To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  They laid out the bedrolls around a small, blue torchlight. Achan settled onto the stiff leather and nibbled a piece of dry meat. “I still don’t understand what happened.” He pictured Eagan’s Elk slicing through the black knight and the man vanishing into green smoke. “The first man I fought was flesh and blood. But the one who picked on Sparrow disappeared as I finished him.”

  “Deception,” Sir Caleb said. “Black knights don’t fight fair. Illusion is their biggest strength. And those who call on black spirits can give their apparitions physical form.”

  Black spirits? A chill raked Achan’s arms. “I fought a demon?”

  “Nay.” Sir Gavin groaned as he sat on his bedroll. “The one with the helm was real. The rest of us were fighting the mage’s enchantments. Black knights claim to be warrior mages. They believe sorcery combined with swordsmanship makes them stronger. They’re under their own illusion. The power they wield isn’t theirs.”

  Sir Gavin pulled his pack onto his lap and opened the flap. “The spirits aren’t in control either. Both creatures, demon and man, are bound by each other’s limitations. A man who falls victim to their spell is crippled by fear and rendered an easy target. That’s why I stressed you understand the illusion. A very real illusion, but not as terrible as the black knights would have you think.”

  Sir Caleb squeezed Achan’s shoulder, bushy eyebrows raised. “What I want to know is how you aren’t dead, Your Highness. I thought you trained him, Gavin.”

  “I did, but…Achan uses what’s at his disposal.”

  Heat spread over Achan at the idea of Sir Caleb’s disapproval. “I thought I fought well.”

  “As did I,” Sparrow said.

  Sir Caleb winced. “Aye, you’re brave, but you need proper training and practice.”

  “I competed in Prince Gid—Esek’s tournament.”

  “Did you?” Sir Caleb’s lips curled in a half smile. “What events?”

  “The short sword and shield, though I’d never—”

  “You were risking him to be playing games?” Inko’s accusatory tone rang sharp. “What if he was being killed?”

  “He should’ve been, judging by what I saw today,” Sir Caleb said.

  “He needed experience if he was to survive without me.” Sir Gavin winked his brown eye at Achan. “Arman protected him.”

  “But you were risking him,” Inko said. “Our future king.”

  “He’s alive, is he not?”

  Inko turned his disapproving glare to Achan. “It often is being said, Your Highness, that some training is being better than no training. But I must be cautioning you, sometimes no training is better than having bad training.”

  “Bah!” Sir Gavin slapped his palm to his thigh. “I trained him well enough!”

  Sir Caleb folded his arms across his chest. “He fights like a drunk in a tavern brawl.”

  Achan blinked from Sir Gavin to Sir Caleb. A drunk?

  “Aye, he’s always been a bit of a brawler. I like that about him. Reminds me of his great uncle Preston.” Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath and released it slowly. “Forgive me, Achan. I’ve likely done a shabby job of teaching you to fight proper.”

  How was this criticism fair? Achan had defeated two of the five black knights. Sparrow had cowered like a girl. If Sir Caleb wanted to point out flaws, he should start with the boy. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

  “Not wrong, Your Highness.” Sir Caleb’s brows furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. “You have courage and stamina, and you’re strong and quite intimidating for a man your age. But you’re full of risk. You leave too much to chance. Plus you’ve no respect for your weapon.”

  Achan shrugged. “What’s a weapon but a tool to be used how its wielder deems necessary?”

  “Well said, lad.” Sir Gavin grinned, his thin, wolfish smile looking more like a grimace.

  “Could I learn, as well?” Sparrow asked.

  Sir Caleb nodded. “You can, boy. I must say, I thought you a coward until you turned veil warrior with Gavin and defeated the mage.”

  Achan frowned. Sparrow did what? “What’s that mean, veil warrior?”

  “It is meaning, Your Highness, that Vrell hasn’t been being honest with us,” Inko said. “He can do more with his mind than he has been letting on.”

  “No, I-I do not understand how…” Sparrow let his words die out, looking as though he had forgotten how to speak.

  Sir Caleb gripped the back of his neck and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Never mind your modesty, boy. Now, hand me your sword and we’ll teach you to use it. Give those black knights something to fear on all accounts.”

  Despite wanting to string Sparrow up a moment ago, Achan’s mind knotted at this line of conversation. The Veil was the world between Er’Rets and eternity in Shamayim or the Lowerworld. Not to be confused with the Evenwall, which separated Light from Darkness. How did bloodvoices work with the Veil?

  Sparrow drew his sword from the ring on his belt and handed it, blade first, to Sir Caleb.

  Achan rolled his eyes.

  Sir Caleb frowned and twirled his finger. “Turn it around. Never hand over a weapon blade first.”

  “Sorry.” Sparrow turned the blade and poked himself in the nose with the tip. He jumped, eyes wide.

  Achan chuckled silently, fighting to keep his cheeks from curling, but the image of Sparrow’s shocked face as he stuck himself with his own blade amused him to no end. Veil warrior or not, Sparrow was a bungler.

  Sir Caleb took the weapon and examined it, then passed it to Achan, hilt first, with a sideways glance at Sparrow. “What do you make of Vrell’s purchase, Your Highness?”

  Achan gripped the thick, wooden handle, squeezing and releasing. He stood, backed away from the torchlight, and swung. The sword felt lighter than Eagan’s Elk, which made sense for a short arming sword, but the handle weighed too much. It felt like he was wielding a pitchfork by the prongs.

  He knelt before the torch, batted a moth aside, and scrutinized the blade. The cutting edges were crude, dirty with tool marks, gouges, and nicks. He held the sword flat in front of him, horizontal to the ground, and bent the end like he’d seen knights do to check the temper of the blade. It barely flexed.

  He shot Sparrow a fleeting look. “How much did you pay for this?”

  “Twenty pieces of silver.”

  Achan choked back a laugh. “Twenty!”

  “Where does a stray come by twenty pieces of silver?” Sir Caleb asked.

  Sparrow glanced from face to face. “My master in Walden’s Watch gave it to me when I left.”

  Achan snorted. “You must be the luckiest stray I’ve ever met to have such a master.”

  “Lord Orthrop was more my warden than master. I apprenticed at the local apothecary.”

  Sir Caleb frowned. “The lord of the manor housed you and allowed you to apprentice? A stray?”

  Sparrow’s eyes cast down. “Lord Orthrop is a kind man.”

  “I’ll say.” Achan held up the sword. “Well, it’s not worth five in my opinion. They didn’t even bother to sharpen or polish it. It’s unfinished, Sparrow. But that’s not the worst of it.” He peeked at Sir Caleb, confidence waning.

  “Go on,” the knight said.

  “Well…it’s got no flexibility. It’ll probably break under a real blow. Plus, the balance is off. The hilt is heavy. The blade should be longer for the weight of this hilt, I think.”

  “But I’m short,” Sparrow said.

  “That doesn’t matter.” Achan paused. The knights watched him. Heat smoldered in the pit of his stomach. What did he truly know about swords? “Well, maybe it does.”

  “No. You’re doing fine,” Sir Caleb said. “Go on.”

  “Well, you’ll build arm muscle using any sword, so the size of it based on your height isn’t the issue. It’s the reach, I think. If you’re fighting an opponent with a longer sword, they’ll be able to strike you, but you won’t be able to reach them. Pl
us if they have a shield, which most do…” He stood and pointed to Sir Caleb’s shield propped against his pack. “Sir Caleb?”

  The knight handed Achan the shield. Achan tossed it to Sparrow who nearly fell over trying to catch it. The boy examined the shield and looped his arm through the straps.

  Achan drew Eagan’s Elk and handed it to Sparrow grip first. “Take my sword.”

  Sparrow accepted the weapon. “It is lighter than I expected.”

  “Aye. And you’re much smaller than me. Take a swing.”

  “Easy.” Sir Gavin’s lecturing tone rang out.

  Like the boy could actually do any damage. “Don’t try and kill me, just reach out.”

  Sparrow did, slowly. Achan gripped the end of the blade between his thumb and fingers and jerked it toward his chest.

  “There. See? You can reach me with a decent blade, despite your size. Look here.” Achan gripped Sparrow’s sword in his right hand. He was naturally left-handed, but Sir Gavin had taught him to fight with both. He reached out with Sparrow’s blade. Even with his long arms, the tip remained a hand’s breadth from the lad’s chest. Sparrow’s eyes bulged.

  Achan dropped the cheap sword in the grass. “Switch with me.”

  Sparrow passed over the sword and shield and retrieved his sword from the ground. Achan gripped the shield in front of him, slightly to his left, and held the flat of Eagan’s Elk against the shield’s edge.

  Sparrow gaped.

  “Well?” Achan asked.

  “I see my disadvantage immediately. Not only do you stand over a foot taller and much stronger, but the shield covers most your body. Where am I supposed to strike?”

  “My legs and head,” Achan said.

  To Achan’s surprise, Sparrow darted left and lunged for his foot, but his blade struck the dirt.

  Achan whacked Sparrow’s head with the flat of his blade, the way Sir Gavin had done to him time and again.

  Sparrow yelped and stumbled, clutching his head.

  The knights laughed.

  Achan fought back a smile. “You just lost your head. Keep your chin up. Look with your eyes so you can see as much as possible at all times and not leave yourself wide open. Oh, and you aren’t digging a pit. Yours is a cutting blade. A dull one. But your grip is all wrong, as is your swing. Don’t swing like you’re afraid you’ll miss. Put your heart into it. Passion increases a man’s strength.”

  Achan shrugged his arm out of Sir Caleb’s shield and let it fall on the ground. “But none of that matters if your blade can’t even reach me. And if your opponent slips his grip to the pommel, he can get another four inches on you.”

  Inko chuckled. “It seems our prince is to be knowing a mite more than you were to be thinking, Caleb.”

  “Aye, he knows some, but there are strategies for fighting against a longsword with a shorter blade or dagger. You and I will work on that, Vrell, and see if we can outwit our prince.” Sir Caleb raised a bushy blond eyebrow at Achan. “And I don’t care how much you know, Your Highness. If you keep throwing swords and shields in the dirt, they won’t be useful for long. Bring your blade here and I’ll teach you to clean it. Vrell, you can learn too.”

  Achan knelt beside Sparrow at Sir Caleb’s bedroll. “Honestly, you wouldn’t stand a chance with that sword, even if you knew what you were doing. If we meet further opposition, I suggest you find a tree to hide behind. You’d cause more trouble in battle with us trying to keep you alive.”

  Sparrow’s bottom lip trembled.

  Pig snout, the boy was going to cry.

  “There’s no shame in it, Sparrow,” Achan said quickly. “We need you as much as you need us. If not for you, who would patch us up when we’re half dead?”

  Sparrow folded his arms, but his lips curved up a bit.

  “Now, Your Highness, that’s not fair.” Sir Caleb pulled his pack onto his lap. “If not for Vrell, we might not have survived those black knights, isn’t that right, Gavin?”

  “Aye. What concerns me is how they’re finding us.”

  “Are you keeping your mind shielded, Your Majesty?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “That shouldn’t matter, Caleb,” Sir Gavin said. “I sensed no ability to bloodvoice from the ebens or black knights. They found us by other means.”

  “Both attacks came in the morning. Ebens are good trackers. And black knights may have used gowzals. They can speak to them, you know, use them as messengers.”

  Achan recalled seeing through the bird’s eyes. Guilt festered in his stomach. “I opened my mind after Sir Caleb’s lesson that first night.”

  Every set of eyes focused on him.

  “I know I shielded myself well. None of you sensed me. I…saw through a bird. It had information for its master. Made no sense to me at the time. Thought it might be Darkness messing with—”

  “A gowzal, then,” Sir Caleb said. “We must keep watch for the beast birds. The black knights are using them to track us.”

  * * *

  Vrell opened her eyes to a black void. A hand nudged her side and she bolted upright.

  “Vrell,” Sir Gavin’s whisper floated down from the darkness, “’tis our watch.”

  Vrell blinked her stinging eyes. Her back ached from sleeping on the ground. Oh, how she longed for a steamy, rose-leaf bath and her feather bed. “I am awake.”

  A blue torchlight whizzed to life, illuminating Sir Gavin’s whiskered face. “Join me over here a moment, if you will.” He walked away, his body blocking most of the blue light.

  Vrell heaved to her feet and trudged after the faint glow, each step waking her further and bringing more and more of her circumstances to mind.

  Sir Gavin stopped far enough away that she could no longer see the camp. Her heart thudded. She didn’t like being so far from the others, but the light felt safer than the lack of it.

  The Great Whitewolf stared down, the torchlight sinking into the surface of his skin, sharpening every wrinkle into deep gouges of shadow. “Who are you really?”

  The question hung in the dark surrounding them. Arman, help her. Vrell pursed her lips and dropped her focus to her feet, though the torch did not cast enough light for her to see them. Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back. She had to keep control.

  “I need the truth, lad.” Sir Gavin softened his tone. “How is it you know such advanced bloodvoicing battle methods? I can’t imagine Macoun taught it to you, fool though he is.”

  Battle method? She’d been dreading Sir Gavin’s promise of a confrontation. Sir Caleb’s veil warrior praise had only added to her apprehension. What had Mother done?

  “You will answer me. I have no qualms about binding you and leaving you for dead. So tell me, do you mean us ill will?”

  Tears flooded Vrell’s vision despite her efforts to hold them back. “I cannot…” She lifted her fingers to cover her trembling lower lip. “Please don’t…” A sob burst past her defenses.

  “Aw, don’t cry, now. I’ve no desire to see you hurt, but I’ve a responsibility to see Achan take the throne. I must know if anyone stands in my way. Are you Esek’s spy? Macoun’s?”

  Vrell jerked her chin up, eyes wide. “No. N-Nothing like that, sir, I promise you. I am on your side. I follow Arman too. And I-I want Achan to be king more than anything.”

  “Then tell me what you hide.”

  Vrell fought to stifle her tears. “I…do not think I can.”

  “You will.”

  Vrell glanced in the direction of the camp, her breathing ragged. “Will you tell…the others?”

  “Not unless I have reason.”

  Vrell licked her cracked lips and met Sir Gavin’s mismatched eyes. She wanted to contact Mother, ask what to do, but she couldn’t very well go glassy-eyed in front of Sir Gavin. Her gaze darted from his blue eye to his brown one.

  Enough misery. Exposing the truth must be Arman’s will.

  Vrell’s voice came in a near whisper. “I am Lady Averella Amal of Carmine.”

  Sir Gavin
’s bushy white eyebrows sank over his eyes.

  Before he could reply, she hurried on. “Prince Gidon—beg your pardon…” Vrell swallowed and took a deep breath. “Esek petitioned Mother for my hand last winter. She refused, but he would not accept her answer. His pressure grew so intense that Mother deemed it best I go into hiding. Only Lady Coraline Orthrop of Walden’s Watch knew the truth of me. But while she was away, Jax and Khai arrived to escort me to Mahanaim. Macoun Hadar had sensed my bloodvoice ability and wanted me as his apprentice. I had no choice but to go.

  “Lord Orthrop and the knights believed I was a stray boy with no rights. If I had revealed myself…well, I feared they would force me to marry the prince—Esek, I mean. And I could not marry him. He did not care for me. He only wants control of Carm. He is a horrible person. I pity the girl who becomes his wife. And I will die before I meet such a fate.”

  An ache seized Vrell’s stomach. She gulped and wiped tears from her cheeks. How terrifying to admit the truth after so long, yet so freeing. She had only intended to pause, then explain how she had come into Macoun’s service and eventually met up with Achan, but now that she had stopped, the tears would not. She hugged herself and let them come, gasping and sniffing to keep her nose from watering.

  “Eben’s breath.” Sir Gavin drew her into an awkward, stiff-armed embrace. Vrell cried harder, her body shaking with sobs. Sir Gavin slapped her back. “Poor child. Why didn’t you confide in me? I could’ve left you in Prince Oren’s care.”

  Vrell clutched her sides and wailed. Staying with Prince Oren had been her greatest hope. She choked and coughed, trying to stop the tears long enough to answer. Her words came in slurred bursts. “I did not know…who to trust. I had planned to tell…Sir Rigil, but…when I found Achan and Sir Caleb…in the secret passage…Sir Rigil had gone.” Vrell sucked in a breath. “Achan’s cheeks were bleeding. He needed aid. I thought I could serve my king a bit longer.”

  Sir Gavin nodded, as if putting the pieces together. “You were going to reveal yourself to the Council on your mother’s behalf so Achan would have his votes. Did she ask you to?”