisted. Eyes locked onto Achan's, he roared a guttural sound that curled Achan's toes.

  The beast swung a clawed paw. Achan moved his legs aside in time. But the ring on the right spike slid loose, jerking Achan's right arm down.

  Now he knew why he'd been strung here. He was to be plucked off his chains and devoured by this god of the underworld like a choice morsel.

  Achan writhed back and forth, legs swinging, right arm jerking the chain back up the pole. His arms were killing him. His hands were numb. Pain stabbed his temple.

  Vrell Sparrow.

  Achan screamed. He was going to maim Sparrow if he survived this.

  From the crowd behind him, Sir Caleb's voice shouted, "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

  The kuon tipped his head back and howled like a hundred vultures circling their carrion. It fell to all fours and lumbered under Achan, shaking the platform and spikes with each step.

  Inko's voice rose from somewhere on Achan's right. "Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

  Barthos spun toward Inko and roared.

  Clearly, Achan didn't know how to scold the beast properly. Anyway, what was this doing but whipping the creature into more anger? This wasn't the rescue he had in mind. He realized that if he wanted down, he'd have to do it himself.

  The right ring had wedged between two knots close to the spike's point. That drew his legs closer to the right beam. Achan kicked out, trying to hook a leg around the right spike. He missed and fell back, his arms jerking taut.

  He grunted and kicked up again. This time he was able to curl his right calf around the spike.

  The pressure in his right arm eased immediately. He hung for a moment, took a deep breath, then pulled his other leg over until he managed to wrap it around too. He clutched the spike with both legs and his right arm. He tipped his head back, left arm still stretched to the left spike.

  Barthos stalked through the crowd, knocking the spectators aside. Black dirt billowed under his transparent skin.

  People screamed. Some sang a warbling song in their foreign tongues. The knights' voices chanted low and steady, their rhythm contradicting Lord Falkson's slurred tones.

  Sparrow continued to knock, the little boil.

  Achan struggled with his left hand, jerking the chain up the spike inch by inch until at last the ring slipped over the top of the spike and fell.

  The weight jerked his left arm, and his body slid down the wood spike. Rough splinters pierced his torso, arm, and thighs. He squeezed, stopping himself from sliding further, and pulled his left arm up to the spike.

  He alternated hugging the spike with his arms and twisting his hips then squeezing his legs around the spike and moving his arms. The chains and metal rings still hung from his wrists, but at least his arms were no longer being yanked out. In this way he slowly inched his body around the beam until he was on the outside of it, hunched upon the slope as if riding Scout up a steep hill.

  He shimmied up awkwardly. When he reached the sharpened tip, he worked the right ring up, for it had wedged between the spike and his body. Once he pulled the ring off the spike, he looped it over his arm like a metal sleeve. He pulled the left chain up and threaded his left arm through it.

  Now what?

  He was free of the spikes, but he was so high up that a smoky haze from the torches on the platform blurred the floor beneath him. Achan caught sight of a red blur running down the stairs followed by two dark blurs. Not so cocky now that the beast had been distracted, huh, Esek?

  He looked out into the grandstands. The knights had successfully diverted Barthos. He could see them now. They wore the clothing Lord Eli had given them-white tunics, leather vests, and brown trousers-and were standing halfway up the grandstands on his left. The beast raged through the crowd, circling Sir Caleb, but never getting too close. People in the crowd screamed and trampled each other to get out of Barthos's path.

  The platform was empty but for Lord Falkson and the gowzals that perched on him as if he were a scarecrow. Achan scanned the crowd for Silvo and Sir Nongo. He spied the black knights with Khai pushing through the crowd toward Sir Caleb.

  Sir Caleb, three of Esek's men are coming your way.

  I see them, Your Highness. How did you manage to unhook yourself? Well done!

  Achan didn't answer. His arms shook so hard they'd likely give way and he'd fall to his death. He slid down a bit. A fat sliver stabbed into his thigh like a rose thorn. He clenched his jaw and kept going. Halfway down, he paused to check the knights.

  The crowd had scattered, leaving a wide circle where Sir Caleb and Sir Nongo now clashed swords. Silvo gestured toward the platform and yelled the phlegmy language at Barthos, whose head bobbed back and forth as if unsure what he wanted to do next. Achan could still hear Sir Gavin and Inko chanting. What they were saying?

  Ignoring the splinters, Achan slid further down. Part of him wanted to just let go and drop to the platform, but he'd probably break a few bones, so he maintained his controlled slide.

  Finally, the chains clattered to the platform. Achan twisted around the beam as if coming down off a low tree branch and dropped to his feet.

  On guard, Your Highness! Sir Caleb yelled in Achan's mind.

  A coarse paw struck Achan's back and sent him sprawling across the platform. He rolled to his side against the supports of the ladder and tried to stand, but he was tangled in the chains.

  Barthos stood in the center of the platform, Silvo right behind it. The creature roared, baring a mouthful of sharp t
eeth.

  Achan sat up and untangled the chains. He threaded them behind his back and slid the opposite ring up over each shoulder, hoping to keep them out of his way.

  Join us in rebuking him, Achan! Sir Gavin said.

  Achan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. But I don't know what you're saying. Speak the common tongue so I can understand.

  It matters not what you say but that you believe Arman can deliver you.

  Oh. You're calling on Arman?

  'Tis the only way to destroy it.

  Achan closed his eyes and licked his cracked lips. "O, powerful Arman, father of all Er'Rets. Have mercy on your servants. Send this ugly beast back to where it came from."

  Warmth spread through Achan.

  Barthos screeched and swiped his paw. Achan backpedaled into the ladder supports to try to avoid Barthos' strike, but he could not. The massive paw descended to cut him in half.

  But the only thing that passed through him was swirling wind. Merely a chilled breeze on his sweaty skin.

  Barthos looked surprised. The creature's hind legs morphed into a whirling tunnel. The kuon's body spun out of form. No longer a dog-man but only a funnel of wind and dirt again.

  Once the head vanished, the funnel scattered into hundreds of gowzals. The black birds soared over the audience squawking and biting. The crowd screamed and ran.

  Achan headed for the stairs leading down off the platform, but Silvo cut him off.

  Achan lowered his left arm and let the ring slide over his hand, gripping the chain when the ring hung inches from the ground. He swung it up over his head like a mace and ran toward Silvo, screaming.

  Silvo's eyes widened. He fled down the steps. Achan stopped and flung the ring. It struck Silvo in the back of the head. The black knight's legs crumpled. He fell down the stairs and lay still at the bottom.

  Achan looped both rings over his left shoulder. Master of the iron rings, he was. He scrambled down the steps, tugged Prince Oren's ring off Silvo's hand, and joined the throng.