Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three

by K. L. Schwengel

  "I insist you recall the sergeant and have her arrested," Lady Honval said.

  The older mage rolled his gaze toward the ceiling and blew out a heavy sigh. "We have larger issues before us at the moment, Lady. Put whatever this is aside, and focus on that which truly requires your attention."

  The lady started to say something else, thought better of it, rolled her shoulders back and folded her hands across her stomach. She levelled one last malicious glare Ciara's way. "This is not over."

  "It is for now," Thadeus said.

  Lady Honval swung around in a swish of skirts, and made her exit with spine erect and her anger crackling around her like an errant storm.

  Thadeus shook his head. "Will she never tire of her games?"

  "I'm sorry, Thadeus," Ciara said. "I didn't mean to cause any problems. I really don't know what happened."

  "Not to worry, my dear, I suspect you were an innocent victim here. I'm afraid some of my fellow mages have the tendency to succumb to petty and childish behaviors when their ire is up. It would be best if you avoided them for the time being. Now, if there really is nothing else, I do have more important things to tend to."

  Thadeus gave her no chance to reply. He trailed after Lady Honval, juggling his scrolls and mumbling under his breath.

  Being the plaything of a group of mages left a cold feeling in the pit of Ciara's stomach. At least it appeared she had Thadeus on her side. That had to count for something. She could only hope it would prove enough if Lady Honval's dislike of her spread to the other mages.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  With clear weather and easy travel, the Imperial escort reached Broadhead by nightfall of the second day out of Nisair. Dain sent a messenger ahead to alert Captain Rothel, the officer in charge of the city's garrison, of their arrival and the reason behind it. By the Emperor's orders, no fanfare greeted them, only a solemn honor guard that fell in at the fore of the company with reverent precision for the short trek from the main gates to the barracks.

  Captain Everyn saw to getting the men settled in. All but twenty-five of them were to remain in Broadhead. Even though there hadn't been so much as a whisper of marauders in the area since their failed attack in support of Donovan's witch, Dain felt it time to bolster the long under-manned garrison. That left a score plus of veteran swords to protect the Emperor on the road. Enough, Bolin supposed, because only a fool would consider openly attacking Dain, especially with Bolin at his side.

  "I'm extremely grateful for the extra men, Your Majesty," Captain Rothel said, leaning back in his chair as a squire stepped forward to refill his mug.

  The three of them sat at a corner table in the officer's mess. Bolin would have preferred to decline the captain's late dinner invitation, but the look on the Emperor's face stopped him. He poked disinterestedly at the hearty stew of lamb and fall vegetables that, any other time, he would have found quite enticing, especially after a long day in the saddle. Fighting off the sense of disquiet that had settled over him on the road, seemed just as fruitless as working up an appetite. He tried to attribute the unease to Thadeus's concerns, the fact he already missed Ciara, and the waves of grief that continuously caught him off guard. Prompted by stray thoughts, a random memory, or someone's turn of a phrase, they caused his breath to catch and the backs of his eyes to prickle with unshed tears.

  Rothel waited for the other men to be served, before continuing. "We've kept up a steady rotation of patrols since the attack. Even though there haven't been any sign of the marauders over the past couple weeks, everyone's a bit on edge. It will be a great help to have fresh troops."

  "The garrison here has been undermanned for too long," Dain said. "My apologies for the oversight."

  Rothel's eyes widened. "I didn't mean to imply--"

  "The garrison is under your command, Rothel," Bolin said, tossing his fork onto his plate. "If you need more men, more supplies, more anything, you shouldn't hesitate to requisition them."

  "Then it was a grievous oversight on my behalf, General." Rothel shifted, his eyes flicking downward as his demeanor edged toward that of a dog that had come up for a pat on the head and been rebuffed.

  "You are relatively new to the post, Captain," Dain said, slanting a look of reproach Bolin's way. "There was no reason to suspect marauders, or anyone else for that matter, would attack the city."

  Bolin rubbed a hand along his jaw and pushed his plate away, the food untouched. It drew Rothel's look, and the captain's frown deepened. He picked at the lip of his mug, and his gaze narrowed on a spot on the table.

  "Perhaps I'm mistaken, General, but it appears to me as though you don't share the Emperor's assessment. If you feel a mistake was made in my appointment, I will step down without argument."

  "You were highly recommended by your predecessor," Dain said, without giving Bolin the opportunity to respond. "I trusted Major Dunleavy's judgment then, and I see no reason to call it into question now."

  Dain levelled another glare Bolin's way, this time with the hint of a question in the subtle arch of one brow.

  "My apologies, Captain. I'm afraid I'm not in the best of humors tonight. Rest assured, I've no doubt as to your abilities." Bolin pushed back his chair and stood. "If you'll excuse me, gentleman, I believe I'll turn in."

  Bolin half expected Dain to object, or at the very least follow him out, but the Emperor did neither. He tipped his head in acquiescence, though his gaze remained on Bolin until he left the room.

  A four man honor guard stood watch around Nialyne's carriage. They saluted at Bolin's approach, keeping a respectful distance. The subtle scent of white hart blossoms colored the night air as the garlands draping the carriage swayed gently in the breeze, kept fresh by the shimmer of magic surrounding it.

  White hart had been Nialyne's favorite flower since she first saw them on a trip to the southern province. Bolin had spent a sevenday tracking down a gardener who knew the proper care of them, and another two days convincing him to travel to Galys Auld to plant some in Nialyne's garden during her absence. Unfortunately, duty called Bolin back to Nisair before her return, so he missed Nialyne's reaction when she found the flowering shrubs along the pathway to her rooms, but she sent him a single, pressed blossom with a letter of appreciation. They were in the midst of the border wars then, and Bolin kept the delicate bloom tucked inside his tunic for a long time afterwards, close to his heart. A talisman of strength and hope for those days when both flagged.

  It seemed somehow wrong that strength and hope should desert him now, in a time of relative peace. Bolin ran one of the soft, pale, cream-colored petals through his fingers. Allowing himself to wallow in his grief was nothing but selfish. A show of weakness he found intolerable. It would not change the past, nor could it bring Nialyne back. She had known full-well what she was doing when she ignored Bolin's pleas to remain safely in the castle with Thadeus during Donovan's attack. Still, it should have been Bolin's life or no one's lost on that wall. It had never been Nialyne's duty to risk her life for anyone.

  He shook his head, a disgusted growl rising from his throat. Those thoughts served no purpose, and only diminished the purity of Nialyne's sacrifice. A sacrifice the Goddess had turned a blind eye to. Bolin's grief hardened to anger as quickly as hot steel doused in water.

  "All I have given," he said softly, his voice a hard whisper. "A lifetime in your service, never once asking for anything more than your guidance and compassion, and I am repaid with cold indifference, and the life of one more dear to me than breath itself."

  It did little good to rail against a goddess whose ears were closed to him. If, indeed, they had ever been open. Bolin scrubbed a hand across his face before laying it gently on the shroud. "You hold my heart until we meet again, Alyne."

  He blinked the burgeoning tears away and turned. A figure stood in the shadows at the edge of the barrack's yard. At first Bolin thought Dain had come looking for him after all, but then it moved around the corner and he swore he caught a glimpse of mu
lti-colored skirts in the torchlight. But the woman who had worn those had died on Nisair's wall by his hand and the power of the Greensward.

  Still… Bolin drew his focus inward and sifted through the scattering of magic within his reach. Dain's power overshadowed all others. Beneath it ran the mage-magic surrounding the carriage, a few tendrils of earth magic from the local healers, and some low-level magery. Nothing that could have been Donovan, or his witch, for that matter.

  A calming breath brought more of the white hart's fragrance to him and Bolin drank it in, trying to channel it into a balm rather than a blade. His grief had undoubtedly gotten the better of him. He needed to get that under control sooner, rather than later. Perhaps a drink and a good night's sleep would remedy the situation, at least in part.

  He'd taken no more than two steps toward his quarters when a searing burn across his left bicep pulled a shocked cry from him. Several of the guards swung around, hands on weapons, but Bolin huffed out a breath and waved them off, despite the tendril of power that oozed across his awareness, oily slick and full of malice. Something in Bolin rose up in response to that touch, as eager as a hound catching its master's scent on the air. The power of the Greensward raged in response with a blinding flare that sent him staggering back. He thrust out an arm to steady himself, and found the cool comfort of solid stone beneath his hand.

  A moment of disorientation overcame him when a glance showed him to be no longer in the barrack's yard, but on the wall above the city gates instead. The very spot he had faced Donovan's witch the last time he had been in Broadhead. Bolin pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, silently berating himself for his apparent inability to deal with his loss. When he reopened his eyes, his surroundings had not changed.

  There were no torches lit this time. No archers on the tower. No guards at their stations. Nialyne did not stand beside him as she had less than a handful of weeks before, holding off the hoard of hound-like creatures the witch had brought with her. Bolin was, from all appearances, alone in his delusion.

  The burning in his arm spread up his shoulder and inched across his chest. He drew absently from the magic in Ciara's pendant to halt its progress, and watched as a woman sauntered toward him, barefoot, skirts swishing about her ankles, violet eyes like burning gems in her dusky skin. Her dark hair cascaded around her head and shoulders in an unruly tangle. A lazy smile claimed her lips, only adding to the predatory feel rising from her.

  Her finger twitched and Bolin deftly caught the bit of magic she sent toward him, spun it into something larger, and hurtled it back, all in the space of a single breath. A wave of her hand sent it spiraling harmlessly away.

  "You truly are amazing," she said.

  "And you're dead."

  She laughed, spreading her arms to the side. "Do I look dead?"

  "You look like a conjuring of my imagination."

  "Ah." Her smile bent downwards, her face creasing in mock sorrow. "You believe your grief has overwhelmed your senses."

  Bolin bit back a cry as the pain in his arm flared anew.

  The witch's expression twisted again, hardening into anger and disgust. "Does that feel like illusion to you?"

  Bolin shrugged. "Illusion. Trickery. The product of a coward who hides behind a charlatan's tricks. Speaking of, where is your master these days, witch?"

  He latched onto the trickle of power gliding beneath his skin as he talked. It took far more concentration than it should have for Bolin to keep the slippery magic in his grasp. It burned as he pulled it to him. Twice it escaped him altogether, and he fought to bend to his will. It seemed like hours though, in reality, no more than a handful of heartbeats passed before he held it cupped in his hand.

  The witch narrowed her eyes. "What is it you think to do with that, I wonder?"

  "It's a present for your master," he said, his lips curled back across his teeth.

  "Bolin!"

  He caught himself short of releasing the magic, and blinked in the sudden opalescent shimmer of the Emperor's power. Dain stood where the witch had been, Captain Everyn and another guard several paces behind him.

  Bolin swiveled, eyes scouring up and down the torch-lit wall, past the guards at their posts trying hard to appear oblivious. "Where is she?"

  "She?" Dain asked, his voice hard.

  Bolin pointed. "She stood where you do now."

  "Who?"

  "Donovan's witch." Bolin spat the words out.

  "She's dead. We scraped her remains off the wall at Nisair and burned them." Dain's eyes flicked to Bolin's hand where the ball of magic hissed angrily. "Do you intend to use that?"

  Bolin glanced down. A thought nudged through the confusion. If Donovan had managed to conjure such a convincing image of the witch, he could likely do as much with the Emperor.

  Dain's chin tipped. "That would not be advisable."

  Bolin touched the edges of Dain's power, all of it carefully warded against him, but as familiar as his own reflection. He blew out a breath and clenched his fist to extinguish the power held at the ready. As it faded, so did the glow around Dain. The fury in his eyes, however, took far longer to dissipate.

  "She was here, Dain," Bolin said. "I swear to you."

  "I saw no one."

  Bolin rubbed his arm. It still ached, and the witch's magic churned through him like a bad meal. Dain took a cautious step forward as Bolin puffed out another breath and sank back against the parapet. He stared at a spot on the ground as he dissected the incident with forced detachment.

  "Inside," Dain said quietly, wrapping his fingers around Bolin's elbow.

  Bolin nodded and allowed the Emperor to guide him back toward the barracks. He didn't miss the uneasy glances awarded him by the guards, or the faint glow still surrounding Dain as the Emperor led the way to his rooms.

  "Now." Dain closed the door behind Bolin and waved him to a chair. "What exactly happened?"

  Bolin cradled his arm against his stomach, mindlessly massaging the old scar through his sleeve. The burn had faded to no more than a dull ache, the witch's magic slithering back into hiding. That last fact he found more than a little unsettling.

  "Bolin?"

  "I'm… not certain."

  "That's far from comforting." Dain passed him a glass of wine and took a chair across from him.

  "I don't even recall going to the wall. I was in the yard and I thought I saw her."

  "The witch."

  Bolin scowled. "Your tone implies disbelief."

  "Given that I personally saw to the disposal of her remains, it seems rather unlikely that you actually saw the woman herself."

  "Unlikely, but not entirely impossible."

  "There are dark magics that can be used to raise the dead," Dain conceded. "I don't know that anyone has practiced them for centuries. Surely it would not go unnoticed."

  "The witch did it," Bolin said. "She managed to steal one of your own guard from Galys Auld, and turn him into some sort of morbid creature. It killed a Guardsman on that very wall before Berk sent it back to its final rest."

  "You're suggesting Donovan has done the same to her?"

  "I'm suggesting she was a conjuring of Donovan's," Bolin said. "Because the alternative calls my sanity into question."

  Dain swirled the contents of his glass, but kept his eyes on Bolin. They had yet to revert to their normal cerulean. It was a peculiar trait of the Imperial bloodline, the shading of their eyes in concert with mood or use of power. It served as a warning to those who didn't know the man well enough to read his other cues.

  "Thadeus didn't want you leaving Nisair," Dain said. "We discussed it at length, he and I. I knew, however, short of chaining you and throwing you in the dungeon, nothing would keep you from returning Nialyne to the Greensward. I think Thadeus may have forced the issue if I hadn't come along. He is concerned you are not wholly recovered from what happened at the Oak."

  "Aye. He told me as much before we left." Bolin couldn't deny he had come very cl
ose to losing himself that night on the way to Nisair. He considered tracking Donovan by using the witch's power trapped in the crystal worth the risk. Those closest to him, however, saw it as a reckless move. Some presence, besides Donovan and his witch, moved through the ethereal that night. It had grabbed hold of Bolin and shredded him. If not for Ciara and Andrakaos somehow finding all the scattered pieces of his essence and binding them back together, Garek would have been forced to drive a knife through Bolin's heart, rather than allow him to become a puppet in unknown hands.

  Bolin stood, pacing the confines of the room, finally coming to a stop near the shuttered window. He turned to face Dain, hands braced against the sill behind him. "In my first encounter with Donovan's witch, before leaving Galys Auld for Nisair, she wounded me. A bit of her magic remained even after the wound healed. I thought with her death it would have faded to nothing." He gave Dain a rueful frown. "That doesn't appear to be the case."

  "You think Donovan is somehow using that against you?"

  "Do you have another explanation?"

  Dain rested his elbow on the chair's arm and settled his chin on his upraised fist. "You won't care for it."

  Bolin held the Emperor's gaze for a long time. His jaw ticked but, for once, he held the words still behind his teeth.

  "Do you know how I came to find you tonight?" Dain asked. "One of the guards alerted Everyn that the Lord General was walking the gate wall, talking to himself, and highly agitated. They assumed you were drunk. Knowing better, the captain wisely came for me. When I approached, the amount of power you held ready to direct my way would have tested my own. Goddess forbid if you would have unleashed it on any of the men."

  "That wouldn't have happened," Bolin said, voice tight.

  "Not intentionally, but you were seeing something up there no one else saw."

  "So you believe I'm mad, then?"

  Dain straightened in the chair and spoke his next words slowly and with great care. "I believe you are not entirely recovered from recent events."