Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three

by K. L. Schwengel

  "Sit down, and let me look at your head."

  "Find the horses," Sully said. "My head can wait."

  "At least sit down. I don't want to have to haul you off the ground again."

  "If I sit, I won't be getting up any time soon. Go on. I'm fine. If I start tipping over I'll grab a tree."

  Berk scowled but went to collect the horses without further argument. Thankfully they weren't particularly skittish and went only as far as the nearest patch of grass. Berk's didn't even look up, and Sully's watched his approach with ears pricked forward, before dipping its head back down to tug at one last mouthful before Berk collected both sets of reins and led them back. He kept his eyes on the opposite bank the entire time. Where there were four marauders, there were definitely more.

  As if he needed proof of that, Sully limped in his direction as soon as Berk came into view. "Got a feeling we're going to have company very shortly."

  Berk's pulse spiked. "Where?"

  "Other bank. There've been a couple whistles that went unanswered." He took his horse from Berk and lifted his foot to the stirrup, swearing as he tried to mount.

  Berk gave him a leg up before mounting his own horse. Without another word, they turned back to the road. Few horses were a match for Imperial messenger horses as far as speed and stamina were concerned, but in order to put the marauders a comfortable distance behind them, they'd need to hit a hard gallop and Berk didn't know if Sully could manage it. The lieutenant didn't give him the chance to ask, pushing his horse flat out as soon as its hooves hit the road. Berk gave one quick look back, and followed suit.

  ***

  Berk and Sully pushed their horses as much as they dared, alternating between trotting and galloping. Neither doubted they could outdistance the marauders by a fair distance, but they also knew the marauders would continue to hunt them. Their kind didn't care to lose their quarry, especially when it wore the blue and silver of the Guard.

  "How far behind the Emperor do you figure we are?" Berk asked when they slowed to a walk again.

  Sully's face pinched. He swiveled to cast a glance behind them. "I'm more concerned with how far ahead of the marauders we are."

  "We've got to give these horses a rest or they're going to drop." Berk eyed his friend. Sully had a tight grip on his left thigh, and dried blood smeared the side of his face, stark against the pallor of his skin. "You're not looking so good."

  "Leg hurts like the unholies."

  "You're sure it's not broken?"

  Sully nodded. "Bruised to the bone, but still in one piece."

  "Think they'll risk the road?"

  "Not if they've any brains," Sully said. "Rothel told me he increased the patrols now that they've got extra men."

  The road made for quicker travel. Even if the marauders knew a short-cut, going cross-country would slow them down. Or so Berk told himself, because, in either case, he and Sully had no choice but to stop or run their horses to death.

  "The problem with the Southrun," Sully said, "is it's a long stretch of nothing between Broadhead and Crossings."

  "At least the weather's clear."

  Sully smirked. "That's dipping to the bottom of the barrel."

  "Have to find something positive."

  "Now, that's more like the man I know." Sully turned his horse off the east side of the road. "Let's find some water for these poor creatures."

  It was getting dark before Sully found a game trail. Given he hadn't dismounted, it was a surprise he saw it at all. They followed the trail for quite a while as it wound between the trees, coming to an abrupt end on a steep bank above a swiftly moving river. Berk spent some time on foot searching for an easy way down but without any success. He finally settled for tying his horse's reins up, and letting it pick its own way down, hoping it didn’t injure a leg in the process. Sully's horse protested at being held back until Berk helped his friend dismount and limp over to lean against a nearby tree.

  "Grab my flask," Sully called, when Berk went down to join the horses and fill their water skins.

  By the time he got both horses back up the bank and hobbled where they could graze, Sully had lowered himself to the ground beside the tree, right leg cocked, left leg stretched out stiffly, his head tipped back against the trunk. He peered through his lashes when Berk hunkered down beside him.

  "You've got watch," Sully said.

  Berk nodded. "Not a problem. How's the head feel?"

  Sully reached up to touch the blood plastering his hair down. "Better than my leg."

  "Want me to take a look at it?"

  "Nah. It's not bleeding and doesn't hurt enough to notice." He took the flask and cocked it back for several long swallows. "A couple hours at the most. Then we head back to the road and put some more leagues behind us."

  Berk nodded, waving off the flask when Sully offered it to him. Instead, he took the lieutenant's weapons from where he had placed them close at hand, and set about cleaning and sharpening them. Sully mumbled a thanks, his head bobbing once or twice before he gave in and let his chin drift toward his chest.

  When he finished with Sully's weapons, and then his own, Berk went to check on the horses before making a wide circuit of the surrounding area. He went all the way back to where they first joined the game trail. Marauders were excellent trackers, but they'd need the blessings of their gods, and all the luck of the fates to find them. That didn't mean Berk and Sully didn't have any worries. The marauders were just as likely to shadow the road until they came upon them, or some other unlucky travelers. Once they had their blood up they were like hounds on a hunt.

  By Berk's reckoning, the Emperor couldn't be more than a couple days ahead of them. Hopefully, he wouldn't have a return message. Or, if he did, Berk prayed he held off for a couple days. Regular soldiers tended to give messengers a hard time, but by the unholies, they had to be tough to keep up such a grueling pace. Every muscle ached, only a few of them from the pitched battle with the marauder scouts. Stopping and resting actually only made getting back in the saddle seem ten times worse.

  A soft breeze lifted through the trees as Berk headed back to their camp. He approached from the opposite direction, and first thought the dark shape close to where Sully rested against the tree was a rock he hadn't noticed before. But then it shifted and Berk froze. The figure hunkered down beside Sully, back to Berk, a woman, if the shadows around it indicated the flare of skirts.

  Berk canted his head to listen, eyes sweeping the area, peering into every shadow to determine if there were others lying in wait. He slid his sword from its scabbard and, placing his feet carefully, crept forward as quietly as he could, until he got within striking distance. The woman didn't move when Berk rested the tip of his sword against the back of her neck.

  "Stand up and move away very slowly," Berk said. "You really don't want me getting twitchy right now."

  The woman rose in a fluid motion, pushing a hood back as she turned to face Berk. Her features were masked by the night, but Berk knew her instantly. His heart stopped, then sprang back into action like a galloping horse. She lifted a hand and placed two fingers against the edge of his sword and pushed it slowly to the side as she stepped closer. Berk backed in equal measure, snapping the blade back between them and narrowing his eyes down the length of it.

  "What do you want?" he asked, his voice tight, but steadier than he expected.

  She halted and the tip of the blade puckered the skin at the hollow of her throat. She tipped her head so the starlight fell on one side of her face, showing her mouth curved in a hungry smile. "To start with, I'd like for you to lower your weapon."

  "That's not going to happen."

  "I could make it so. Just as you were made to do my bidding in Nisair."

  "What do you want?" Berk repeated.

  The smile twisted downward. "Why so unreasonable?"

  "I'm not going to ask again."

  "Nor am I."

  In a move too fast to prevent, she slapped the blade aside an
d had Berk by the throat, her fingernails digging into his flesh, cutting off his air. His arms hung straight down, muscles straining against an invisible hold. The woman straightened her arm and lifted, and Berk found himself on the tips of his toes, struggling to draw in a breath.

  "You should be showing me your gratitude instead of the sharp edge of steel," she said. "I could have killed your companion just now. Sent him to your petty, vain Goddess with but a touch. I could kill him still, if it pleased me. You as well, though that would be a shame."

  Berk gritted his teeth and forced his left arm to move, his hand to edge toward the dagger at his back, put all his effort into that and nothing else.

  "I intend to put you to good use, but not just yet. Soon, though. Each day I grow stronger, and each day my plans edge closer to completion. When they do, there will be a new order of things, and you will need to choose a side. I could force you to serve me, just as you were forced to serve on Nisair's wall, but I would rather you came willingly."

  Berk kept his eyes locked on hers. His fingertips brushed the pommel of the dagger.

  "In my service you will be a prince. A king, if you choose."

  His fingers wrapped the leather grip as the edges of his vision faded to black. A trickle of sweat slid down his temple and along the line of his jaw. The woman leaned into him, reaching up to trail her tongue along the side of his face. In doing so, she relaxed her grip on his throat ever so slightly, enough to put Berk back on the soles of his feet. A muffled curse from Sully's direction drew her attention and Berk put all he had into yanking his dagger free. He jerked his arm forward and up, felt the blade slide into her with little resistance. In the next instant, he hurtled backwards through the air, limbs wind-milling until he hit the ground.

  Before Berk could register what had happened, the woman landed on his chest, her knees together, and drove him into the dirt. Her eyes blazed like violet flames in the dark. She touched her side and raised her hand so Berk could see the glistening of the blood on her palm.

  "I should make you pay for this," she said. "And I will. Eventually. Trust me on that. But I like your spirit, and your strength."

  She smeared her hand across Berk's mouth, forcing his lips apart, and though he clenched his jaw, her blood slipped past his teeth and lingered on his tongue, hot and oily slick. He gagged as it slid down his throat. The woman laughed and twisted her head to look over her shoulder.

  "Take care of him for me," she said. "He's one of my favorites."

  Her weight vanished and Berk rolled, retching into the grass. He managed to get his arms beneath him and pushed up onto his elbows. His back hunched uncontrollably with his stomach's efforts to empty its contents. A curse heralded Sully's arrival as he dropped down to kneel beside Berk, a hand on his shoulder.

  "Tell me you saw her," Berk said around desperate breaths.

  "I did."

  His body arched and Berk hung there for a long moment before finally pulling his legs in and shoving back to sit on his heels. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, turned his head to spit, and fought back the urge to do more than that. Sully handed him a water skin and Berk took it with shaking hands. He rinsed his lips and mouth repeatedly in an effort to get rid of the taste of her.

  "Goddess above." Berk couldn't stop the tremor working through him. At least now he knew the woman wasn't merely a product of his imagination, small consolation though that was. Although, the more he thought about it, the less sure he became in regards to that being a good thing.

  "Who is she?" Sully asked.

  "I don't exactly know. She was working with Ciara's father. She's the one who took me to him the first time. She put some kind of spell on me to get me to go with her. It's hazy, to be honest, and one of the things I'd rather not remember."

  He took another mouthful of water, swirled it around, turned and spat it out. Breathing hurt, and his stomach muscles ached from forcibly convulsing, but he levered himself to his feet, weaving like a drunkard, dimly aware of Sully struggling to stand beside him. Berk reached down and linked forearms with him, shifting his weight and bracing as Sully pulled himself up. The lieutenant grimaced, hopping awkwardly to gain his balance.

  "If you feel up to it, I say we push on," Sully said. "We're defenseless against the likes of that woman. What I know about magic would fit on a knife tip. That's more the Emperor's game than ours."

  Berk nodded. "I'll get the horses."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Donovan could not deny feeling pleasure in the warmth of the sun on his face, and the contradictory chill of the wind sliding cold fingers down his spine. He drew in a deep breath, laced with the sharp bite of leaves just beginning to turn, filling his lungs as he reveled in his freedom.

  "Don't… like… bouncing 'round… on… smelly horse."

  His pleasure vanished beneath the gravelly voice of the crone's creature. Now the priestess's, Donovan supposed. A loan, she had called him, though Donovan thought 'spy' to be a more accurate title.

  "I can arrange for you to be bouncing beneath it, if you would prefer," Donovan said, not bothering to look to where the creature clung desperately to the saddle, flopping one way and then another with the pony's choppy gait. "Or perhaps tied to its tail? Would that be more to your liking?"

  "I… kill… you… some… day…. Lor… del-ing."

  Donovan nudged his horse into an easy canter, smirking, despite the grating quality of the wail the increased pace brought from the creature.

  The priestess's plans for the general were risky, and though Donovan refused to allow himself to dwell on them while in her presence, now that he gave them proper attention, they terrified him. To kill the Sciath na Duinne, or to break him, those were far different matters than what she intended. It may have been a splitting of hairs, but bending the general to do her bidding, versus turning him to her side, were two vastly different matters. Breaking the man, and forcing him to serve her, meant she controlled his actions. Whereas, appealing to his desire for Darkness, allowing him to embrace the power to be had and act of his own free will, would make him closer to a god than any man should be.

  The priestess told Donovan he would have nightmares. That last thought was enough to give them to him by the wagon load. The priestess possessed far more power than anyone Donovan had ever come across. It rivalled the Goddess's own. It would not, however, even with the addition of his, be able to withstand the combined force of the Goddess, the Imperial bloodline, the Council of Mages, and the Sciath na Duinne.

  Change the allegiance of that last player on the board, and the balance would swing the priestess's way. Then again, she might very well find it hard to stand against the general should madness push him beyond recall. Donovan held no illusions as to his own fate if that event were to occur. The general would kill him without a moment's consideration. So, it became a matter of self-preservation for Donovan to see the priestess's plans did not go as smoothly as she intended.

  He reined in on a small hillock and waited while the creature grumbled its way alongside him. "A day's travel from this point you will come upon the Eastern Road. You will follow it to where it joins with the Southrun and you will wait there. In hiding. The Emperor and his general will be arriving in the Greensward soon. Watch for them. Do not allow them to discover you. Do not cross the borders of that land. Follow them when they leave. When your mistress makes her move against the general, you will lure him off, and bring him to me. Do you understand?"

  The creature scrubbed the back of his hand across his nose. "Who is Genner-ul?"

  Donovan forced an image of the Sciath na Duinne into Grumnlin's thoughts.

  "Oh. Great Lord." He bobbed his head, then shook it vehemently. "No do. Great Lord kill me."

  "I will kill you if you do not do as I say."

  "You no kill. Pretty Witch say so."

  "Pretty Witch is not here, is she?"

  Grumnlin glowered at Donovan.

  "In any case, the general will be i
n no condition to kill anyone," Donovan said. "Excepting himself, perhaps. I will send someone to aid you. If you fail me, you fail your mistress. She will be even less pleased than I."

  "I not take smelly horse."

  "You need to move swiftly."

  The creature grumbled something unintelligible and slid clumsily off the far side of the pony, causing it to shy into Donovan's horse. "I go fast on legs. Faster than horse. Lady make me."

  "I am aware. Keep in mind who killed your precious Lady."

  "Mind who kill you some day," the creature said, and spat at the hooves of Donovan's horse before he turned and stomped off.

  Donovan watched until the creature disappeared from view before dismounting. He stripped the pony of its tack and gave it a solid smack on its rump, chasing it off. He had much ground to cover in a short amount of time. A short-legged pony would only slow him down. Better it should find its way to some famer somewhere, or the belly of wolves. Donovan cared not one way or the other.

  He turned his horse to the north and when he touched his heel to its side, the beast sprang forward with a lightness that promised speed. Donovan called on his power to enhance the horse's natural abilities and eliminate its need for rest. At the same time, he opened his awareness, and sent it out in a focused search for a particular group of marauders.

  Before waking in the priestess's hands, stripped of his power, Donovan would never have given such a minimal use of it even a passing thought. Now, however, he possessed a newfound appreciation for his gifts. To be able to cast over hundreds of leagues with as little effort as drawing breath gave him a thrill he had not felt in a long time. Perhaps he owed the priestess his gratitude. Power such as he possessed should never be taken lightly. To have been deprived of it for even a short time had been worse than any physical torture he would have had to endure.

  A trickle of distant, faint magic vibrated the strands of his casting like the web of a spider trembling with the capture of a fly. Donovan smiled. Just like a spider, he would build a wide, intricate net to ensnare his enemies and see them devoured.