To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  But maybe Achan had already acted on his suspicions. Yesterday, when he fell, it was clear Sir Gavin had been training him in bloodvoicing. Excluding Vrell. Did Sir Gavin distrust her? Did he want to keep her from learning the technique he had been teaching Achan?

  She could see the logic, no matter how vexing. Had she been in Sir Gavin’s boots, she would do the same. Who was she to them? A stray healer who had recently left the service of their enemy. Not exactly a person to trust. The tops of her ears tickled. She pressed her hands over them as her mother’s knock came again.

  Lady Nitsa Amal.

  A tear rolled down Vrell’s cheek. She held the curtain in place around her mind, keeping Mother blocked out. Oh, how she wanted to tell Mother everything. But Achan had overheard them last night. Uncertain whether it had been Vrell’s error or Achan’s strength, she could not risk it again.

  She relieved herself as quickly as possible, holding her breath and trembling, keeping her vision locked onto the torch glow back at camp. She finished and started back, squeezing between two pitchy branches.

  Why not confess? Certainly they would understand. Achan respected Bran and would likely be honored to watch over his friend’s betrothed. But so many had lied to Achan, tricked him, used him. She could not bear Achan thinking ill of her, even for a moment.

  Yet he thought ill of her now. An explanation might clear everything up.

  No. She wiped the tear away. Achan suspected Vrell Sparrow, the nearly fifteen-year-old stray boy who did not exist. He knew nothing of Lady Averella Amal, the seventeen-year-old woman in hiding, and it would stay that way. If Lady Averella ever met Achan, it would be under vastly different circumstances.

  Her ears tickled again. Lady Nitsa Amal.

  A twig snapped behind Vrell. She whirled around. How she hated this horrible place! The idea of creatures she could not see lurking…

  Crack.

  Vrell froze, straining to hear further noise. Something was out there.

  Not caring what branches scratched her, she ran back to the rocky clearing. Sir Gavin hoisted Inko’s pack up over the Barthian’s shoulders. Achan stood gaping at Sir Caleb, who was showing off with his sword and shield.

  Vrell considered mentioning the sound, but a sudden green spark flew over her head and stopped above the clearing, swelling into a glowing orb.

  Achan drew his sword and held it before his face.

  “Circle up!” Sir Gavin backed into the clearing, eyes fixed on the trees.

  The urgency in the old knight’s voice trilled Vrell’s heart. More ebens? Or could this be another illusion Darkness conjured to snare her?

  Sir Caleb pulled Achan between him and Sir Gavin and lifted his blade toward the forest. Inko shrugged off his pack and bow. A second and third orb shot out from the trees. The three knights turned their backs to Achan, blocking him in.

  “Boy!” Inko waved Vrell forward as two more sparks flew above her head. She scurried toward the men. Inko pulled her inside with Achan.

  The orbs formed a wide circle overhead, hovering and lighting the rocky clearing with a green glow.

  “What is it?” Achan asked.

  Inko drew his sword. “Sakin Magos.”

  But Sir Gavin’s translation meant more to Vrell. “Black knights.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Her father had spoken of such mages when she was little. In fact, it was rumored at court that Sir Nongo—

  A knight clad in black armor stalked out from the forest and stopped under one of the eerie orbs. Another knight advanced, identical to the first. Vrell clutched Achan’s arm and twisted around to see five knights circling them, each standing under an orb.

  Achan squeezed between Inko and Sir Caleb and raised Eagan’s Elk. “Best draw your sword, Sparrow. This is no time to let fear win.”

  Vrell’s hand flitted around her waist until it landed on the hilt of her sword. She had owned the weapon for only two days and had no idea how to use it. Still, the pointed piece of metal was better than nothing.

  “Be wary of their appearance.” Sir Gavin rocked from foot to foot. “They can be both illusion and solid.”

  Impressive illusion. The green light cast a sinister glow over the black armor. It had the dreamlike quality of some of Vrell’s nightmares, but none of those had lasted this long before switching streams. This had to be a real attack.

  “We are coming only for the marked one,” one of the knights said in a thick accent. Barthian? “We are having no quarrel with any other.”

  “If you take our prince, you start a quarrel,” Sir Caleb said. “So we might as well save ourselves time in chasing you down and fight now.”

  The black knight drew his sword. “Then be letting us fight.”

  An oily voice from Vrell’s left yelled, “Phaino takmak!”

  A gowzal’s cry split the night. A green speck flew from one of the orbs and swelled, taking the shape of the flying rat bird and soaring toward Sir Gavin.

  “Ignore it!” Sir Gavin shouted.

  The black knights advanced. Five against three, they were evenly matched only if she and Achan fought. Achan had already made his choice—he could certainly hold his own. But Vrell did not know what to do.

  The glowing gowzal soared into the cluster of Old Kingsguards, through Sir Gavin and through Vrell’s torso. She yelled but felt nothing. An illusion?

  Swords clashed around her. Sir Caleb screamed a battle cry. Inko grunted. The black knights drew back slowly, pulling the Old Kingsguardsmen away, exposing Vrell. Before her, Inko fought a black knight whose helmet covered half his face, allowing his short, coiled, black beard to hang free. To her right, Sir Gavin fought a man with a similar beard. Sir Caleb, sword in one hand, shield in the other, fought two more bearded black knights. Her eyes widened as Sir Caleb swung his shield and stabbed his blade. He pushed his opponents back, but his movement left a wide gap in Vrell’s sanctuary.

  The fifth knight stalked between Sir Gavin’s opponent and one of Sir Caleb’s, as if invisible to all but Vrell. Dressed differently from the others, he wore black plate armor and a full helmet. The flat-topped, black cylinder had a scalloped crown and ribbed metal wings over each ear. Dark eyes glared through a slotted visor. A gowzal’s head was stain-engraved in silver onto his breastplate.

  Vrell clutched Achan’s sleeve with a shaky hand. He pushed her behind him, eyes locked on the menacing knight, hilt gripped with both hands, rocking slightly from one foot to the other. Vrell squatted, holding her breath and cringing as blades clashed around her.

  The black knight darted in at Achan with a small jab, which Achan deflected easily. The knight inched back. Achan stepped toward him.

  The knight slowly drew Achan away. Bit by bit, the pair turned, until Achan faced Vrell. Only then did the black knight press forward.

  “Don’t let him drive you into the trees!” Sir Caleb yelled.

  Achan swung his blade as if each stroke meant life or death, growling like a cougar. He stifled a cut from high guard with the flat of his blade, which brought him close to the knight, their weapons locked above their heads.

  Achan yelled and kneed the knight in his engraved breastplate. The knight stumbled back a step. Achan seized that moment to ram his shoulder into his opponent.

  They tumbled to the ground, rolling about as if wrestling. The black knight’s armor grated against the rocks.

  Achan came to the top and tore off one of the knight’s gauntlets. The knight punched Achan’s cheek with his other, still armored, hand. Achan screamed and bashed the empty gauntlet against the knight’s helmet. The knight struck Achan in the face again and Achan fell back.

  A sick thud and a grunt drew Vrell away from Achan. Inko staggered back, gripping his head in one hand, his sword arm drooping. Plum-sized rocks flew up and whacked him like raindrops from below. Inko’s head lolled back and he slumped to the ground.

  Inko’s attacker turned to stare at Vrell, then raised his sword. She stifled a scream and crawled backwar
d. Three stones hovered behind her attacker’s head. The black knight’s coiled beard shifted, revealing a set of grimy, sneering teeth.

  Memories of her father training his guard flitted through her mind. Never be caught on your knees, he had told the young trainees time and again. Vrell stood and lifted her weapon in trembling hands.

  The black knight advanced, laughing, and flicked one finger forward.

  One of the stones soared toward Vrell as if thrown. She lifted her sword to block but missed. The rock struck her shoulder.

  The other two rocks zinged forward. Vrell ducked, but the rocks changed course and pelted her ear and temple. Gritting her teeth at the pain, she squeezed her sword and charged. The black knight stepped aside, causing Vrell to stumble. She spun around only to be hit in the forearm by another rock.

  The knight swung at Vrell’s neck. Vrell lifted her sword to block. The weapons met with a clang, sparing her death but knocking her sword away. It clattered to the rocks and left her fingers throbbing.

  Oh, she wished Jax mi Katt, her giant friend, had given her even one lesson.

  The black knight pursed his lips and blew. A ribbon of green light spewed from his mouth and flowed toward Vrell. She backpedaled, looking for her sword. It had landed several paces away, behind Sir Gavin and his opponent.

  The light curled around her waist as if to hook her. She froze, waiting to see if it had done anything, but the ribbon of light continued to snake round her like coiling twine. Another rock shot toward Vrell. She lifted her hands to block her face, and the stone clipped her knuckles. She cried out.

  “The light is only being an illusion, boy. Don’t be giving in to it.” Inko struggled to a sitting position.

  Vrell broke through the green strands and sprinted toward her sword, but the black knight cut off her path. Just as another rock rose between them, one clunked off the back of the knight’s helmet.

  “Hey!” Achan pitched a rock. “You only fight little boys or what?” His first attacker writhed on the ground behind him, the visor of his helmet dented into his eyes.

  Blood and dirt covered one side of Achan’s face and his tangled hair hung loose. He raised his sword like he wasn’t the least bit winded.

  Vrell released a shaky sigh as the knight approached Achan. She marveled at Achan’s confidence. At sixteen—nearly two years her junior—Achan considered himself the man and Vrell the scrawny boy.

  Sir Gavin and Sir Caleb were still fighting, but now Sir Gavin fought two opponents and Sir Caleb fought one. Sir Caleb plunged his sword into the torso of his attacker, and the black knight vanished in a puff of green smoke. Only an ebony gowzal remained once the smoke cleared. It squawked and flew over Sir Caleb’s head. Sir Caleb crouched, watching the bird, waiting with his blade beside the edge of his shield. The black knight reappeared behind him, and Sir Caleb spun around in time to block the knight’s blade with his shield.

  What magic was this?

  Inko struggled to his feet and inched toward his sword on the ground a few paces away. Vrell scrambled after her own weapon and ran to the edge of the clearing in time to see Achan cut through the black knight who had been throwing rocks. He disappeared into a green mist and, with the cry of a gowzal, reappeared at the opposite edge of the forest.

  Vrell no longer cared if she was discovered. Mother! There is a battle. Black knights. What can I do?

  Stay back, dearest. A battle is no place for you. Can you hide?

  Is there a way I can help? As soon as one is defeated, he turns to smoke and appears elsewhere. How can that be? Are they men or magic?

  It is difficult to say with black knights. There may only be one. Some have the ability to duplicate themselves.

  But surely only in illusion?

  Yes, unless they have called on dark spirits to aid them. Then they can give their illusions physical form. Black knights use the darkest magic. Can you guess the leader? Does one appear stronger than the others?

  Vrell peered around the tree. I cannot tell good sword fighting from the bad. I—wait. Four of the knights look identical. They all have the same beard. The fifth looks different, and he is on the ground, crawling toward the trees. Achan felled him.

  The others are likely apparitions from a mage. Do you see another person, maybe standing a safe distance away?

  Vrell scanned the tree line. A pale, raised hand and a set of eyes glinted in the green glow, back where she had made her privy. A sixth man, barely discernable in a long, hooded cape.

  An unarmed man stands in the trees.

  Does he see you? Move to a safe place, quickly!

  Vrell darted back behind the pitchy tree truck.

  I am going to step through your mind, Averella. I need you to focus on the unarmed man.

  I understand. Fear prickled up Vrell’s arms. Mother wanted to jump through her. Vrell had tried it before and failed. But Mother’s strength far exceeded her own. What did Mother hope to accomplish by entering this mage’s mind? Master Hadar taught me of this technique.

  Very well. Prepare yourself, my love.

  Vrell stepped around the tree and stared at the hooded man. She closed her eyes and pictured him. I am ready.

  Sounds invaded. Swords clashed in the clearing. Men yelled and grunted. Boots skidded over rocks. But just as she had before, on the day Achan had jumped through her, she saw nothing, felt no different. Did this mean it was working? Vrell wanted to pray, but breaking concentration might ruin Mother’s plan.

  So she sensed a prayer, knowing in the back of her mind Arman was with her, holding her up, protecting her. Peace flooded her body, easing the sting of her bruises, silencing the sounds of battle. A song rose within, not from any instrument or voice she had ever known. A joyful song of hope swept around her, lifted her in its arms like pollen in the wind. She wanted to laugh, safe, free, and floating out of her body and up above the clearing.

  * * *

  “Vrell?” A hand pressed down on her shoulder, igniting sharp pain from a bruise there.

  Her eyes flashed open. She lay under a large charcoal tree lit with faint yellow torchlight. The moist ground cushioned her rear and legs. Gnarly tree roots bit into back and shoulders.

  A shadow loomed above, breathing heavily. She could not see his face. “Are you well? We almost lost you to the Veil.”

  Sir Gavin.

  “Yes.” A sharp root poked into Vrell’s lower back, but she did not feel seriously injured.

  “Who are you?” Sir Gavin asked.

  “My memory is fine, sir. I am Vrell Sparrow and we are in Darkness.”

  “Aye, but who are you really?”

  Her breath snagged. “I…what?”

  “Together you and I stormed the mage. We couldn’t find his body. He must have had more men in the woods. Where’d you learn such a trick? I had been trying to battle his mind as I fought his apparition with my sword, but it wasn’t until I had help that I could put an end to his mischief. Did Macoun teach you to storm?”

  Vrell’s heart lurched. Storm?

  A torch flamed to life back in the clearing. Sir Caleb held it above Inko, who still lay on the ground.

  Sir Gavin reached a hand down to Vrell. She gripped his calloused palm and he pulled her to standing.

  “Make no mistake,” Sir Gavin said, “we’ll talk more of this.”

  Vrell pushed past Sir Gavin and found her satchel at the edge of the clearing. She carried the bag to Inko’s side, dug out her safflower salve, and tried to help him sit.

  He shook his head. “Be seeing to the others, boy. I’m being fine.”

  She approached Sir Caleb, who had a gash over his left eye. He held his torch toward the forest. “See to the prince.”

  Of course. Vrell turned and found Achan propped against a tree on the edge of the clearing. She scurried to his side and knelt gingerly on the sharp rocks. “Are you hurt?”

  His lips parted, baring a wide, toothy grin in his blood and dirt-covered face. “How’d you like yer firs’ battl
e?”

  “What makes you think it was my first?”

  “Lucky guess?” Achan chuckled, then closed his eyes and moaned. The cut on his left cheek had been torn open.

  “If it hurts, stop talking.” With shaking hands, she opened her water jug and wetted a fresh cloth. She wanted to know what Mother had done, but forced the worry away for now. She dabbed the dirt and blood from around Achan’s wound and grimaced at the sight of the swollen skin. She hoped it would not get infected. “For your information, Jax, Khai, and I met eben resistance on the journey from Walden’s Watch.”

  Achan flinched at her touch. “And yeh hid ’hind a tree?”

  Why did he always want to play? She acquiesced, only because his cheek looked incredibly painful. “In the tree, actually. Now be serious, Your Highness. Where else are you hurt?”

  Achan groaned. “Sp’rrow. If yeh call me that one more time, I’ll see that yer hurt.”

  “Just answer the question, stubborn boy.”

  Achan met her eyes and coughed out a laugh. “Me? I’m notta—”

  “Look.” Vrell nodded to Sir Caleb. “They are injured but will not hear of being treated until you are, so stop wasting time and let me help you so I may help them.”

  Achan lifted his right hand in front of his face. His dark, wet knuckles glistened in the distant torchlight. “M’ hand does ’ting a bit.”

  “Sir Caleb,” Vrell called. “The light, please?”

  7

  They journeyed over rocky terrain for hours listening to Sir Caleb talk on the sword and shield’s strengths over the longsword alone. Achan’s feet ached. Sharp pebbles poked into the soles of his boots. Sir Gavin wanted to get to Mirrorstone as quickly as possible. Achan didn’t like the fact that more black knights might be shadowing them but could think of no better plan.

  The terrain flattened. Sir Gavin stopped in a field carpeted in short, twiggy grass and urged they make camp in the open where no one could sneak up on them so easily. Did that even matter? In Achan’s opinion, Darkness provided endless cover for anyone wanting to set up an ambush.