To Darkness Fled bok-2

by Jill Williamson

  No, but you're his emissary, his flesh on earth, so to speak. When you show the men approval, they'll soar, and when you scold them, they'll feel Arman's judgment. This is why you cannot act like a mere man. You must hold yourself to a higher standard. You must sacrifice your own wants and comforts to fill this role.

  And since my comfort is to work, I must sacrifice that by sitting on my backside?

  Exactly. And if you praise your men for their efforts they'll never tire of serving you.

  Achan sighed and rubbed his gloved fingers against his temple. There must be something I can do?

  Practice your reading and writing?

  Achan groaned. In Tsaftown, Sir Caleb had given him ink, parchment, and a copy of a history text with the intent of furthering Achan's reading skills and teaching him to write.

  Achan removed the saddlebag from Dove and carried it into his tent, thanking the men who'd erected it as he entered. Unfortunately, Polk had been one of them.

  "I've set up tents before, Your Highness, all by myself. None were more complex that the fake prince's pavilion."

  Achan forced a smile and entered his tent. The air inside smelled like a wet dog. A small campfire burned in an iron brazier directly under a hole in the center of the roof between the two peaks, filling the center room with light. Above his head, spokes fanned out from each pole like two, oversized wagon wheels on their sides. On the right, two brown, linen curtains hung from spokes, sectioning off a private room.

  Sir Caleb followed him in. "Not a bad home, is it? This end room is for you. Us knights will sleep out here. Go in and relax. Kurtz and Bazmark are standing guard outside your walls, so you needn't fear anyone slipping under the edge."

  Achan ducked between the curtains. Straw mats had been layered over a bed of frozen moss and twigs, Achan's bedroll arranged on top. An oil lamp atop a chunk of firewood at the foot of his bed cast dancing light over the walls and spokes.

  Achan pulled off his gloves and sat on his bed. He removed the parchment and quill from his saddlebag. Even with the slight warmth from the fire, his fingers were too cold to pinch the quill. The ink was probably frozen too. He set the writing tools aside and leafed through the book.

  The letters jumbled together. His mind drifted. One of his men had betrayed him. Could there be others? Working together? Or perhaps each with their own agenda? Maybe Achan could use bloodvoicing to monitor each man's thoughts and discover who'd tried to poison him.

  But what about gifted men? They would guess their destination soon enough and could communicate the information to Esek-or someone else. Hadad, maybe? The person-was it a demon? a shadow mage? — who had visited him in the pit in Barth, what was his agenda? He had wanted Achan to join him, but to what end? Would Achan's death get Hadad the same goal, whatever that might be?

  Supposedly, Achan was stronger than any other bloodvoicer, yet he didn't yet know how to push past a man's shields and enter his mind. What, then, was the best way to discover who could bloodvoice without having to probe every mind in camp?

  Achan reached out to Sir Gavin. Is there a way I can tell which of our men can bloodvoice without having to look into each mind?

  Sir Gavin took a moment to reply. It's difficult. We talked about a novice giving off a chill. A skilled bloodvoicer can focus in on that cold, but it takes practice, and you'd be leaving your body, which I'd rather you not try until we've had a chance to teach you more. Sir Eagan would be the best man for the task. I never did much reconnaissance.

  Achan's first instinct was to beg Sir Gavin to help him anyway, wanting assistance from someone he knew well, but speaking with Sir Eagan would help him get to know the man. Sir Eagan, could you come to my tent when you have a moment? Please?

  Achan scratched the back of his neck. The fleas were still with him. The stinky wool tent wouldn't help matters, apparently, neither would the cold.

  A gust of icy air rustled the pages of the book. "Yes, Your Majesty?" Sir Eagan stood between the curtains.

  Achan stopped scratching. "Come in and sit down."

  Sir Eagan stepped out of view and returned with a tied bedroll. He dropped it beside the curtain and used it as a chair. His blue eyes pierced Achan's shield of comfort.

  "Sir Gavin tells me you're the man to ask for help," Achan said. "I'd like to determine which of the new men possess the ability to bloodvoice. Sir Gavin says you can teach me how to leave my mind and focus in on those with the gift."

  "You are wise to want to know who has the ability, but what you ask is a difficult task."

  "Can you teach me?"

  Sir Eagan pressed his lips together. "I can, but there is an easier way. A combination of logic and bookkeeping."

  "Not a new bloodvoicing method?"

  "Nothing so complicated, no, Your Highness. Simply look into every mind to see if you can. A gifted man would likely be trained to keep his mind closed. If you cannot see into a mind, you know that one is gifted."

  "There's never a case where an ungifted man may be able to guard his mind?"

  Sir Eagan shook his head. "It is impossible. You could keep a list of the men and note your discoveries by each name. Then you will learn who is gifted and who is not."

  Achan knew all this already. "There are over three hundred. Is there a faster way? I am trying to find the traitor."

  Sir Eagan frowned. "You believe he can bloodvoice?"

  Achan took a deep, chilled, breath. "Esek did not look or sound as if he expected me dead, and his timing cannot be ignored. So there might be more than one traitor. Perhaps one man who seeks the reward for my death, operating apart from Esek, and another with the ability to bloodvoice Sir Kenton and keep Esek informed of our plans. I wish to determine who is capable of bloodvoicing so that I can monitor their thoughts."

  "Sound deductions, Your Highness. The simplest way might be to ask the gifted men to come forward. Their good faith should set them apart from those who do not confess the gift. But the ability to bloodvoice is not enough to prove a man guilty. A traitor may have had other means of communicating with Esek. You need evidence and reason before accusing any man, for your accused could claim to have been daydreaming.

  "I suggest you share your discoveries with Gavin or Caleb or myself so that we can verify your findings. Should you go pointing the finger without proof, you will quickly become an object of ridicule. That would be tragic."

  Achan's shoulders slumped. Consumed by anger and fear-and his quest to be useful-he might have done just that. His stomach knotted. He didn't know how to be king. He'd be a laughingstock within a month.

  A sudden calm wrapped him like a cloak cast upon him from above. He gasped at the contrast to how he'd just been feeling.

  Sir Eagan smiled knowingly. "A little trick I learned, Your Highness. I hope you do not mind. I have always been sensitive to the emotions of those around me. Imagine walking by a hungry man and not offering him food. I feel cruel if I do not help."

  "You calmed me? With your bloodvoice? Can you teach me?"

  "I shall think on it. I am not entirely certain how I do it."

  "Thank you, Sir Eagan." Achan reached for the ink, determined to start right away on part one of his plan: a roster of all his men. He'd have to get his ink thawed.

  "My pleasure, Your Majesty." Sir Eagan stood and picked up his bedroll. "And I shall teach you how to leave your body once we are back in Light. It is much safer there."

  Another thought drifted into Achan's mind. "Sir Eagan? Do you think it would be good if…" His face warmed. "I think I'd like to make some…appointments?"

  Sir Eagan's lips curved in a small smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. But you might wait a few more days and get to know the men better. Time may inspire several assignments that have not yet occurred to you."

  "Of course. You're very wise, Sir Eagan."

  "Only because I have made many mistakes."

  Achan's stomach clenched again. "I don't want to make mistakes."

  "No man sets out to make mi
stakes. It is when he listens to his desires over what is true and right that he fails. Humility is a most difficult trait to develop. I am pleased to see you have a great deal of it already. For you shall be tempted more than any other."

  Sir Eagan sighed, glanced at his hands. "Your Majesty, I am not a bold man, nor am I good with sentiments, but…" He lowered himself to his knees, his blue eyes intense. "I swear to you…" He paused to breathe, his eyes glistening. "As I served your father, I shall serve you with equal devotion.

  "I swore over his dead body that I would avenge him. Kenton might have put me away for thirteen years, but he did not kill me. And only death could keep me from my vow. It is my life's purpose to serve you, to teach you all your father would have taught you. For there is no one to blame for his death but me." He squeezed his eyes shut. A tear leaked down his cheek. He forced himself to look at Achan again. "I alone am responsible. I was his Shield. I failed him. And you. I shall not fail again."

  Sir Eagan helped compile Achan's roster by patrolling the camp. There were three hundred fifty-one men in their group. Sixty-five with Captain Demry, fifty-two ex-guards from IceIsland, two hundred eleven escaped Old Kingsguards, and only eighteen from the Prodotez. Sir Eagan indicated with small dots which men had confessed bloodvoice ability. There were eight on the list, not including Sir Gavin, Sir Caleb, Inko, Sparrow, and Achan. Fifteen confessed bloodvoicers in all.

  That night, Achan scratched off another list of names. Sir Eagan had inspired him to practice wisdom before action. Achan dipped the quill into the ink-which had thawed at the edge of the fire-and set it to the parchment. He intended to add every possible suspect, including those he knew couldn't possibly be against him. Sir Eric Livna, for example. He also wrote down Lady Viola, Lady Revada, and Lady Merris.

  Verdot Amal also concerned Achan, even though Sir Caleb had forgiven him. Someone had alerted Esek that they'd been heading to the prison. Merrygog McLennan could have had a man track them. Any of the missing prisoners from the Prodotez could have followed them as well. Achan racked his brain to remember as many as possible. This only frustrated him. It was impossible for this list to be thorough.

  He couldn't stand to think that one of his companions might be deceiving him, but he'd lived long enough to know that even close friends sometimes had secrets they were unwilling to share.

  Like Sparrow.

  The boy's secret festered in light of recent events. Achan shook Sparrow from his thoughts and concentrated on his list.

  It took time, but eventually he felt satisfied with it. The next task proved harder. Shadowing these men was the only way he might discover the traitor. He informed Sir Eagan of his plans-so he could check on Achan and make sure no one stabbed his body while his mind was elsewhere-then began the tedious quest of watching through the eyes of each name on his list, starting with Verdot Amal.

  Vrell shivered. Her tent was so small and drafty. She had gotten used to the extra warmth her fake belly provided. She held it in her lap and reached inside to remove another handful of moldy wool. The pile at her feet filed her tent with a musty smell, reminding her of hemlock, which reminded her of the serving boy, which reminded her of her uncle.

  Tears filled her eyes. She hadn't known Lord Livna well, but he had always been kind to her. She could still see his bulging eyes after Esek had-Stop. Mother had counseled Vrell on the long day's ride, made her promise not to relive the horrible scene.

  Darkness was preying on her mind again. She focused on something more pleasant. Achan had changed since Tsaftown. Maybe it had been the trumpets, or the gifts, or the death of the serving boy and her uncle. But he walked around taller, brow furrowed, finally taking his birthright seriously.

  She recalled Achan's expression when Sir Caleb said she would not serve as his squire. She had not meant to hurt his feelings. She shivered at the timing of her choice. Any other day it would have been Vrell standing behind Achan, fetching his wine. What if she had somehow tasted his wine?

  She spilled out a fresh batch of tears over the circumstances as she finished empting her fake belly of the old, moldy wool. She grabbed a handful of the fresh fleece Sir Gavin had bought her in Tsaftown. She prayed it would make a difference in the smell.

  Thankfully she would be home soon. Very soon.

  Achan had been so preoccupied with his new army he had not seemed to notice that Vrell was missing from his tent. It was for the best. The busier he was, the easier she could sneak away in Carmine, unnoticed. The day might come when Achan would ask Sir Gavin, "Whatever became of Vrell Sparrow?" And Sir Gavin would say, "The lad wasn't cut out for war. Left us in Carmine to seek out an occupation as healer."

  And that would be the end of it.

  She was glad, really. It was Arman's will. Yet her heart ached, and her mind dwelled on mythical situations. A ball in Armonguard. Would Achan recognize her if she attended? Would he kiss her hand?

  She shook the petty daydream aside. She would never have to attend a ball in Armonguard. She would be a married woman. Right?

  Why pretend? Bran clearly no longer cared for her in such a way, and if she were honest, the same was true for her. Had time changed matters? Or had they simply fooled themselves into believing they were meant to be?

  Maybe Tara was right. Maybe love really did not exist. Maybe it was purely a decision a person made, a business arrangement, a matter of who was available or had the largest inheritance? Vrell's heart told her otherwise, but as Sir Caleb said, "The heart is deceitful above all things."

  Vrell certainly did not trust hers.

  Achan lurched awake, parchment clutched in hand. He'd been looking in on Merrygog McLennan, hoping the old man would implicate himself, but apparently, the man had fallen asleep and taken Achan with him. A faint orange light glowed through the brown linen curtain separating Achan's bed from the knights. All must be sleeping here, too.

  Achan found shadowing harder work than he'd imagined. After hours, Sir Eric and Lady Viola were the only names he'd crossed from his list. He had shadowed the minds of Lady Livna, Lady Merris, Arne, and Verdot Amal and discovered nothing, which meant he would have to continue shadowing their minds until he proved them innocent. Or guilty.

  This could take a long time.

  He yawned and took one last look at the list, with the intention of blowing out his lamp right after. He tapped his finger on the name that continued to haunt him.

  Vrell Sparrow.

  Achan had taken Sir Gavin at his word for weeks, accepting Sir Gavin's explanation despite his curiosity.

  Until now.

  A tiny voice inside disagreed. He should continue to trust Sir Gavin. But as the future king he had a job to do, however unpleasant, and would not be mocked behind his back because he'd been too naive to verify every possibility.

  Sparrow's name was on the list. To complete his inquiry, he had to check at some point. His new resolve to do this job well demanded it. Kindness was his only objection, and he couldn't afford to give away kindness anymore. Not when the serving boy's life could have been spared. Not when more lives were at stake until the traitor was found.

  Come to think of it, Sparrow had abandoned his post as Achan's squire just before that banquet.

  Achan sat up on his bedroll and put his face in his hands.

  He pictured Sparrow's chubby face, sensed the shield around his mind, and pushed. As usual, Sparrow's mind was shrouded in armor he couldn't penetrate. Yet if he were the strongest bloodvoicer, there should be a way. He just needed to figure out how.

  32

  The snowy hunting trail wound through the mountains, slowed the horses, and deepened Achan's frustration. He could walk faster than this. He hadn't realized they crossed the AstrapeRiver until Inko and Kurtz stopped to count the group and make sure no one had fallen through the ice. Their second night out from Tsaftown, they camped along the bank of the River Betsar, though Achan could hear or see no sign of a river, even when a bonfire was lit.

  It should have
been a three-day journey to Mitspah, but on day four, they still hadn't arrived, though there was less snow and the River Betsar was now flowing freely within its icy banks. That night they ate fresh fish.

  Sir Caleb kept Achan's mind busy with a discussion of Mitspah. It's is a mining town. They bring in much income from wealthy travelers who come to see PazFalls and TempleArman.

  Temple Arman? I thought Arman's temple was his followers.

  True, but two temples to Arman exist in Er'Rets. One is in Armonguard, the other in Mitspah.

  How interesting to see how this temple differed from Cetheria's temple in Sitna and Avenis' temple in Mirrorstone.

  Achan peered up the line, then realized, despite the few torches men carried, he could see his surroundings. His heart quickened. He blinked at the sky. Though he could see no moon or stars, something lit the woods as if he were standing outside at night under a full moon.

  He called up to Sir Gavin at the front of the line. I can see.

  Aye, we're entering the Evenwall near Mitspah, though the trail will take us to the valley first. Then we'll come back up along the king's road.

  Why must we go around?

  'Tis far too dangerous to ford the river here. It's very rocky near the top of the falls. Therefore we'll continue down to the valley and cross there.

  How much longer?

  Two more days, I expect.

  Achan groaned. Why, when they were so close, did their final destination seem so far?

  As they descended the mountain trail, shapes in the landscape appeared like shadows at dusk. Achan fidgeted at the idea of sunlight. Leafy trees took shadowed form around him. His furs glistened as the mist of the Evenwall clung to the fibers. The men began to talk about the coming day until a restless energy took hold of the entire group.

  Well, Sparrow, we entered Darkness and lived to tell the tale.

  No answer came. Achan suddenly realized he hadn't spoken to the boy since the day Lord Livna had died. Too many days ago to count. Maybe Sparrow was upset. He tried again. Or maybe we haven't all lived. Are you still breathing, Sparrow?