It wasn’t over.
Sir Gavin! I see the third one.
Aye, lad. We’re watching him.
The giant tipped back his head and yelled another trilling battle cry. “Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!” He sprang off the ground, taking long leaps into the clearing, the wet moss squishing with each step of his fearless charge.
A grunt and the clash of metal made Achan jump. He stared into the haze backlit by the distant torch. The silhouettes of four men fought, three against one much taller. The foggy shape of Sir Gavin’s long hair and beard flew about. The lanky shadow parried each blow with the crook of his axe and kicked out a long leg that sent Inko’s figure flying.
Sir Caleb yelled, drawing Achan’s gaze to the shadow whose hair sprung atop his head like a tuft of grass. The giant met Sir Caleb’s blows with his spear.
The knights attacked ruthlessly. Achan couldn’t help but admire the giant’s speed. For being so tall, Achan imagined he’d move slower.
The giant’s spear suddenly cracked under Sir Caleb’s blow. Seconds later the giant howled. He crumpled to reveal the shadow of Inko, cylindrical hair shaped like a wooden drum.
“Who sent you?” Sir Gavin yelled.
The raspy breathing of a dying eben was the only answer. Achan inched over the lichen until the men came into view. Sir Gavin crouched on the giant’s right, blade held to the pale throat. Sir Caleb and Inko stood panting on the giant’s left side.
Sir Gavin pressed a knee on the giant’s chest. “Who?”
The giant’s ragged breath seemed to consume all his effort, but he blinked slowly and turned his dark eyes to Achan, his voice a raspy growl. “Tee saplaway sen katla sar.”
The intensity in that gaze shook Achan’s knees. The man had a black insignia inked onto his forehead, three lines, each thicker than the first.
“I know why you’ve come,” Sir Gavin said. “I want to know who sent you.”
“Faluk san.”
Suddenly, all was still.
“Achan?” Sir Gavin stood. “Answer me, lad.”
“I’m here.” Sir Gavin turned around and Achan asked, “Lord Falkson? Is that who he means?”
“Falkson is Lord of Barth. You’ve seen him at Council.”
Achan remembered the stoic, grey-skinned man. “He is working for Esek?”
“So it would seem.”
Achan motioned to the other giants, trying not to look at their severed legs, though his eyes kept focusing there. “Was that your idea?”
Sir Gavin’s white hair and beard still blended in with the smoky haze. “Strategy worked well, if you ask me.”
“Too well.” Sir Caleb’s voice came from the smoke cloud on Achan’s other side. “It was a slaughter and ignoble.”
Sir Gavin puffed a short breath out his nose. “And attempting to burn us alive is good form?”
Sir Caleb didn’t answer. His body came into view as he stepped closer. “Boy, where is your sword?”
Achan wheeled around to meet Sparrow’s pale face.
“Uh…” Sparrow turned to look back through the smoke. Sir Caleb gripped the boy’s arm and walked where Sparrow had glanced, their steps squishing into the soil as they vanished in the haze. Achan could hear Sir Caleb’s lecture.
“Never drop your weapon. I don’t care how scared you are. Never leave yourself unguarded or treat your blade with such disrespect.”
Inko cleaned his sword in the turf and sheathed it. “I am not understanding how they are finding us. Perhaps it is not only our wolf who is using his nose?”
Achan thought of the bird whose eyes he’d seen through. It had been bringing a message to its master. Had the bird been a spy for the giants? He scanned the smoldering canopy overhead but could see nothing else. He decided to keep the thought to himself for now.
The knights piled the three Eben bodies atop one another and set their clothes aflame.
“We need to move. Get your things.” Sir Gavin lifted the torch the giant had left burning in the ground and held it high. Orange light spilled over the smoky clearing. Caleb and Inko grabbed the other torches. The orange flames lit their faces in a more normal light than the green sulfur one from before.
With nothing to carry, Achan stayed put, awed and slightly horrified at the Great Whitewolf. Sparrow sidled over, small knapsack slung across his pudgy chest so it settled over his left hip. Face ashen, bleary eyes wide, he stared at the slain giants.
“You all right?” Achan asked.
Sparrow nodded and said in a watery voice, “Your speech has improved. How do your cheeks feel?”
“Better.”
“You should not have taken off your bandages yet.”
Achan stiffened, not wanting a lecture from a baby who still cried to his mother. A mother he wasn’t supposed to have.
Sir Caleb handed the rope to Achan. “Hold on to this in case we need to put out the torches.”
Achan looped the end through his belt and handed it to Sparrow. Sir Gavin led them down the game trail into clear air.
“Sparrow? Who were you talking to when the giants attacked?” Achan kept his voice low but didn’t care who heard. If Sparrow was a traitor, the sooner they discovered it, the better. He glanced over his shoulder. “You said your parents were dead.”
The boy’s eyes bulged. “You read my thoughts?”
“Didn’t mean to. They floated into my head.”
“Well, stop it. You do not belong in my head.”
“But you were talking to your mother. Your dead mother?”
Sparrow scratched his ear. “S-Sometimes I still t-talk to her, even though she passed on. Especially when, um…when I am scared.”
“Touching, Sparrow. My heart weeps for your tragic loss. Yet I can’t help but wonder how a dead woman can answer. For I heard her myself, and I know I’ve heard her before. She’s very much alive. And a woman so gifted in bloodvoicing must be known to someone. Save me the trouble of asking around and tell me the truth.”
Sparrow said nothing.
Achan pushed back a stiff branch until it snapped. He wanted to turn and pounce on Sparrow, wrestle the truth from him. He’d been deceived for so long, he wasn’t about to allow anyone to deceive him again. Besides, the boy avoided conflict like Achan avoided a bath. It wouldn’t take much to scare the truth from him.
No. Achan would wait and consult Sir Gavin. If Sparrow was up to trouble, Sir Gavin would know what to do.
They hiked a brisk pace for hours. The torches helped. But it was maddening to travel so far without seeing the sun or moon. Achan’s feet screamed as much as his mind. What time of day might it be in Sitna? What might Gren be doing?
His chest tightened. Gren, his childhood friend back in Sitna, had suffered an arranged married to Riga Hoff, the lazy son of a merchant. A month had not yet passed since their wedding. Not much could have changed, unless… Achan squeezed his hands into fists. If Riga harmed Gren in any way, he’d forever regret it.
Another pretty face drifted into his mind: Lady Tara Livna of Tsaftown. Unless something went wrong, he’d see Lady Tara soon enough. How much Tara looked like the goddess Cetheria. A crown of ivory braids. Eyes bluer than forget-me-nots. Achan smiled, recalling her beauty and spunk.
He looked into her eyes as if she stood before him. The gemlike sparkle of her gaze drenched him in awe. Her skin was gold leaf. She held a spear, which she drew back and lobbed at his chest. It pierced his flesh, jolting his heart. He stared at it, gasping, dumfounded to find himself still standing. He grabbed the shaft with two hands and pulled. It wouldn’t budge.
Lady Tara giggled, her voice like a musical brook. She sauntered toward him and ran her fingertips along the spear. “Shall I free you?”
Pain shot through Achan’s shoulder. He blinked. Darkness surrounded him, lit by the faint orange glow of firelight. Where was he? Had that been a dream?
The rope at Achan’s waist tugged, pulling him tighter against a hard surface. He reached out an
d found a fat, sticky tree. He was in Darkness with the knights, running from Esek.
Sir Gavin called out from the circle of torchlight, “All right back there?”
“Are you hurt, Achan?” Sparrow’s voice. Behind him.
“Uh…” Achan stepped around the protruding tree. “There’s a tree here, Sparrow. Watch yourself.”
“Just a tree, Sir Gavin,” Sparrow yelled and the rope tugged Achan along again.
Sir Gavin Whitewolf.
Achan perked up. Sir Gavin was knocking, wanting to bloodvoice. Achan concentrated on opening the door like he’d done last night, allowing only Sir Gavin inside.
Would he know if he succeeded? He wanted to tell Sir Gavin about Cetheria—no, that had been Lady Tara, hadn’t it?
Achan, Sir Gavin said. Don’t answer, simply listen. ’Tis vital you learn to bloodvoice straight away. I’ve no doubt you’ll succeed. Our connection now is perfect. You’ve opened your mind only to me. I can sense your shields. Now you must learn to speak without dropping your shields. Duplicate yourself, like Caleb’s guard explanation, leaving a man to guard your mind. Let the other speak. Cough if you understand.
Cough? Why the secrecy? Did Sir Gavin suspect someone? Sparrow perhaps? Achan considered the little fox on his heels and coughed.
Good. Now do as I described.
Achan took a deep breath. He imagined himself standing sentry before the door to his mind, Eagan’s Elk raised, ready to defend. He pictured himself stepping to the side. Instead of the guard Achan moving, another Achan stepped out of the first. The two stood side by side in his mind, looking at one another.
Go on, then, the first Achan said to the second. I’ve got this.
Achan smiled. He always had been a quick learner.
Twice before, Achan had passed through one mind and into another. Sparrow called it jumping. Achan had jumped through Sparrow to see Macoun Hadar speak with Lord Nathak. Then, when the Council of Seven had gone to deliberate as to who would be king, Achan jumped through Sir Gavin to watch the debate through Prince Oren’s eyes.
Both times, Sparrow and Sir Gavin had been watching already. Achan had merely touched them, used their energy, cheated really, like peeking over their shoulder to use what they had already accomplished.
This time he’d need to use his own strength. He hoped he wouldn’t faint as Sparrow often did. Concentrating on Sir Gavin, the second Achan ventured out.
Achan now walked at the front of the line, staring out through Sir Gavin’s eyes into the black void beyond, arm holding a burning torch above his head, dodging the occasional slimy, black branch. Sir Gavin’s pack and shield hung heavy over his aching shoulders. The rope at his waist jerked, forcing him to stop.
“Gavin!” Sir Caleb shouted from behind.
Wait. Hadn’t Sir Caleb been ahead of him?
“Aye?” Sir Gavin wheeled around, looking back to Sir Caleb, who stood over a body.
Achan’s body.
“Achan’s fallen. Fainted or something.”
Achan wheezed, the sour smell of the forest overwhelming. He lay on the wet soil. His elbow stung. His hip too. He rolled onto his knees. Sparrow, Inko, and Sir Caleb stood over him, faces shadowed in the flickering torchlight.
Sir Gavin cut between Inko and Sparrow, torch wavering in his hand. “What happened?”
Achan rubbed his elbow. “I reached out, but forgot I was walking.”
Sir Gavin burst into deep laughter. “No, Achan. That’s not how to message. You were watching. Never watch and walk at the same time. Forgive me. Save yourself more bruises and we’ll try again once we’ve stopped.”
No one asked any questions, thankfully. Achan had never fainted—not without the aid of a wound or tonic, anyway. It seemed weak. He hoped Sir Gavin could explain what he’d done wrong so it would never happen again.
Another thought shifted to the forefront of his mind. “Sir Gavin, I also saw Cetheria. She stabbed me, but I didn’t die.”
“Saw her where?” The knight reached out his hand.
Achan gripped his wrist and pulled himself up. His elbow throbbed. He must have scraped it when he fell. “Last time, when we stopped. Before I hit the tree. She stabbed me in the chest.”
“Already it is happening, Gavin. I have been feeling my mind to be wandering also. We should be turning back, going to Light as fast as our legs can be carrying us.”
“We are not going back, Inko. Achan, I want you to open your mind, like you did before, shields up, open to me. Then I want you to include everyone here. Do it now.”
Achan repeated the process of duplicating himself to guard his mind. He looked from face to face and felt a connection tug in his mind.
Good, Sir Gavin said. Now, we keep moving. Caleb, give us a little talk about Lord Falkson and Barth, so we all know who we are dealing with. Ask questions to see that no one is drifting.
Well, the people of Barth worship Barthos, god of the earth…
With that, Sir Gavin turned and pulled them onward through the twisting black trees.
* * *
They made camp in a rocky area. Sir Gavin and Achan took first watch.
Achan settled onto a jagged boulder beside Sir Gavin. He looked up to the sky and noticed, for the first time, a variation in the blackness. A twisted stripe that was darker that the rest. A tree branch, perhaps? “How do you know the way?”
“I’ve always had a keen sense of smell.” Sir Gavin put out the torch. Darkness sank over Achan like a shroud he couldn’t lift. The knight chuckled softly. “Aw, that’s not the full truth of it. I use my bloodvoice to share the senses of nearby beasts.”
Achan recalled seeing through the bird’s eyes. “You can do that?”
“I recall you did it once.”
Achan tensed. “I did?” Had Sir Gavin known he’d been experimenting last night?
“When you killed your first deer.”
“Ah.” Achan shivered at the memory of sharing the doe’s mind, tasting the bitterness of the tree bark it had been eating. It hadn’t been a fair way to hunt. “Is that how you got your name?” Sir Gavin’s stray surname was Lukos, after the big wolves that lived in the Chowmah Mountains.
“Sort of. I grew up in Tsaftown. We used sleds pulled by dogs to travel over snow. My lead dog was a wolf whose mother I’d killed when she attacked a friend. The pup hung around and I trained her. Chion. My white wolf. She was a good dog. Taught me much.”
Achan thought of Dilly and Peg, the goats he’d tended in Sitna. He missed their companionship. “Where is she now?”
“Died years ago. I never replaced her.”
Achan sensed a heavy grief that matched Sir Gavin’s tone. He shifted his weight on the unforgiving rock. “How does sharing the animals’ senses help you?”
“They are my eyes, nose, and ears here. I’m able to peek from one mind to another, using what I need to guide us. We follow an old road that once stretched from the south shore of the second Reshon Gate all the way to Mirrorstone. There the road divides: north across the sandbars to Melas and Allown Duchy or west across the rocky plains into Barth.”
“So we’re in Barth Duchy now?”
“We’re in Nahar Duchy, in part of Nahar Forest. The volcanic rock of Barth Duchy reaches into the forest a bit. You can’t see, but south of where we stand, the Cela Mountains separate us from Cela Duchy, where Jaelport and Meneton lie.”
“What other cities are in Barth Duchy?” Achan asked.
“Only Barth. Barthians keep to themselves as much as Magos or Cherem, though they have a treaty with Jaelport.”
Achan would never sign a treaty with the Hamartano family, for he didn’t trust them to keep it. Not that he had accepted his role in this king business. But trust would have to be earned before he made a treaty with anyone.
Sparrow flitted to the front of his thoughts. “Sir Gavin.” Achan lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t trust Sparrow.”
“Vrell? Why ever not?”
“Triv
ial things, really, that add up to something amiss. Last night as I bedded down I overheard him crying, saying he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’ and wanted to go home. Then, when the giants attacked, I overheard him bloodvoice his mother—and she bloodvoiced back. When I confronted him, he lied. And I know that woman spoke to me when I first found my bloodvoice.”
“Most strange. But if Vrell can bloodvoice, ’tis logical one of his parents can.”
“But he’s a stray. He swears his parents are dead.”
Sir Gavin inhaled a long breath through his nose, perhaps joined to a wild animal’s mind as it hunted. “I’ll talk to him.”
Part 2
Enemies
6
Vrell stumbled over rocky soil. “Sir Gavin? Achan?” Where had they gone? She stretched out her hands, afraid of walking into a sharp branch. The darkness pressed against her skin, her very eyes. “Hello?”
“Here, my lady.”
The familiar hiss of Khai Mageia’s voice chased a chill up Vrell’s arms. How had he found her? She stopped, turned, scanning the darkness for any hint of light.
A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder, and Khai’s voice growled in her ear, “Surprise!”
Vrell sucked in a breath that reached to her toes. Her eyes flashed opened to reveal Sir Caleb’s shaggy head bent over her.
“Wh-What? Is it Khai?”
“No. It’s time to rise, Vrell. We must get moving.”
Joyful heart! It was only another dream. Heart still pounding, Vrell rolled up her bed and set it and her satchel on the edge of camp. Keeping the torchlight in view, she crept away to her own private privy as the knights packed up.
Darkness sickened her. How many more twisted visions would stress her heart? Everything was dead, useless for food or medicinal purposes. And how long could she keep her secret without being caught? Achan already suspected her of lying. If she was not careful, he would suspect her of treason, as well. His animosity burned into her mind like standing too near a blazing fire. She hoped he would let his suspicions go. Though he would not make a very wise king if he did.
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 5