To Darkness Fled bok-2

by Jill Williamson

  Sparrow got one hand free and pulled Achan's braid. "I meant to," he said over a grunt.

  "Oh ho?" Achan snagged Sparrow's hand and pushed it back in the snow. "If you're going to fight cheaply you best be prepared for the repercussions."

  "I can take anything you throw at me."

  "This said by the boy immobilized in the snow. That so?"

  "Yes, Your Whininess."

  The contempt in Sparrow's voice deserved a lasting lesson. Achan considered something painful but not debilitating. He brought up his knee-

  "Achan!" Sir Gavin called. "I need you, lad."

  Achan pushed off Sparrow. "Well, Luckyfox, fate has intervened and saved you from a world of hurt."

  "Now, Achan!" Sir Gavin's tone seemed almost angry.

  Achan scooped two handfuls of snow over Sparrow's face and backpedaled toward the horses, laughing. Sparrow sat up and shook his head like a wet dog, snow sizzling into the fire.

  Achan trudged to Sir Gavin. "You need me?"

  Sir Gavin clutched a dead gowzal by the feet. "You must go easy on the lad."

  "Sparrow? I was only playing with him."

  "Aye, but…some are natural fighters. Others…less so."

  "That's my point. Sparrow's about as far from a warrior as a maiden at a joust."

  "Aye, and there's reason for that. He…well, he, uh… He has a… condition."

  Achan's enthusiasm sobered. "What? Like a weak heart?"

  "Something like that."

  Achan looked back to Sparrow at the fire. No wonder the boy was so scrawny. "That's the secret he's keeping?"

  "Uh, sort of."

  "Why doesn't he say so?"

  "'Tis Vrell's decision, Achan. Let it be."

  "But he wants to learn to fight. He asked me."

  "You can teach him. Just be…gentle." Sir Gavin stepped past Achan, toward the campfire.

  "Gentle?" Gentleness and fighting were as much a match as darkness and light. What fellowship could they possibly have with one another?

  Sir Gavin approached Vrell carrying a dead gowzal by the feet. "Cooking has never been my strong suit. Inko handed me this, and he and Caleb are still hunting. Can you help?"

  Vrell's eyes widened. "I do not think I can stomach eating a black spirit, Sir Gavin." Plus, she knew nothing of cooking.

  "The creature is merely a bird. The spirit leaves it when it dies. Eating it now is perfectly safe." He dropped the beast at her feet and whispered, "Thank you, my lady. You've saved an old man from a terrifying ordeal." He walked back to the horses.

  Vrell scanned the camp for ears, heart pattering at the sound of "my lady" spoken aloud. Achan and Sir Gavin stood by the horses. The others were hunting. Still, Sir Gavin's gutsyness unhinged her. She stared at the bird, hesitant to even touch it. She removed her knife from her satchel and crouched before the dead thing. She pinched a feather and sawed it off.

  There must be an easier way. People spoke of plucking birds. Vrell held the beast down, grabbed a feather, and jerked. The sound of the shaft ripping from flesh sickened her. Her body inflated with tension. Being female did not mean she knew how to cook. Was it not enough that she had the stomach to heal grievous wounds? For the first time ever, she regretted having confided in the Great Tactless Whitewolf.

  She grabbed another feather, winced, and yanked it out. She gripped another.

  "What are you doing?" Achan's voice came from behind.

  She pulled, the feather vane slipped through her fingers, and her fist whacked Achan's leg. "Sorry. Sir Gavin asked me to cook this, this…thing for dinner."

  "Do you know how?" His words were laced with laughter.

  Vrell held up a feather. "How difficult can it be?"

  His hand stretched over her head. "Give me the knife."

  Vrell handed it over. Achan carried the bird to the large mound of snow at the water's edge. He knelt and swiped off the mound with his forearm, baring a large, flat boulder. Vrell's posture slumped. She had truly believed it to be only snow.

  Achan laid the gowzal on its back. "Plucking will take too long, and there's more to it than ripping out random feathers. Besides, we've no need to be fancy, so I'll skin it."

  Vrell recoiled. "Skin a bird?"

  "Sure." Achan turned the gowzal on its side and straightened its head. He cut the neck again and again until he was able to pull it free. The sound of ripping tendons grated worse on Vrell's nerves than feathers ripping out.

  "First the head, then the feet." Achan set down the knife and took one leg in two hands. He twisted the leg at the knee, pulled and twisted until it hung by threads, then used the knife to sever the remaining tendons.

  Vrell tried not to look, wincing at every snap and crack of the beast's dead body. Achan's lips curved slightly, as if he were actually enjoying himself.

  He twisted off the wings next, rotated the bird to its back, smoothed the feathers aside, and cut the belly open. He slid his fingers in and pushed back the skin, feathers and all. Vrell's stomach lurched. She closed her eyes and stifled a whimper.

  "See?" Achan said. "Not too hard. It might not look pretty for a feast, but it'll taste fine. All we have left is to gut it."

  Vrell did not learn how to gut the bird because her eyes were closed. She hummed a chorus to drown the sounds of tendons ripping and skin tearing. When she opened her eyes, Achan pushed a pile of feathers and bloody goo to the side. The beast did look to have nice chunks of meat on it.

  Achan washed the meat in the river. "Go get your sack."

  Vrell hurried away and returned with her satchel that bulged with supplies from Ressa's apothecary friend. Movement in the distance caught her eye. Sir Caleb and Inko returned carrying three more gowzals. She cringed, hoping the men would not insist she learn this horrible skill. She appreciated Mother's cook more than ever.

  Achan laid the meat on the rock. He scanned the ground near the water's edge and picked up a sturdy branch. Using Vrell's knife, he stripped bark from the branch and growled. "Is there no green wood in Darkness? I'm surprised the whole land hasn't gone up in flames."

  Sir Caleb arrived and set his birds beside the rock. "What are you two doing?"

  "Achan is teaching me to skin the bird," Vrell said, as if the idea fascinated her. "He says plucking will take too long."

  "He's right on that account."

  Achan sharpened the stick like a spear and handed it to Vrell. He rinsed his hands in the river and pointed at her satchel. "What have you got in there? To cook with, I mean?"

  Vrell's mind raced. What herbs were good for cooking? "Um…cloves?"

  Achan wrinkled his nose. "Not for fowl. What else?"

  "Fennel?"

  "Okay. What else?"

  "Yarrow?"

  Sir Caleb chuckled.

  Achan's shoulders slumped. "Let me see."

  Vrell handed him the bag. He set it in his lap and drew each bundle out one at a time and smelled them. "Rosemary. Is there any garlic in here?"

  "Yes. At the bottom."

  He handed her the satchel, but kept her bunch of rosemary. "Can you find it?"

  She dug until she found a bulb of garlic wrapped in leather where it could not overpower the rest of her herbs.

  Achan slicked open the bird's breast and shoved the rosemary inside. He took the clove of garlic from Vrell's hand and smacked it against the rock to knock the skin loose. He tucked a clove in with the rosemary and handed the rest back. "Sir Caleb, do you have any twine?"

  Sir Caleb burst into a hearty laugh. "I think so. I'll go look." He trudged toward the horses, laughing all the way.

  Vrell put away the garlic. The smell of rosemary and garlic masked the stench of blood. "Where did you learn to do this?"

  Achan cocked an eyebrow. "Your first clue is on my back. Forgetfulfox."

  Vrell flushed, the image of Achan's scarred back fresh in her mind. "Right. Sorry."

  "I didn't hate Poril, you know. Deep down, for most my youth, I thought of him as my father. I never u
nderstood why he… Well, he'd beat me for the lightest transgression and show no remorse. Did your master ever beat you?"

  Vrell glanced down at her hands. "No."

  Achan huffed. "Luckyfox."

  Sir Caleb returned with twine. Achan tied the breast to the stick to keep the spices in. He carried the stick to the campfire.

  Vrell trudged after him.

  "Not bad, Your Highness." Sir Caleb nodded at Achan's meat, now propped over the fire. "Care to see how I do it?"

  Achan shrugged. "What other way is there?"

  "The hunter's way." Sir Caleb walked to the riverbank, Achan and Inko at his heels. Vrell followed, uninterested in seeing another bird gutted, yet what other way could there be?

  Sir Caleb set a gowzal on the ground on its back and spread the wings to the side. He stepped on them, pressing his boots against the body, grabbed the legs, and pulled. At first nothing happened. Then something popped inside the bird.

  Vrell jumped and started at the dead bird, wincing.

  Sir Caleb continued to pull, eliciting more cracks and tearing from the carcass. Suddenly, the feet ripped away from the rest of the body. Vrell shrieked and jumped back. The innards were still attached to the legs.

  "Whoa!" Achan's eyes were wide, like he'd never seen anything so amazing.

  Vrell did not think she could take much more.

  "This gets you right to the meat." Sir Caleb held up the feet, dripping with guts. "All the innards are right here. And, see? The breast is bare. Just pull it out and cook."

  Achan leaned forward to look. Vrell stayed put.

  "Then strip back the innards over the leg…" Sir Caleb demonstrated. "Snap them off at the knee…and you've got two drumsticks ready to go. Toss the rest."

  Achan reached for one of the other gowzals half-covered by snow. "Can I try?"

  Vrell walked back toward the fire. "I shall keep watch on the one cooking."

  Dinner warmed Achan's insides, but Sir Gavin extinguished the campfire and the darkness and cold returned.

  Achan didn't feel like sleeping. He wanted to talk. "Do we follow the river all the way to Berland, Sir Gavin?"

  "Nay. We'll leave the river here and head north."

  "And follow your nose?" Achan asked.

  "For a while."

  Achan decided to look in on Gren, just to confirm her safety. Sparrow, I'm checking on Gren. Make sure no one stabs me.

  Achan, you should tell one of the knights. Mocking them is not-

  Achan closed his mind and concentrated on Gren's face. He saw nothing. Weariness gripped his limbs. She was sleeping.

  On a whim, he sought out her father instead.

  A dark room came into focus lit by a candle on a bedside table. Master Fenny lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  Don't say that, Master Fenny said. There's always hope.

  It's false hope. Tears laced Gren's mother's voice. No man will marry a widow. We shouldn't have given her to Riga. She didn't want to marry him. It was a poor choice.

  You blame me?

  We should've let her marry Achan. She could be queen now.

  Master Fenny snorted. They wouldn't have let him marry a weaver's daughter.

  But don't you see? Had we given in, they would've wed already. She'd be queen by default. They wouldn't have taken his wife away.

  We cannot live in the past, Frida. She married Riga and he's dead. We must look to the future. I for one will not give up hope. We have a new life here. Carmine has rich soil. And I've never met such kind people. You yourself said this morning how kind they are here.

  I did. They are kind. To us. But to Gren…

  We must put all our hopes in this young squire. He's been good to us, and I've seen him looking fondly at Grendolyn.

  He's betrothed to the duchess' daughter. We cannot compete with nobility. If we're to find Gren another match, we must set our sights lower.

  Master Fenny recalled his time in the fields with Master Rennan earlier that day. I think the man fancies her.

  What does that matter? Prince Gidon fancied every girl in Sitna. Did that make him a good match for anyone?

  Do not speak that name! I say, Achan should be named again. Really, for that boy to take on a name so tainted-

  Achan pulled away, thoughts drifting. He wrinkled his nose. It felt stiff in the icy air.

  Gren's parents wanted her to remarry. It would be best. Why hadn't Achan demanded Sir Gavin let him marry Gren? Shouldn't he have put up a fight? His heart didn't ache any less for what he and Gren had lost when she had married Riga.

  Had Riga kept him silent? The baby? Achan didn't know.

  Master Fenny suspected Bran had feelings for Gren. But Bran had spoken passionately to Gren about his betrothed, Lady Averella. Could the squire's feelings have changed in her absence? Master Fenny had likely read more into Bran's polite behavior. Besides, no man could help looking twice at Gren.

  His eyes ached. Time to sleep. Sparrow? I'm back and alive, so stop worrying. I'm going to sleep now.

  After a long pause, Sparrow said, Good night, Your Highness.

  Achan felt he'd hardly slept when Sir Caleb shook him awake. They rode into a thick forest. The horses slowed to a lazy amble in the snow. The trees were so close together there seemed to be no room for the animals. Branches swiped at Achan's arms and face, knocking snow over his head and arms. He kept his wool cloak fastened tight, the hood up, but it wasn't enough to ward off the chill. His fingers were numb.

  Before long Sparrow began to complain. "Are we unable to find the road?"

  "There's no road to Berland." Sir Gavin's voice carried back. "This trail is narrow on purpose."

  Achan breathed on his fingers, making them moist. "Then how does one travel to Berland?" Before they freeze?

  "No outsider travels to Berland," Sir Gavin said. "They're brought there."

  Sparrow's heavy sigh hissed from behind him. "But should Berlanders travel elsewhere, they must have a way home. Why can we not take their road?"

  "This is their road. Berlanders train their horses for these narrow hunting trails. They don't want it widely known where their stronghold is located."

  Achan shifted in his saddle, his bruised body aching and saddle sore. He guessed eleven days had passed since Mirrorstone. Three nights in Melas, and he'd walked two days to Barth, but the other six had been spent on horseback. What did Sir Gavin have in mind once they freed the men from IceIsland? A long stay in Tsaftown where Achan might court Lady Tara? The idea seized him with a thrill of excitement and fear.

  They rode all day, ate lunch on horseback, and kept going. TherionForest made noises similar to those in NaharForest. Pecking, the occasional flutter of wings, snapping branches. Just as Achan was beginning to crave his bedroll, a loud click, click, click, click, click, click, click sounded from the trees above.

  Achan tipped his head back to the blackness above. The sound was right above him.

  Wump wump wump.

  "Something's up there." A clump of soft snow fell in his eyes. He lowered his head and wiped the moisture away.

  "Probably an animal," Sparrow said.

  "That's what I'm afraid of." Achan pulled his hood tight. "Do you know what kinds of animals live around here? Do you know what a cham is?"

  Sparrow tsked. "A cham would not make such a sound."

  "How do you know what sound a cham would make? Have you seen one?" Achan really wanted to see a cham, but not in Darkness, though a fire would be nice.

  Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.

  "I think a cham would roar," Sparrow said. "And if he did, we would see his fire."

  Chee wa. Cheeee wa. Chee wa. Cheeee wa.

  Achan looked again to the blackness above, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Then what do you suppose that one was?"

  Sparrow didn't answer.

  Picka picka picka picka picka picka picka.

  Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.

  Shweeeeeeeee.<
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  Balls of yellow light illuminated the forest around them. "Black knights?" Achan reached to draw his sword and found his scabbard empty. His stomach clenched. Had it fallen?

  "Not black knights." Sir Gavin said, calming his horse. "Don't fight them. All will be well."

  Achan twisted on his saddle, feeling for Eagan's Elk, squinting for the glint of the blade in the pale light. The multitude of strange sounds seemed to magnify.

  Shweeeeeeeee.

  A furry beast fell from the treetops, hovering to Achan's right. Achan cried out. Metal scraped over wood on his left. He swiveled in his saddle. A fur-clad man held Eagan's Elk to his throat. These weren't beasts. They were men in fur clothing.

  Achan lifted his hands above his head. The chilled air snaked in the gap of his cloak and up his torso.

  "Where you go to?" the man holding Eagan's Elk asked.

  "We travel to Berland to seek the hospitality of Duke Orson," Sir Gavin yelled. "We are friends of Prince Oren. The young man behind me carries his ring."

  The creature glided over the back of Achan's horse, somehow hanging mid-air. He grabbed Achan's hand and inspected Prince Oren's ring, then drew Achan's hands behind his back. Achan tried to jerk free, but the man holding Eagan's Elk pulled a burlap sack over Achan's head. Achan stood in his stirrups and tried to throw himself from Scout's back. Strong hands gripped his shoulders while another rope was threaded under his arms, bound around his chest. Achan's muscles tensed. What had Sir Gavin meant by "Don't fight them"?

  A hand slapped Achan's back, a voice yelled, "Hay oh!" and his body zipped into the air. He screamed as he flew, feet swinging out behind, ripping past branches. He sucked in a breath and burlap filled his mouth. He spit it out, desperately wanting to grab something. Before he could think what to do, his flight slowed. Hands caught his arms, pulled him forward.

  His feet landed on a wood plank. The rope around his chest tugged away, and he was ushered along a platform that swayed under his trembling steps. In the distance, Sparrow screamed. Achan couldn't help but smile. The little fox was flying.