Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three

by K. L. Schwengel

  "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice trembling and hardly more than a whisper.

  "To keep you safe."

  "No." Ciara shook her head, her pulse quickening. "It's more than that. Donovan said something about the real reason you're here."

  "That man is not to be trusted."

  "Are you?"

  Ferris glanced away, his shoulders rising and falling in a deep breath. "Lady Ariadne sent for me to see you safely from Nisair. Nothing more. I swear it. I knew nothing of the threat facing Lord Bolin and, I'm certain, if Her Ladyship had, she would not have kept it from me. But, tell me, m'lady, if the situation demanded it, do you know anyone who would raise a hand against Lord Bolin without hesitation?"

  Ciara's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

  "If Donovan is telling the truth, and we can do nothing to stop this priestess from claiming him, do you know any who would stand against him no matter the cost?"

  Ciara started to reply but stopped herself and stared at Ferris, his words sinking in. "You would."

  Ferris's expression tightened. "I am oath bound to do so."

  Ciara shook her head in disbelief. "You swore an oath to… kill him?"

  "If such a dire situation occurred, and no other recourse presented itself."

  "How could you ever take such an oath? Who would even ask you to?"

  "Those of great power make large targets. It has always been so. Every emperor since the days of The First has had at least one mage on the Council oath bound to end his life should his power ever be compromised. It's not common knowledge, and no one, not even the emperor, knows who it is. Likewise, most members of the Council make similar arrangements. Some even keep a vial of poison." He gave a rueful shrug of one shoulder. "I am Lord Bolin's poison vial."

  Ciara could only gape at him. The very concept seemed unreal. "You must hate him very much to take such an oath."

  Ferris's eyes rounded. "Hate? Oh, m'lady, this is not an oath one makes out of hatred. Though, I admit, there may have been a space of time in my younger years when I thought I harbored such resentment for him, but that was born of youthful pride, and a sense of righteous entitlement, not through any fault of his. No." His voice softened, his eyes glistening as he shook his head. "That oath was born of undying love and respect."

  "So much love, that if you think we can't help him, you'll kill him?"

  "Would you rather see him live in madness? Or turned to a puppet for his enemies? If you honestly think that's what he'd want, then you know him not at all."

  Ciara opened her mouth to argue with him, but the memory of the night at the Splintered Oak kept her from it. "Is Garek bound by a similar oath?"

  "I don't know. Regardless, I think he'd do the same if it came to it. Chances are, though, he'd hesitate. Stay his hand when he need to strike, and the moment would be lost."

  "But you wouldn't." Ciara heard the condemnation in her own voice.

  Ferris's eyes flashed. "Don't believe for even one moment that I ever want my oath called. That I don't live in constant fear of having to carry it out. It gives me nightmares to even think on it."

  "Then why did you give it?"

  His attitude softened again, his face a mask of sorrow and regret. "I had no desire to, but in the end… there really was no one else. I know, likely better than any, the fear he harbors over becoming what he's pledged his life to destroy. I know it."

  Ciara could only stare at him, then shook her head and walked away to put space between them. Bolin had come close to losing himself more than once, but they had brought him back every time. He was strong enough to overcome anything. Ciara had to believe that. She and Andrakaos grew every day. If she couldn't use all that power to protect those she loved, she saw little use for it.

  "You're a healer," he said to her back. "Have you never come across someone who you could do nothing for, other than to speed their passage to the Halls?"

  "That's hardly the same." She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could reach Andrakaos. His vision and sense of reason were usually far sharper than hers, not encumbered by emotion. He remained out of her reach, held prisoner behind Nisair's wards.

  Ciara steeled herself and turned slowly to face Ferris. "You should know, I will do everything in my power to save Bolin. If I think there is any hope, any at all, even a thin one, I will do whatever I have to, to keep you from killing him."

  The corner of Ferris's mouth twitched. "And I'll pray to the Goddess it won't ever come to that."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  To find his daughter in High House and not behind the walls of Nisair had been a stroke of good fortune. To find her in the company of a Sciath proved quite the opposite. That she could be separated from Andrakaos, and yet still be in full possession of his power… now that Donovan found truly interesting, and not something he would have thought possible. She did not seem at a loss without the manifestation lingering nearby, though time and leagues would tell just how far their connection could be stretched. Donovan did not relish the thought of facing the priestess without the entirety of his daughter's power. Certainly they would have the Emperor's as well. Donovan counted on him not abandoning the general.

  He winced as he pushed from the chair to pace to the fireplace. His daughter's healing spell trickled warmly across his wound. The Sciath would pay for that. An unfortunate accident on the road, perhaps, or a present for the marauder chieftain, if this time she actually succeeded in the task Donovan had given her.

  He turned when his daughter and the Sciath returned. Ciara wore a look of cold determination, and Donovan wondered at what turn their conversation had taken. Even the Sciath, so adept at presenting a casual front, had something lurking in his eyes that spoke of a weakness to be exploited. Ascertaining the source of that weakness--

  Those same eyes snapped his way and locked on, the shadow in them replaced by eager anticipation.

  "It's agreed, the most important thing is finding Bolin," Ciara said. "I take it you know where he is?"

  His daughter's question, tight and formal, drew Donovan's attention back to where she stood, chin up, spine erect, hands folded before her. If she survived the priestess, Ciara would grow to become a force even the Emperor would be wise to keep on his good side.

  "At this precise moment? No," Donovan said. "I do, however, know where he is to be taken. The priestess has arranged for a diversion on the road once he leaves the protection of the Greensward. She will find a way to separate him from the Emperor's side and draw him off, at which point she will attempt to perform her ritual. How, I do not know. I have agents in place, however, who will guide the general to a meeting spot en route to the priestess's lair."

  "Why not just arrange for him to be taken back to the Emperor?" the Sciath asked.

  "The priestess would know of it."

  "And?"

  "And it would force her hand," Donovan said. "What, exactly, she would do to be so betrayed is a guess. It is possible she would kill the general outright, and your emperor along with him."

  The Sciath's face wrinkled in disbelief. "She's that much power?"

  "Would I care otherwise? Would she have been able to hold me imprisoned?" Donovan stopped himself. His anger had gotten the better of him there. It seemed his time spent in the priestess's company had shortened his temper substantially.

  "Ah." Ferris's mouth twisted into a smug smirk Donovan resisted the urge to physically remove. "Now we come to it. This priestess scares you."

  "If you had the sense of a toad, the fact of what she is, and what she is capable of, would give you nightmares," Donovan said.

  "Then why does she need Lord Bolin?"

  "Because with him, not even the Goddess, herself, will be able to stand in her way."

  "Where is he being taken?" Ciara asked.

  "I will lead you there."

  "How far?" the Sciath asked.

  "Four days perhaps."

  "Where?"

  Donovan shook his head. "I will lead you."


  "I may know quicker paths. Time isn't our friend in this endeavor."

  Though Donovan hated to concede it, the Sciath had a point. "Do you know the ruins east of Kensing Tor?"

  His brow furrowed. "The plague village? Aye."

  "He will be taken there."

  The Sciath's focus turned inward as his thoughts ran behind his eyes. He nodded absently, and went to the shelves along the wall, rummaging about until he found a rolled stretch of dyed leather. He untied the bindings and spread it across the desk, his finger tracing a line across what Donovan took to be a map. He tapped it several times before looking up.

  "I can shave a day off if we push the pace, and Marcien is willing to part with his best horse for m'lady."

  Donovan's wandered to the desk, curiosity getting the better of him.

  "I'm guessing you would have led us north first? Fine for a leisurely journey." The Sciath gestured at the archaic map. "But if we go here, through Erret Maw, and skirt Kensing to the south, we'll make far better time."

  "Erret Maw? You can find it?"

  The Sciath merely raised a brow in answer.

  "And you have no concern entering it?" Donovan asked.

  "It'd be best if we did so at night." His eyes flicked Ciara's way. "Either way, I've no worries. If it frightens you, my lord, you're welcome to find your own way."

  Ciara joined them at the desk, glancing down at the map before turning her questioning gaze to Ferris. "What is Erret Maw?"

  "A passage that will save us valuable time," the Sciath said.

  Donovan gave a soft snort. "It is more likely to get us killed."

  The place had always been steeped in mystery. Supposedly, the entrance could only be found by those who were meant to do so. The tales told of it were the type of fodder spread to scare children. He would have given them no credence at all, if not for the ramblings of one of the priests who formerly inhabited his fortress in the Nethers. The man claimed to have ventured there more than once, making a study of the creatures that dwelt there. Donovan had sifted through his memories and found them to be accurate, if somewhat exaggerated.

  The Sciath pointedly ignored Donovan and turned to Ciara instead. "Legend says it was once the home of beasts similar to your gy'lafrei. Many creatures call it home now. Most are nocturnal. They leave the Maw at night, so we shouldn't be bothered much if we pass through after dusk."

  "Shouldn't be bothered much?"

  He shrugged. "I'd say we've enough power on our side to overcome the few creatures we may come across."

  "You seem overly familiar with Erret Maw," Donovan said.

  The Sciath tipped his head, but did not quite look Donovan's way. "As I said, if you'd prefer to take a different route, you're more than welcome to do so."

  Before Donovan could reply, Ciara said, "We'll take whatever route gets us to Bolin the quickest. Even if it's more difficult."

  Of course she would side with the Sciath. Who could say? Perhaps the choice of route would work to Donovan's benefit. After all, one never knew what might befall them when venturing onto dangerous ground.

  "I suggest you turn in, m'lady," the Sciath said. "We've a hard ride ahead. I'll see to the preparations, but we should leave with the dawn if possible."

  Ciara nodded. Her gaze slid from Ferris, to Donovan, and back. "He'll need a room."

  Ferris did not turn. "There's space in the stable."

  "He's not sleeping in the stable."

  "High House isn't an inn."

  "Ferris." Her tone and the lift of her brows turned the name into a reprimand

  Yes, his daughter had certainly changed. Donovan wondered if she was even aware of the subtle undercurrent of power that ran beneath the single word. If she did, she certainly did not capitalize on it as she should. Certainly the Sciath had noticed, though, from what Donovan had witnessed thus far, he doubted Ferris would go against Ciara's wishes in any matter.

  "There's an unused servant's room behind the kitchens," Ferris said reluctantly. "If Lord Marcien is amenable, I'll see he finds it."

  Ciara laid a hand on the Sciath's arm and lowered her voice. "We need him, Ferris. At least for now."

  "It is an unfortunate circumstance that we need one another," Donovan said. "Unless you have no interest in preventing the priestess from succeeding. In which case, Daughter, unleash your dog, and allow him to attempt what is first and foremost in his thoughts."

  "You flatter yourself, thinking you hold that position in my thoughts."

  "Enough." The command dropped a stunned silence over the room. Even Ciara appeared momentarily shocked by the force of it. She rubbed her hands on her thighs, an annoying habit Donovan found almost as deplorable as shrugging. "I'm sorry, but sniping at one another isn't going to help anything. We may not like having to deal with one another, but if it means saving Bolin, then we'll do it."

  "You misunderstand, Daughter. The likelihood of your beloved general surviving this, is slim. Even if such an event occurs, he will remain under the effects of the aerglishka brazsk dern frkleschz, and will likely take his own life."

  Her chin lifted, shoulders rolling back as she drew herself up. A light flashed in her eyes. "I won't allow that to happen."

  The conviction of her statement wrapped about her like a cloak. Without another word, she strode from the room, only the hastiness of her departure and the rigidity of her posture hinting at her uncertainty.

  "I'd sooner bed a viper than give you shelter under this roof," the Sciath said at Donovan's elbow. "Even the hint of an untoward thought passes through your head, or you do the slightest thing to bring mischief to this household, and the lady won't be able to stay my hand."

  Donovan slid him a glance. "You and I have something in common, Sciath. There will come a time when you, also, cease to be of use."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Bolin carried out his duties at Nialyne's ceremony, before the gathered populace of the Greensward, and under the blanket of Dain's wards, with solemn reverence. He had no doubt it shocked one and all when he asked Maurar to assist him. A look of momentary skepticism crossed the elder's face, as though he suspected some trickery on Bolin's part.

  "I believe it is what Nialyne would have wanted," Bolin said.

  Maurar studied him for a long moment before the contempt washed from his face to be replaced by sorrow.

  At high night, in a glade encircled by rustling trees, they laid the Greensward's most precious treasure upon a deep green slab of stone that resonated with power. A lay of passing lifted into the night from the tongues of hundreds. Maurar stood at Nialyne's head, Bolin at her feet, heads bowed. As the song came to a close, Bolin and Maurar drew in the power of the Greensward and folded it carefully over Nialyne's shrouded form. Here, in this one instance, they worked in complete harmony, shaping the glowing strands of the Greensward's magic into a detailed effigy of Nialyne that would endure as long as the land itself.

  Bolin lost himself to the working, unaware of the night crawling slowly toward dawn, until they finished with the first lightening of the sky. Exhaustion crept up on him, but he stayed until each citizen of the Greensward passed by to pay their respects. Even after the last of them filed past and the elders took their leave, Bolin remained. When the sun broke through the trees to bathe the effigy in dappled gold, he went, first in search of Blyth to ask her to assemble the elders once again, then to find Dain.

  "We're ready to move out as soon as you are," Dain said, when Bolin finally tracked him down in the dining hall. The Emperor's gaze swept over Bolin in silent appraisal. "Unless you'd rather wait a day or so?"

  Bolin shook his head and handed Dain a rolled parchment. "I need you to sign this first. Without argument."

  Dain scanned the carefully penned contents of the document, glancing up every now and again with a disapproving frown playing across his face. "I don't support this."

  Bolin expected as much, but said nothing, only handed Dain the quill and jar of ink he'd brought wit
h him.

  "Why don't you hold off on this until we get back to Nisair and you've had some time to clear your head? If you still think it wise, I won't stand in your way."

  "My head is clear." Bolin gestured impatiently at the scroll. "The elders are waiting on me."

  Dain's disapproval morphed into a full-blown scowl. He shook his head as he spread the scroll open on the table and scrawled his signature next to the already affixed seal.

  The elders turned from their hushed conversations when Bolin and Dain entered the Grand Hall. Maurar looked bleary-eyed and rumpled, his gaze carefully guarded. Bolin experienced a single moment of hesitation before crossing the room to stand before him.

  He cleared his throat, and pushed the words out before they stuck behind his teeth. "With the Emperor's blessing, I cede to you the office and title of Steward of Galys Auld, with all rights and privileges afforded."

  Bolin held the scroll and chain of office out to Maurar. The man actually looked shocked. For a moment, it even appeared as though he might actually refuse, but then he took the proffered items and bowed stiffly. Dain stepped forward, only a hint of disapproval lingering in his expression, and Maurar knelt before him as the Emperor took his oath. Blyth caught Bolin's eye and gave a small nod in approval.

  Finished with his oath, Maurar stood, bowed once more to Bolin, and strode away. With the elder went another piece of Bolin, lost forever.

  ***

  They reached the northern border of the Greensward by late afternoon. Bolin chose the quickest route, and held them to a steady canter for most of it. The Emperor gave Bolin his peace, either through kindness or anger, which, in turn, gave Bolin time to think.

  He expected handing stewardship of Galys Auld over to Maurar, and leaving the Greensward for what may well have been the last time, would have caused him more grief. It had. At first. The further they rode, however, the more the finality of events seemed to loosen the iron bands clenched tightly around his chest until, with the border drawing near, they fell away altogether, leaving behind a strange sense of release.