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 Paz Falls and Temple Arman.
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?
I am. Do you need my assistance, Your Majesty?
Achan stiffened at Sparrow’s lofty tone. Thank you, no. Not wanting to deal with the boy’s attitude, Achan pushed him out.
The light grew brighter, the air clearer, then, as if a fog had lifted, Dove carried Achan beyond the chill of the Evenwall and into a warm breeze. His breath snagged at the view. They’d left the forest and were descending a trail that wound its way down the lush countryside.
A green valley spread to where it met the sky on the horizon, a bright, cloudless blue. Tufts of trees and the occasional cottage dotted the peaceful landscape. The dirt road under the horses’ hooves was the color of Poril’s ginger cake. The grasses alongside were as tall as Dove’s knees and seasoned with yellow, lavender, and white blossoms. A mix of sweet and acrid fragrances filled the air.
His army had gone silent, wonder spread across each face. Ages had likely passed since many had seen such beauty.
The blessed sun beat down as they descended the mountains. Achan shrugged off his cloak and doublet. The warm breeze snaked up one sleeve to his armpit and he sighed at the comfort of creation.
When the river came into view again, the men broke the single-file formation, galloping their mounts to the water. Some dismounted and ran for the shallows, stripping off their clothing as they went. Others jumped in fully dressed. Achan grinned. The men had lost their senses. He could hardly blame them.
When Achan reached the river, he slid off Dove’s back, stripped off his tunic, and knelt at the water’s edge. The wide and shallow river had little current near the bank. The men laughed and splashed one another. Their horses drank.
Achan’s reflection rippled in the water below him. Scruffy. How long had it been since the day he’d tried to shave?
He thrust his hands though his reflection until his palms lay flat on the sandy riverbed. He lowered his face to the water, as if to kiss it, then eased beneath the surface, nose first, then chin, cheeks, and ears. He pulled back and slurped the cool, refreshing water.
“It is never wise to duck your head under completely, Your Majesty,” Sir Eagan said from behind him. “If I had wanted to kill you, it would have been all too easy.”
Achan sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Sir Eagan seemed taller in the sun. He pointed along the riverbank. “Regard your men. Many have overindulged in—”
“Can you blame them?”
Sir Eagan’s round cheeks balled up in a way that made Achan feel as though he had lived this moment before. “Hardly, but if you study their behavior, you can learn who might make the best soldiers. Take Bazmark, for instance. He scoops the water into his hand, keeping his head up so he can see not only who is before him, but any reflection that might come up behind him. He was a Kingsguard soldier, you know.”
“I didn’t.” But he could bloodvoice, so it made sense, since gifted men were recruited. “He said he’d gone to prison for looking too long at the queen.”
“Your mother was a beautiful woman. No man could avoid at least glancing at her when she passed, and your father would never imprison a man for that. Bazmark took it too far. Became obsessed.”
“Did he shadow her?”
“With his mind. I am sure Sir Gavin has explained how inappropriate it is to use your gift to observe people’s private moments.” Sir Eagan raised a dark eyebrow.
“I see.” Achan glanced back at Bazmark, frowning.
“Do not judge him for his past, for you have pardoned him. But do not forget his weakness, for once a man falls, it is often easy for him to fall again.”
“You were saying I should study the men? You think it’s time I make appointments?”
“Not yet, Your Majesty. Things will likely play out like this: Each lord who is loyal to you, if he has not already, will appoint his own captain to lead his soldiers. Those captains will take their orders from whomever you put over the army. Those from Tsaftown will follow Roxburg Demry until Sir Eric arrives. You might recommend that Roxburg promote Bazmark to a sergeant or lieutenant. Think about it.”
“Okay.”
“For now, Your Majesty, if you would like to swim, I shall see your back is covered.”
“Thanks.” Achan tugged off his boots and waded into the cool water. He couldn’t remember the last time he swam for pleasure. The shallows were not deep enough to tread, so he floated on his back, staring at the bright blue sky. So beautiful.
Thank you, Arman.
* * *
Vrell steered her mount along behind Inko’s, but her gaze wandered the landscape, each new sight stealing her breath. They were back in Light, home nearer than ever. And she had stopped twice to cut plants to replenish her kit. Once for clover and once for wild ginger.
She watched Achan from a distance, admiring how he had changed and how he had remained the same over the journey through Darkness. He looked no different than when she first met him. Tall and strong. But his confidence had grown some, though she bet he still doubted his ability to lead these men. Vrell could only imagine how he must feel. As if anyone should tell the Great Whitewolf what to do. But still, how exciting! Er’Rets would have a king. Arman’s chosen.
Behind her, some men laughed. She tensed. Could they be laughing at her? Now that Darkness no longer aided her disguise, she felt awkward and exposed. She kept telling herself she had been fine before. Neither Lord Orthrop, Macoun, Carlani, Khai, or even Lord Levy had recognized her. But she could not help her apprehension. For one woman to travel with three hundred men…beyond inappropriate. Scandalous!
And that there might be a betrayer among them. The thought chilled her arms. If Esek had sent the spy, he would be looking for her as well as Achan. She should flee for Carmine now. At top speed, it would take a day and a half. She would only have to camp onc
e. No reason to think she would not make it. She missed Mother so.
She would be vulnerable, though. If anyone untrustworthy happened upon her, she could not defend herself. She needed the protection of these men. It would not be much longer. Another week, perhaps? There was no reason for Achan and the army to linger in Mitspah. Maybe only be two or three days. She smiled. She could be home before the week’s end.
And when they stopped tonight, she would pick some rue and make a juice for Achan to help with his fleas.
* * *
Achan and the soldiers followed the road until it split: north to Mitspah, south to Carmine. They headed north and soon passed one stone cottage after another, each with its own farm. Children ran alongside the horses waving and laughing, though their parents kept their distance. Some called their children back, casting suspicious glances at the soldiers.
The procession passed the last stretch of flatlands and started up a steep trail surrounded by thick trees and ferns. The trees and trail created a gap in the distance where a snowcapped mountain loomed, half-covered by Evenwall mist. Achan’s stomach roiled at the sight. Hopefully Mitspah was far enough east that they would not have to enter Darkness again.
“I hear the falls,” a soldier said.
Sure enough, the sound of water gushing over rock met Achan’s ears. Each corner they rounded, Achan expected to see the falls—they sounded so close—yet the army zigzagged up the trail and didn’t seem to get any closer.
The trail straightened but rose so steeply they dismounted and pulled their horses along. Achan led Dove over the crest of the hill and stopped. The road continued rolling over smaller hills, but he could see the Mitspah stronghold clearly.
“Nice, isn’t it?” a breathless man said. “My great, great grandfather on my mother’s side helped build it.”
Achan swung around to see Polk gripping the reins of his horse, so drowned in sweat he looked like a wet animal.
Achan quickly led Dove down the hill a few paces, then remounted. Dove followed the other horses, and Achan was able to take in the magnificent stronghold.
Looming over a grassy bailey, the castle keep was built into a mountain cliff, the Paz Falls spilling over the turrets, down the sides, and pooling into a moat as if the stronghold were a fountain. The cliff morphed with multicolored stone masonry. Moss and ivy clung to every surface.
Two large turrets of different heights stretched up on the left and right of the castle. There were two watchtowers, as well, at the center front and back. The front, a squat, circular inner gatehouse sat over the moat. The back, and highest point of Mitspah stronghold, protruded out of the mountain. It had a carved stone roof that curled so the river spilled off both sides into two waterfalls, each spilling to one of the turrets. The turret stone roofs had been carved in spirals that sent the water circling down until it spilled off the outside of each turret to the moat in a fantastic cascade.
The water collected at the base of the castle keep, forming a moat that was a tranquil pool on the left side of the castle. The current sailed from that pool, under the inner gatehouse’s drawbridge, and along the left side of the keep until it passed through an iron grate in the stone curtain wall.
The wall stood three levels high topped with another three levels of spiked black iron fence. It arched out from the cliff in a wide half circle, encasing the vast, grassy bailey.
Soaked orange and silver checkered banners sagged from the top of each tower. Achan smiled at the cham bears emblazoned on each standard. He’d never seen a real one, and now with a war brewing, and his planning to journey south, he wondered if he ever would.
Far ahead, at the front of the line, Sir Gavin led the men under the portcullis and into the outer bailey, like a long line of garland. Would Mitspah have room for them all?
Once inside the bailey, Sir Caleb reined his horse around. “Your Highness, you and Vrell meet Sir Gavin at the inner gatehouse. Inko and Kurtz, come with me.”
Sir Caleb rode off where the soldiers were milling in a group. “We will camp in the bailey,” he yelled. “Pitch your tents along the curtain wall on the right. Their stables aren’t large enough for all our horses, so tether your animals along the moat. Some guards are coming to set up a makeshift pen.”
All around, men dismounted and unsaddle their horses. The clinking of iron chain turned Achan’s head back to the inner gatehouse. The portcullis was rising.
Achan nudged Dove across the grassy bailey to the inner gatehouse where Sir Gavin and Sir Eagan had stopped their horses on the drawbridge.
Sir Gavin waved his hand overhead. “Achan, Vrell, you’ll accompany us inside.”
The quaint inner courtyard had more flowers than the temple gardens in Sitna. Ivy and moss wrapped around stone arches that led who knew where. Water seemed to drizzle over every inch of the castle walls, and mist filled the air—not foggy, like the Evenwall, but wet, like a spray of rain. The keep stood at the end of the courtyard. The entrance, two large board and batten doors, looked unnatural against all the nature.
“Little Cham!” a low voice called out from behind Achan.
Shung Noatak ducked under an archway in the courtyard.
Achan dismounted, smiling broadly. “Hello, Shung! When did you arrive?”
Shung tackled Achan in a bear hug. “Three days past.”
Achan patted Shung’s back. The Charmice tails on Shung’s jerkin tickled his hand. “How was Koyukuk’s wedding?”
“Fine celebration. You honor him to ask.”
Sir Gavin dismounted. “Delighted to see you, Shung.”
“You need Shung’s sword?”
Sir Gavin chuckled. “That we do, Shung. That we do.”
A man in a long brown cape stepped through the double doors. He had stringy brown hair, a close-cropped beard, broad shoulders, and the gate of a soldier. His robe puffed as he descended the steps, and Achan glimpsed a sword at his side. Achan rested his hand on the grip of Eagan’s Elk.
Two men in orange tunics scurried behind the man in brown. One looked to be in his forties, the other, just a boy.
Strays.
The man in brown stopped by Sir Gavin’s horse. “I’m Atul, Lord Yarden’s steward. Our men’ll put up yer horses ’n’ bring yer things inside. Lord Yarden awaits yeh there.”
Sir Gavin walked up to Atul. “Where is Winze?”
“Winze fell ill two weeks back. Lord Yarden granted him a leave ’n’ the country ’til he recovers.”
The stray man approached Dove and unhooked the saddlebag. When he got it free, he set it on the grass, then stepped toward Sir Eagan’s horse.
The stray boy—about Sparrow’s age, rail thin with choppy brown hair and freckled cheeks—patted Dove’s nose.
“This one looks just like Dove, don’t he?” The boy twisted around to the elder stray, but the man kept his head down and lugged Sir Eagan’s saddlebag over to Sir Gavin’s.
“Cole!” Atul slapped the boy’s ear. “Shut yer yap and do yer job!”
Cole cowered and lifted both arms in front of his face.
Achan lunged between Atul and Cole. “It’s all right.” He gripped the back of Cole’s neck and drew him into a one-armed hug, all the while staring Atul down. “This is Dove. A gift from Sir Eric Livna.”
Atul’s thick eyebrows scrunched into one bushy stripe over his eyes. “Sir Eric give away his father’s horse? Why’d he do that? Somethin’ happen?”
Achan swallowed and searched for Sir Gavin.
The knight was halfway to the door of the stronghold. “Come along, Your Majesty. We’ll convey our message and intent to Lord Yarden.”
“O’ course yeh will.” Atul sidestepped Achan, then hurried ahead and opened the door before Sir Gavin reached it.
Achan inspected Cole’s ear and found it red and swollen. “Are you all right?”
“Cole!” The older stray had taken the reins to Sir Gavin and Eagan’s mounts and was leading them across the courtyard. “See to the other horses.”
“Yes, sir.” Cole stepped away from Achan.
“Your Highness?” Sir Eagan stood in the open doorway at the top of the steps.
Achan needed to go inside. Lord Yarden would be waiting, though he hated to leave Cole. Long before Achan had known his true identity, he had considered fleeing to Mitspah to escape his own cruel fate. Had he come here, he and Cole might have been subject to the same masters.
Achan reluctantly headed for the entrance to the Mitspah stronghold. A shadow flanked his on the grass and he turned to see Shung one step behind him. Achan smiled and fell into step beside his new Shield.
They passed into a narrow hallway with a low ceiling he could easily touch without fully extending his arm. The castle smelled strongly of mildew and dogs. Atul led them over a wet stone floor covered in soggy rushes to the end of the hall and up a spiral stairwell that Achan guessed to be the rear tower.
On the second floor, they walked down a hall and passed a half dozen open doors to a great hall on the right. At the end of the hall, Atul opened a door on the left and they entered a warm receiving room, blanketed in damp tapestries.
A thin man with a face like a possum slouched on a throne-like chair opposite the door. He had fine grey hair, a large nose, and beady black eyes. Twin dogs—as big as colts—flanked the chair with better posture than their master. They were beige, with short fur and black faces.
Achan reached out to the one on the left. Hey, boy. The dog’s eyes shifted to Achan’s, his jaw dropped, he licked his mouth, and shifted.
Atul closed the door. “Your Highness, this here’s Lord Yarden, Lord of Mitspah.”
Lord Yarden nodded, slowly. His version of a bow? “I am relieved to see you well. We hear rumors, but facts come to me so late. Only two weeks have passed since word of this treachery with Lord Nathak reached me. I feared the worst.”
Achan didn’t want to do the talking, but it was time he started speaking for himself. “I’m well, Lord Yarden, though we do come bearing great sorrow.”
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 40