To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  She gasped and fought the urge to elbow him back. “Where? To the floor?”

  Inko did not answer, so Vrell rolled on her side and curled into a ball. How ridiculous! She couldn’t believe Sir Gavin hadn’t helped her make other arrangements when they were given this privy of a room. Granted, they were in a treetop. How big could the rooms be? But surely Achan had been given his own bed. Vrell would rather sleep on Achan’s floor than cram into a bed with an old, crotchety—

  You will tell me where they are.

  Vrell gasped at the sound of Esek’s voice in her mind. Sensing a connection with her mother, she closed her eyes and focused.

  Mother stood behind the jade desk in her study. The sun streamed through the window and lit the colorful wall murals and niches. Beautiful sun.

  Esek and Sir Kenton stood on the redwood floor before Mother’s desk.

  I do not know where she is, Mother said.

  You are both gifted, Esek said. You must communicate.

  When my daughter calls to me, we talk, but she has not done so in several days.

  When did you last speak?

  A week past.

  And where was she?

  Approaching Melas.

  Esek’s posture swelled. I know they are coming here. He means to marry her and take my throne.

  Mother walked around her desk. My daughter is engaged to Master Bran Rennan. I have told you this numerous times.

  Lady Averella is engaged to me. I shall have her with or without your permission.

  Mother laughed. I think not, young man.

  Sir Kenton slapped her. Do not disrespect your king.

  Mother set her jaw and straightened before Sir Kenton, who towered over Mother’s petite form. This man is no one’s king. He bought his Council votes. Lord Nathak sat as my proxy because he killed my manservant and forged my name. The true Council will never crown this impostor.

  The true Council, as you know it, is no more, Esek said.

  Mother frowned and studied Esek’s haughty face. What do you mean?

  The Council has elected members to replace those charged with treason. Your membership on the Council has been revoked. You still rule Carm—until I wed your daughter and take it legally. Esek stepped up to the arched window overlooking the northern fields. But since you refuse to aid your king, I will burn your vineyards.

  Mother’s heart rate spiked. That is madness! You want control of Carm because it is vast and powerful. Without its vineyards it is nothing.

  Then at least it will not stand in my way. Esek started for the door then paused. If you give me Wren, I shall spare your eastern vineyard.

  Mother blinked. Who is Wren?

  Esek spun around. The stray’s lover, fool woman! Give her to me and your eastern vineyard will go unburned.

  I have never met a woman named Wren.

  Do not twist the truth, Duchess. I know she is here with Sir Rigil and that traitor giant. You have one hour to save your biggest crop. Send word to me before—Esek wheezed, his face purpling.

  Your Highness? Are you well? Sir Kenton asked.

  Esek fell to his knees, gripping his throat, eyes bulging. Release…my…

  Sir Kenton crouched at Esek’s side. With The Shield’s back turned, Mother darted behind the changing screen to the left of her desk. Anillo beckoned Mother with an outstretched hand from the open secret doorway built into one of the niches. Vrell gasped, shocked to see Anillo alive after Mother had accused Lord Nathak of having killed him. As Mother slipped past, Vrell noticed a hideous fresh scar across Anillo’s neck.

  Never mind me, fool! Esek rasped. Where did—

  Anillo shut the secret door on Esek’s question. He and Mother swept soundlessly along the dark, cool passage, lit by the occasional arrow loop, and up the spiral staircase. Not until they had climbed five levels and exited into the gazebo-like top of the Ryson tower did Mother speak.

  Are the troops ready, Anillo?

  They are, my lady.

  Attack, and show no mercy.

  Yes, my lady. Anillo bowed and retreated down the stairs.

  Mother leaned against the stone ledge. You will relay all this to Sir Gavin, Averella?

  Yes, Mother.

  Good. Now I am weak from having given you my strength and must rest. Be safe, my love.

  Mother withdrew. Cold gripped Vrell’s pores. The room spun. She slid off the edge of the bed onto the cold floor and faded into darkness.

  23

  Achan’s jaw ached from relentless shivering. His cheeks and nose were numb. His shoulder snapped back a stiff branch, causing snow to dump over his head. Icy flakes fell through the neck of his fur cape and slid down his back. He squirmed so they’d melt faster and pulled the hood over his head.

  They’d spent one night in Berland. Achan wanted to stay longer, but Sir Gavin received word from the Duchess of Carm that Esek had ridden north after a threatening visit. Sir Gavin wanted to get to Tsaftown as soon as possible. Achan doubted they stood a chance of beating Esek as slow as their horses moved through the snowy mountain pass.

  Camping proved miserable. Sleeping on frozen ground, even with the furs and blankets Koyukuk had given them, was terribly uncomfortable. To keep their minds focused, Sir Caleb lectured on the reign of King Bole II.

  But Achan couldn’t keep his mind from spinning. Lady Tara. Yumikak’s song. The gift of Shung’s service. Riga’s death. Gren’s growing affection for Bran. Silvo pushing him off the platform in Barth. Jaira’s spicy smell. His aching backside. Lady Tara.

  His thoughts always circled back to Lady Tara. She alone had shown interest in Achan when he was nothing more than a stray squire. Surely the people of Er’Rets would accept a woman as beautiful and agreeable as she? He couldn’t help but pray Arman would allow—

  Achan’s horse stopped and neighed. Achan nudged his flanks. “Come on, Scout. Got to keep moving or we’ll freeze.”

  “Why did you stop?” Sparrow asked from behind.

  Sir Gavin voice came from the front of the line. “The trail is blocked. Avalanche.”

  Achan’s chest tightened. This would surely delay their arrival in Tsaftown.

  “Can we go around?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “Nay. I’m afraid we’ll have to take an alternate route.”

  “Meribah?” Sir Caleb asked.

  “Aye.” Sir Gavin sniffed in a long breath. “Arman knows I’d rather not trespass upon Lord Gershom’s…hospitality, yet it’s the quickest route. Hopefully we’ll find the man in good spirits.”

  “Being in his right mind, you’re meaning?” Inko said.

  “Is he ill?” Achan asked.

  “He’s suffered more than his share of misfortune,” Sir Caleb said.

  “He’s being four times a widower, Your Highness,” Inko said, “but having been blessed with no heirs, male or female, last I was hearing, he’s seeking a fifth bride.”

  “At his age?” Sparrow said.

  “The man has not yet reached his seventieth year, Vrell,” Sir Gavin said. “Marriage is uncommon at such an age but not unheard of.”

  Sparrow gasped. “Oh, Sir Gavin, do not take offense. I did not mean to suggest you could not marry. I only meant—”

  Sir Gavin chuckled long and hard, and Inko and Sir Caleb joined him.

  When the men’s laughter finally dwindled, Sir Gavin said, “I made my choice long ago, Vrell. I pledged my life to Arman and the throne. I’m his servant. I seek no other love in my life.”

  Nice one, Sparrow, Achan said. Insulting my Kingsguard commander… I wouldn’t have expected such from you. You’re normally so polite and well-mannered.

  Achan’s connection with Sparrow vanished. The little fox had pushed him out. He chuckled and let his laugh carry on longer than necessary. “Okay, Sparrow, I can take a hint.”

  * * *

  The long and windy road to Meribah Corner added two nights to the journey. The wind seemed made of needles, piercing through to Vrell’s bones. She could no long
er feel her toes, fingers, nose, or ears. She prayed they were not black with frostbite. When she first caught sight of the lights of the stronghold, she thought she was seeing things.

  Sir Gavin cleared the matter. “Meribah Corner, yonder.”

  Conflicting emotions pulled Vrell in two directions. She longed for warmth, but she did not relish seeing Lord Gershom again. All the times she had been blessed with his company, he had been irritable, insulting, and nearly insane. Her mother’s uncle was a wanton man who gadded about as if he were forty years younger. The jest of Er’Retian court claimed that a girl truly came of age when Old Lord Gershom first proposed his undying affection.

  Vrell shivered, recalling the slurred offer of marriage he’d made her when she was but thirteen. The chill in her bones prolonged her shiver, leaving her bones aching. She prayed Arman would get them to the stronghold before she froze.

  The final leg of the journey seemed the longest. Despite the icy surroundings, Vrell caught the scent of salt in the cold air. They had reached the northwestern edge of Er’Rets.

  The scratchy trees fell away and distant torchlight lit up their destination. Perched on an incline at the top of a cliff, Meribah Corner slowly took shape. The torches along the curtain wall formed a diamond, the wider side facing forward. Where the two walls met in the front corner, a gatehouse stood, half buried in a heaping snow drift.

  The horses kept up their slow pace, unable to move faster on the steep slope. Why did Lord Gershom’s men not clear the trail so close to the gate?

  The curtain wall stood three levels high. A thick layer of snow edged the top and icicles draped over the sides like icing spilling over the edge of a cake. The torches on the sentry wall cast faint light over their party. The men’s beards were covered in frost.

  Sir Gavin reined his horse before the doors. “Lo! ’Tis Sir Gavin Lukos come to seek an audience with Lord Gershom.” His deep voice echoed in the deathly quiet. The following silence sent a chill over Vrell’s arms. After a long moment, Sir Gavin called again. “Hello! Is anyone there?”

  Achan’s voice filled Vrell’s mind. Hello. Hello. Hello. Is anyone there? There? There?

  Vrell smiled. Always a boy first. It would be interesting to see this boy become king of Er’Rets.

  “Surely they wouldn’t leave their gatehouse unguarded,” Sir Caleb said.

  “It appears they have,” Sir Gavin sniffed and released a breath that hid his face in a white cloud, “unless something has happened here.”

  “But the torches are being lit. And Poroo are not coming this far north.”

  Sir Gavin called out again, and again received no answer. “Have you a boarding hook, Caleb?”

  “Aye.” Sir Caleb dismounted and drew his pack off the side of his horse.

  “What are you going to do?” Achan asked.

  “I’m going over.” Sir Caleb drew out a wad of leather and unrolled a coil of rope with a three-hooked rod attached to one end. He turned his gaze to the wall and pulled the rope through his hands, unwinding it from the tangle. “I suppose it would be best to go up here.”

  Sir Gavin dismounted and untethered their horses. He took the reins of Sir Caleb’s horse and his horse and walked them downhill, away from the gatehouse. “Achan, bring your animal back a bit, will you?”

  Achan nudged his mount back beside Sir Gavin’s.

  Sir Caleb dropped the hook and line at his feet and stretched his arms up over his head. “I’m nearly too old for this, you know, Gavin.”

  “Not as old as the rest of us.”

  “I’ll go,” Achan said, grinning. “I’ll try, anyway. I’ve never used a…rope hook.”

  “A boarding hook,” Sir Caleb said, “used to board ships from a smaller craft. And thank you, Your Highness, but a prince is never the first man to enter any stronghold.”

  Achan folded his arms. Vrell could guess the stubborn thoughts raging through his mind. She tried to send a sarcastic comment, but his shields were fortified more than ever.

  Sir Caleb picked up his hook and line and backed up five paces, facing the doors. He gripped the hook by the shaft, raised it above his head, and backed up a few more paces in the knee-high snow. Then, in one motion, he lowered his arm and tossed the hook up toward the wall. The metal clanked against the frosty ledge and fell back, bringing shards of broken icicles with it. The hook thumped deep into the snowdrift along the curtain wall.

  Vrell jumped, thankful the hook had not fallen on Sir Caleb’s head.

  “Sorry.” Sir Caleb pulled the rope until the hook flipped out of the hole in the snow and slid toward him. “It’s been a while.”

  He lobbed the hook skyward again. It landed in the snow on top of the wall, but when Sir Caleb tugged, the hook hadn’t snagged and plopped back to the snow. He growled.

  “Three is being a lucky number, Caleb,” Inko said. “Try again.”

  Vrell pursed her lips at Inko’s ridiculous superstitions.

  Sir Caleb tossed the hook quickly. This time it sailed over the top. He jerked the rope, which cut a deep slice in the snow on the curtain wall and answered with a muffled clank.

  “See,” Inko said. “Three is being a good number.”

  Vrell rolled her eyes.

  Sir Caleb waded through the snowdrift. The closer he got to the wall, the deeper the snow. When the snow reached his waist, he jumped and, hand over hand, pulled himself up. Once his feet cleared the snowdrift, he set them against the wall and walked up, his boots slipping every so often on the icy stone.

  Vrell held her breath, praying he would not fall. He had almost reached the top when a soldier peeked over the crenellation. Men’s muffled voices rose, steel struck stone, and Sir Caleb fell, straight down, as if jumping feet first into a lake. His arms flailed a moment before his entire body vanished into the deep snowdrift.

  Vrell clapped a hand over her mouth. A soldier with a bow appeared beside the first and shot an arrow where Sir Caleb had fallen. The first threw Sir Caleb’s hook down.

  Sir Gavin lifted his shield over his head. “Retreat to the tree line! Take the horses!” He ran to the snowdrift and dug with his free hand.

  Vrell urged her horse downhill as fast as she dared. She reached the forest first. Achan and Inko rode in behind her, each leading an extra mount. Achan dismounted.

  Inko caught him by the hood of his fur cape. “Be holding here, Your Highness.” Inko drew his bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging from his saddlebag. He did not let loose his arrow, however, but waited.

  The guards looked down on Sir Gavin.

  Vrell prayed. Arman, please let him be well, please, oh, please.

  Inko kept his bow ready. “We’re coming in peace,” he shouted. “We are Kingsguard knights who are seeking an audience with Lord Gershom.”

  “Lord Gershom isn’t interested in your business,” the guard yelled back.

  Vrell’s mouth gaped. Of all the rude and cruel things to say to visitors…

  “He’ll be seeing us if you’ll only be asking,” Inko called.

  “Lord Gershom don’t like Barthians,” the guard yelled. “Neither do I.”

  “I’m being but one servant of the crown of Er’Rets and being the only Barthian in our party. We’re coming to be seeking shelter in the name of the king.”

  “There is no king!”

  Sir Gavin had managed to dig out Sir Caleb and helped the knight to his feet. He held the shield above their heads like a sunshade. Vrell continued to pray, asking that they would make it to the trees unscathed.

  “If you’ll be relaying our message to your lordship, I’m assuring you he’ll be changing his mind. We’re having with us Prince Oren’s signet ring.”

  The guard answered with his bow. The first arrow stuck the edge of Sir Gavin’s shield. The second brought a cry from Sir Caleb.

  “Oh!” Vrell dismounted. She dug her satchel out of her saddlebag so she would be ready to assist Sir Caleb.

  Inko let his arrow fly. It struck the bo
wman’s shoulder and the man collapsed out of sight.

  “Nice shot,” Achan said.

  Sir Gavin arrived with Sir Caleb. “Help me, Achan.”

  Achan and Sir Gavin lowered Sir Caleb into the snow behind a wide tree trunk. Vrell knelt beside him. “Where are you hurt, Sir Caleb?”

  Sir Caleb groaned. “I’m fine, just sore.”

  “And the arrow?”

  “Nicked my shin. I’ll live.”

  Vrell examined Sir Caleb’s wound. A small tear on his pant leg revealed the scrape beneath. It could wait.

  “What of these gatemen?” Sir Caleb asked. “Why attack after a declaration of peace?”

  “Maybe they thought you were lying since you tried to scale the wall,” Achan said.

  “But why not answer in the first place? Why hide?”

  “We cannot continue without aid.” Sir Gavin tugged on his beard. “We had enough supplies to make it to Tsaftown, but this detour will leave us lacking.”

  “We can hunt and melt snow,” Sir Caleb said. “We can make it.”

  “That’s wide of the point. Lord Gershom should be an ally. Refusing us is to side against us.” Sir Gavin picked up his shield. “Stay here. I’ll make one more attempt at diplomacy.”

  Inko and Achan helped Sir Caleb stand.

  Sir Gavin walked toward the gatehouse, holding the shield out to protect himself. “Lo! I’m Sir Gavin Lukos, Kingsguard commander to the Crown Prince. We stand outside your gates in peace with a message from the prince for your lord. Will you grant us entry?”

  Sir Gavin’s voice echoed in the silence. Then a series of arrows bit into the snow around him. At least three plunked into his shield.

  Sir Gavin backpedaled, mumbling to himself. He reached the safety of the trees, slid onto his backside, and pulled the arrows from his shield one by one.

  “What will we do now, Sir Gavin?” Achan asked. “Shall we go on to Tsaftown?”

  “No, Achan. I’m going to seek out a mind inside. One I can get a message to who might report to Lord Gershom. I don’t doubt the old man told his guards to turn away all visitors, but I also know that man, if in his right mind, would answer to a call from the prince.” Sir Gavin closed his eyes.