***
The first three marauders to draw steel as Donovan stepped unannounced into their midst, fell dead with nothing more than a subtle gesture on his behalf. One harsh word from the woman seated central-most at the campfire prevented others of her tribe from meeting the same fate. Piercing blue eyes slanted toward the corpses, then lifted languidly to Donovan's face.
"To what do we owe the honor, Black Prince?" she asked, but without the reverence the words would have suggested they carry.
"Lenai of Tor Gurn, your tenure as chieftain never fails to amaze me," Donovan said. A slender man of darker complexion and slighter build than most of the others, took a step closer to the marauder chieftain and drew Donovan's attention. "I see you still keep your ineffectual weather mage at your heel."
Lenai rose off her log seat, tall and straight, chin tipped, raven hair glistening in the firelight. "Come to beg our service again? You've yet to pay what you promised the last time."
"Be thankful I am feeling generous, and willing to provide you the opportunity to rectify your failure in that regard."
She slid another look at the men sprawled in the dirt. "I hope your task doesn't require strength of arms. You have a habit of depleting mine."
"I trusted in your martial skills in the past," Donovan said. "I found them wanting. You will find them non-existent should you repeat your sad performance."
The mage shifted and several of the others laid hands on weapons. Donovan despised dealing with them. In most regards, marauders were little better than animals, yet Donovan had come to realize that even base creatures could serve a purpose, so long as it did not prove to be anything overly complicated. He had made that mistake in the past. Trusting the marauders to take and hold his daughter had been an error in judgment. A task beyond their skill. Attacking Broadhead to serve as a distraction, and harrying the general's group to slow their progress to Nisair, however, they had managed with brutal efficiency.
"You played us false," Lenai said. "A simple girl, you called her. Yet she was neither of those things, was she?"
A cold smile touched the corners of Donovan's mouth. Two casual strides put him close enough to smell the ale on Lenai's breath and the heavy musk of the leather and fur she wore. She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, but did not move her hands from where they rested near the grips of the Imperial swords that hung at her hip, one on either side, the challenge clear in her stance and expression. Donovan had to admit, bedding and breaking the marauder chieftain would make for entertaining sport, if he were given to such distractions.
"Do you believe you have recourse in the matter?" Donovan asked.
"I believe you bleed like any other man."
She may have found out the truth of that statement, save the flick of the mage's eyes gave her away. The man creeping up behind Donovan made it within striking distance before crumpling. In the same breath of an instant, Donovan's hands closed around Lenai's throat and he lifted her until her toes barely touched the ground. Instead of struggling against his hold, however, she grabbed his forearms and pulled up, her knee aimed at Donovan's groin. Donovan lurched forward with the shifting of her weight, regained his balance before the blow could land, and tossed her bodily backwards. Lenai's limbs flailed as she floundered into the arms of her warriors.
"I have less patience than once I had," Donovan said. "It would take but a thought for me to wipe your entire tribe from the face of this earth."
"Do it." She snarled like an angry cat as she disentangled herself from the hands helping her back to her feet. She settled her weapons and reclaimed the space between them, her wrath not the least bit diminished. "Better to die free, than grovel at any man's feet."
Donovan's fingers twitched. There were, perhaps, fifty or so men and women in her tribe, but the well of his power ran deep. A bit of focus, a few words, and they would drop where they stood, down to the last infant. Power did not come without cost, however, and he could ill-afford such expenditures with the priestess a constant threat.
The chieftain's mage stepped in to whisper something in Lenai's ear, but she shoved him away, her eyes fixed on Donovan, full of fire and fury. "If you're so powerful, why is it you need the lowly Tor Gurn to do your bidding, Black Prince? Perhaps you exaggerate your skill."
Donovan raised a brow and turned his head slowly toward the corpses littering the ground. He frowned as he brought his gaze back to her. "And perhaps it is time the Tor Gurn had a new chieftain."
Lenai's eyes bulged, the skin of her face going dark in the dancing firelight. She dropped to her knees, gaping like a fish snatched from the water. Yet, even in the grip of a slow and certain death, her spirit remained as sharp as her blade. Her mage stepped suddenly between them, palms up in supplication.
"We will aid you," he said, his smooth voice laced with a mix of fear and loathing. "Only if she lives."
Lenai collapsed onto all fours and grabbed for one of the mage's legs, perhaps in a desperate bid for aid, though Donovan suspected it was more out of her unwillingness to allow him to speak for her. Her fingers curled weakly around the man's calf and she sagged forward.
Donovan allowed it to continue a moment longer before he released her. "Keep her to task, mage. Perhaps I will see you elevated to the position you deserve."
Lenai sucked in several loud, harsh breaths and said something unintelligible as the mage turned and helped her to her feet. She glowered at him before turning the same look on Donovan. This time, however, it came tinged with just the faintest hint of wariness.
"A time will come," she said and then, as though the words were being pulled forcibly from her throat, "What is it you require?"
Donovan rolled the tension out of his shoulders. "There is a deep swale to the south of Kensing Tor. Do you know it?"
The chieftain pursed her lips. "Along the west banks of the Triltur?"
"That is the one. I am sending an agent there. He will not be alone. You will see to it the man with him is delivered safely to me at the village east of the Tor's base."
"The dead place?" Marauder superstition rang clear in Lenai's question and the widening of her eyes. "Why is it your agent can't see it done himself?"
"Because he is even less competent than you, and because there is a likelihood he will be followed by no small number of Imperial Guards. I suggest you sharpen your swords and your skills." Donovan swept a glance across the gathered warriors. He cared not who won the confrontation sure to take place, so long as they kept the Emperor and his guards at bay long enough for him to secure the general.
After which, Donovan would need to find a way to convince the man, in this instance, they would serve each other better as allies than enemies. For that, he required the proper leverage.
Donovan left the marauder camp behind and, with the last twinkling of the stars reined in on a high, barren hillock. He slipped easily into the ethereal, his awareness open. If the priestess discovered what he was up to, or if she got to his daughter first, events would most certainly not play out in his favor. In which case, death at the hands of the general would seem a preferable alternative.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
"Riders to the rear!"
As soon as the call went up, the back quarter of the Imperial Guard wheeled their mounts, some flanking off the road, others pivoting in place to turn and face the possible threat, weapons drawn. The foremost riders also maneuvered, Bolin at their head, to take up a defensive position around the Emperor. Two days had passed since they'd downed the wraith and, though the going had since been smooth, tensions remained high.
"Message for the Emperor," Everyn announced.
He led two riders forward, and Bolin's brows rose in surprise when he recognized Garek's men in place of regular messengers. They saluted as they passed, and Berk's gaze darted down on the pretense of getting the message from the pouch hanging off his saddle.
The Emperor's eyes swept over them, coming to rest on Garek's lieutenant. "You're injured?"
"I'll send a few extra scouts to our rear," Everyn said and spun his horse to go see it done.
Dain broke the seal on the folded parchment Berk handed him and flicked it open. Bolin watched him carefully in the fading daylight, but the Emperor's expression never once hinted at the missive's contents.
"We've a couple of leagues to put behind us yet," Dain said as he tucked the parchment away.
"We're good for that," Sully said. "But these horses could use a break."
"Get yourself some of the extra mounts and let's move out. I'll get your full report once we make camp, and you've had a chance to have your wounds tended."
The men bowed, offered Bolin another salute, and made their way back down the column to swap horses. Bolin waited until they were once more underway before looking expectantly in Dain's direction.
"That message bore Ari's seal," he said when the weighty glare got him no response.
"Very observant."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing you need to be concerned about."
"Garek sends his own men instead of a regular messenger, and you're going to try and convince me it's nothing I need to be worried about?"
"Yes. Believe it or not, not everything which occurs in this empire requires your immediate attention."
"It does if it's coming from Ariadne, via Garek, brought by your personal guard."
"It is nothing I am of a mind to discuss with you, General," Dain said. "At least not at the present moment. It is well in hand."
"Which is why you're refusing to look at me, then?"
Dain cocked his head Bolin's way without quite making eye contact. "Yes. In any case, there are more immediate concerns. We'll reach the Greensward the day after tomorrow." He said it in such a way as to make it sound as though he expected more of a response from Bolin than the simple nod he received. "My messenger should have arrived there today."
Bolin gave another nod. That messenger carried word of their arrival, and the reason behind it, to the Galysian elders. Dain had consulted Bolin in the writing of it. They had agreed to leave out the details of Nialyne's passing. That explanation needed to be given by Bolin, in person. He'd been fighting to keep his thoughts from the imminence of riding into the Greensward with its most beloved daughter lying cold and still, in a shimmer of mage magic, beneath a shroud of green. Facing the people would be hard enough. Having to face the elders, and relive Nialyne's death, filled him with dread beyond measure.
"You've been a bit withdrawn since the wraith attack," Dain said. "More so than normal."
"I wouldn't call one wraith at a distance an attack. In any case, nothing can touch us in the Greensward."
"We're not there yet, and eventually we'll need to leave."
"And if something happens between now and then, we'll deal with it."
"You cannot fault my concern. The sequence of events since Broadhead can hardly be laid at the feet of coincidence."
"Damn the unholies, Dain, the empire and its concerns can wait for a handful of days more." Sandeen slicked his ears back and danced beneath Bolin at his sudden outburst. Several of the guards cast surreptitious looks his direction before edging a bit further away. Bolin rubbed his jaw. He lowered his voice and fought to keep it level. "Let me lay Nialyne to rest. Haven't I earned at least that? If not for my sake, then in her honor, because surely she deserves that much."
"That she does," Dain said, keeping his voice softer than Bolin had managed. "And you as well. Unfortunately, I don't believe our enemies are as willing as I am to set things aside and allow you time to grieve."
Bolin swallowed his next comment because the Emperor's focus had turned inward, his eyes growing dark.
"Something has tested the flanking ward twice now," Dain said, by way of explanation.
"Where?"
He turned his face toward the west. "There."
"By your leave?"
Dain nodded absently, but Bolin had asked as a mere formality. He had already traced along the flow of the Emperor's power, following the strong yet subtle ward Dain cast almost half a league out from the column in all directions. That the Emperor could create and hold such a vast working without any apparent effort gave silent testimony to the incredible strength of the power that ran through the Imperial line. For Bolin, dipping into that power was like being submerged in a bottomless well. It surrounded him, its touch vibrating through him, warm, potent, intense enough to drown in if he forgot himself.
Who could stop you should you wish to take it for yourself? All your life you have served others. Do you not desire your freedom?
Bolin ignored the voice. He pushed Dain's ward out further still, hoping to ensnare whatever moved at its fringes.
What if I dance at its edge? What would you do if you caught me, I wonder? Would you embrace me?
Dain's focus sharpened.
Would you seek to destroy me? You could. With all this at your disposal. You could cleanse Darkness from the land. Could avenge the death of your beloved sorceress.
Bolin drew back with enough force to send a lance-like stab of pain through his skull, and pull a startled exclamation from Dain.
"What happened?" The question carried the weight of a demand.
Bolin stared at Sandeen's ears, trying to force coherent thoughts past the pounding behind his eyes. It took an inordinate amount of effort to ignore the voice whispering in his head and say the words as he intended, not as it desired. "Did you sense anything besides the testing of your ward? Any other power at play?"
"Nothing. You?"
Bolin wet his lips. "Not as such. More a vague compulsion." He darted a glance Dain's way and struggled to keep his breathing even, only then realizing they had come to a halt. He nudged Sandeen into a walk and the company began to crawl forward once again. "Whatever tested the wards has only enough magic to sense them, and only when it actually hits them, not before. And it doesn't know how to get past."
"Another scout?"
"Likely. Whose, remains the question."
"Donovan's?" the Emperor offered. "The threat the Goddess spoke of? The Dominion priestess?"
Bolin arched a brow. "So you believe she's still alive?"
"I believe she's not what you think she is. Not what Donovan thought she was."
"Your faith in the Goddess is so absolute." Far too much bitterness and condescension colored Bolin's words.
Dain's expression registered shock. "And yours suddenly isn't?"
Bolin said nothing. He whistled up to the front riders to pick up the pace instead. He caught himself reaching up to rub his arm and dropped his hand. Bolin needed to find that left-over bit of the witch's magic and twist it to his will. He could use it to find and destroy her, regardless of whether she was what Dain thought, and what the Goddess suggested. He had Nialyne's power, and that of the pendant. Though his lip curled at the thought of blending the oily bit of witch's magic with something as pure as the power of the Greensward, the three powers combined would prove something even she couldn't overcome.
For now, however, Bolin could do nothing. Not under Dain's constant scrutiny. And since his visitation from the Goddess, the Emperor had not allowed Bolin out of his sight. Once in Galys Auld, however, he would be able to find some privacy, and could spend some time trying to isolate the witch's magic. The elders would never entrust him with another crystal, so drawing it out and entrapping it as he had done before it, was out of the question. He'd be able to control it this time, of that he had no doubt. He'd never come across any magic he couldn't. Even the crone's had eventually bowed to his will, though that had damn near done him in. Then again, in that instance, he had been fighting on more than one front. The witch's magic he would face one on one, with nothing else to distract
him, and with more power at his disposal than he possessed any time in the past.
Then he would avenge Nialyne's death once and for all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The routine of seeing to the horses and setting up camp occupied Berk once the escort stopped for the night. By the time he finished, Sergeant Reddle, the company healer, had seen to Sully's injuries and proclaimed him fit enough for duty, so long as he didn't attempt any foot racing or dancing for at least a fortnight. They gave Captain Everyn their report on the marauders before Sully went to find a game of dice. Berk found his mood not up to the task of idle conversation. Claiming exhaustion he begged off and wandered to the edge of the camp to lean against a tree, gazing up at the few stars poking their heads through a gathering layer of clouds.
For the first time since leaving Nisair he should have been able to relax. Scouts were out, a watch set, and for one night he had no responsibilities beyond seeing to his own horse and bedroll. He should have taken advantage of that fact and thrown himself at sleep like a starving dog on a bone. Goddess knew he needed it. He'd fared better in their set-to with the marauders than Sully, coming away with nothing more than sore muscles and a few bruises. The woman's attack, however, left him with a constant dull ache in his skull, and no matter what he ate or drank, the greasy taste of her blood lingered in his mouth. They'd put in three days of harder riding after her attack than they'd done since leaving Nisair, and Berk felt it in every bone of his body.
"Berk?"
He started at the sound of his name and spun off the tree, muscles tensing, then quickly lifted his hands away from his weapons, holding them out slightly from his body as he recognized the voice. General Bolin took the pose in with one sweep of his eyes, lifting a brow in response, and Berk flushed.
"I'm sorry, sir. I…" He swiped a hand through his hair and averted his gaze. "It was a hard ride. I guess I’m just a bit on edge yet."
Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 19